September 8, 2013

My story is a very sad one. The part that makes it the saddest, is that no one knows it. My history and its cruel character is one only I feel. You know when girls get raped, or beaten, it’s easy to relate to them feeling really small. Unfortunately there is nobody in this world who gets me, and I don’t think anyone ever will.

It’s impossible to convey an emotion when you don’t have the words for it. And it’s impossible to convey an emotion when its source is so outrageous that nobody will ever acknowledge it. If you fall, and are in pain, people will console you. If you don’t get what you want, and feel that pain, people will tell you to suck it up.
The pain’s there, but you’re alone with it.

From a very early age, actually as far back as I can remember, I was taught that voicing discontentment was complaining, and it wasn’t okay. Crying, being angry, raising my voice, it was all absolutely forbidden. It was immature and selfish, and I shouldn’t say it out loud. Just find a way to deal with it. Keep it contained though, by all means. Think about others first, they are always more important than you.
I feel spoiled, continuously. And I act that way, even though growing up I wasn’t actually spoiled. But I behave like a first class spoiled rotten child. I’m demanding, and needy, and entitled, and I can’t stand it when people don’t pay attention to me.
Every time I’m not happy about something, I feel guilty. As soon as some kind of wish pops up in my head, guilt comes right after it. Whatever comes at me feels like it should be enough. And when it’s not enough, I struggle to assert my own opinion about it.

It’s easy to make material decisions; I want this bed. I want an iPod. I want a smartphone. I want a tv. I want this and this food. I want to drink this juice and eat these dishes. But don’t ask me what I need from other people emotionally, please don’t ask me what I deserve. Nothing, I don’t deserve anything. Leave me behind, please, I can’t stand this closeness.
People tell me I’m strong, and it makes me tired. I’m tired of explaining that I’m not. Does anyone ever consider how rejecting it is when everyone tells you you’re wonderful? All my feelings and beliefs about myself are being denied. No, you’re wrong, you’re not what you think you are. YOU ARE WONDERFUL WHETHER YOU WANT TO OR NOT.

I wake up wishing I was someone else. I go to sleep hoping I’ll wake up with a new personality trait, or less of the ones I have and hate. I breathe regret, about what I am, did or said. I browse the internet looking at pictures of people who seem happy, sorted, I read blogs of people who have a little house with furniture and projects. Hours are wasted with this sick ritual of peering into strangers’ lives, wishing I could somehow be in there, instead of here. Not because they’re careless, they’re not. I even love their problems, the appeal is in the sheer fact that it’s not mine.
There is no escaping my skin, except for substances. Substances numb the discomfort of my existence.

Abuse is the only relationship I can suffer. It’s the only one that acknowledges me, the way I truly know that I am. The way that everybody refuses to accept me. It’s amazing what the lies people tell themselves, can do to you. Let me tell everyone this; showering someone with compliments is not helpful. It hurts. It puts someone down even more. Disregarding someone’s flaws as if they’re not there, never even naming them for fear of making them real, it doesn’t help anyone. It induces shame, guilt and depression.
The household I grew up in pretends everyone’s perfect. There are no flaws and if they somehow show through the cracks, it’s good form to ignore it. It’s absolutely smothering, and disables any and every opportunity for wholesome acceptance. Both to muster and experience it.

I’m intolerant. I have no patience. I have very little self control. I’m impulsive. I’m very critical of others, and myself. I’m competitive, and get very angry with myself when I’m not the best. Sometimes when my animals do something I don’t like, I hit them disproportionately hard. I’m afraid I will hit my children, like my father did. I’m jealous when I see a beautiful girl, but at the same time I want to be around her to feel that inferiority because I like punishing myself for not being perfect. Rejection drives me up the walls. I treat my mother with utter disrespect, same with my older brother -both are better people than I will ever be. I absolutely ignore my father unless I need something from him. When I’m angry with someone, I enjoy being able to hurt them back. I think in extremes and my understanding of the world is childishly divided in black or white. I tell myself I’m helpful to others, but it doesn’t ring true when you realize I just want to be accepted.

I’m a bitch. I scream it, I wish someone finally believed me. Acknowledged me. Let me exist.



September 8, 2013

I used too much of too much tonight to really type quickly or get to the point. But I will try.

It was one of those nights. Where you know you’ve gone back into the ravine before you’re really there. You know it, as you grab your clothes. As you put on your make-up. As you grab your purse and check your cell phone -just in case. It’s gaping in front of you, but you deny it. Don’t even feel it, it’s not there. If you pretend it’s not there, it will be, and that’s ultimately what you want.

I have been applying for jobs and going to job interviews, like a good girl. But I’ll have to hear back from them. I’m waiting for the most brainless ones, so I can keep my free time for myself and go to my job without needing to give fucks. That’d be nice.
I want to wake up early-ish in the morning, go to a job that is entirely void of meaning, and go home at a given time, sag down on the couch like a potato and watch tv. That’s all I want, and need.

I wish I could die without the pain it would inflict on others. Just die inside so I can function sufficiently to keep everybody happy -my life goal/curse forever and ever- but not have to feel. Perfection. Is there anything that does tha- Oh, yeah.



August 2, 2013

Things have finally settled down. It feels like I worked through it, the anger is gone and I’m working on the forgiveness part. Which isn’t really something I have to ‘muster’ like a lot of people say. When you love someone, it kind of comes on its own as soon as you realize it’s just not worth it.

Do I want to be angry and feel miserable? No. Do I want to make him feel worse? No. Do I want us to fight, to have endless discussions, to say harsh things? No.

Codependency is such a sneaky, invisible thing. I never even thought I was codependent until it started to hurt me and I was willing to look closer into what I was doing. Maybe every partner is a little codependent. You’re barely in a relationship if you’re not, right? I still want him to give me a heads up about where he’s going, that won’t just go away. It’s not about control over him, it’s about me knowing how I can get to him if I need to. 
For some reason, when our relationship is ok, we almost melt together. I feel completely overwhelmed, because I’m crazy about him and I can’t seem to function separately from that notion. He has the same thing though, I know he loves me very much and can’t live without me. It feels really good, we’re in this pool of absolute and unconditional adoration for each other and exchange information that wouldn’t make sense to an outsider.
But then there are these sources that say that’s not healthy. We’re both addicts, and maybe we’re still really extreme in this.

Food for thought.


July 30, 2013

Day 2.

I’m not good at this. This was supposed to be a few days to myself, but I’ve been worried out of my mind. Thoroughly defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? Still haven’t had news, I don’t know where he is. Sometimes I have confusing dreams that he died, but I can’t let myself go there.

Why am I doing this? Why am I being so ridiculous?

Maybe he just needed the time off to rehash his relapse, to trace back his steps and identify where it went wrong. Maybe he’s having an amazing time with those kids from AA, and decided to hang around for a bit. Maybe he’s at home, just trying to find some quiet. Maybe he’s with family, talking, healing.

Back in October it was a similar situation as this one that made me decide to take a break. He really thought it was over back then (so did I) and was absolutely crushed. I needed time and some space, but couldn’t get much. I did get some, but he did always try to take some of it, because he was probably losing his mind out of grief.
But this is different. I did ask for ‘a few days’ for myself, but I never thought of leaving him. I pondered whether or not it would be easier with someone else, I negotiated if someone else wouldn’t be more constant. But someone else would just be fucking boring, wouldn’t it? I don’t like constant, never have. I get bored and lose interest.

I’m starving.


July 29, 2013

My last few posts were spiteful, angry and hurt. It needed to happen.

But he’s hurting too. He’s suffering the same repercussions as I am; he doesn’t get to see me for another 9 days. I have to trust that this tears him apart as much as me, and that the illness is kicking him in the balls as much as me. It is so easy to forget, isn’t it? Because it feels like a choice, to an outsider. It feels like taking a drink is a choice, whereas a cancer spreading out isn’t an action you took.

But that’s wrong. It wasn’t a choice. It was a circumstance, it was alcoholism.

When I think back to my own use, and how for the last year or so, I attempted to quit, I can vaguely remember feeling sucked in. First of all, it was a habit. I’d go out, buy some stuff if I was out, possibly share it with one or two friends (it would feel like we had more when we put everything together), and get high. The only time I could successfully quit, was when I stopped going out. Which I could keep up for maybe 3 weeks. Having to quit drugs is one thing, having to quit your social life is another.

It never occurred to me that I was hurting anyone. I wasn’t in a relationship, I wasn’t losing all my money. But maybe I did hurt my parents. They never told me. When I came home and thought they never knew a fucking thing, maybe they were just big about it. At one point I remember telling my mom in the car, “mom, I’m using amphetamines and cocaine, I’m not sure how to stop”. She never gave me a hard time for it. She never gave me a cross hearing. She never called anyone behind my back, trying to get me into some kind of rehab. She trusted me, but she must’ve been so hurt.

And I really was hurt too. I didn’t want to be that daughter anymore, the one who kept fucking up. But I was. I straightened it out later, by getting my degree and everything. That’s what they wanted for me, some form of security.

I quit suddenly. Cold turkey. And I always do that. Cutting, purging, everything. Suddenly I decide that no, I won’t do it anymore, and I just. I quit. For the purging, my lovely partner did have a huge hand in it. He was incredibly supportive for it.

Before getting at that point, I did need several attempts. The purging sometimes stopped for a whole year, but it would return. Something has changed now though. Now I know that I’ll never go back.
And it worries me that he’s not at that point. Not yet. He still seeks comfort in his booze, where I have now realized my addictions/dysfunctional habits are not comforting. I don’t understand why he doesn’t see it that way too, and we can’t really talk about it because he hates these conversations. They aren’t fun to have, I’ll admit.

I’m still waiting for him to make that ‘click’ I did. And maybe that’s wrong. Maybe he will never. He keeps trying, and that’s incredibly brave on his part. It must be so, so painful for him to go through that over and over. Being disgusted with yourself, because You Did It Again.

I will never give up on him. Never. I hope he won’t give up on me; I am trying baby.


July 29, 2013

Day 1 of keeping my distance. Last night I sent him a very gentle e-mail, explaining how it’s probably important that I take a step back and take care of myself now for a few days. Unfortunately, he probably took it like he was supposed to do the same. In fact, I have no idea where he is, or what he’s doing. Last I heard he was at the airport, met some kids at an AA meeting nearby and was going to watch a movie with them.

We’ve had the “please keep me posted”-conversation so many times, I’m giving up on it. This is something I need to get ready for, and learn how to handle. He won’t keep me posted. I won’t know where he is and I will have to go to sleep alone. That’s how he is, how he’s always been. Nobody was ever interested where he was before, this is not something he’s ever had to learn.

Or maybe that’s not entirely true. His sister has been messaging me continuously asking for news. His roommate did the same. His dad was probably kept posted through his sister mostly, but I know they’ve all been messaging my boyfriend directly as well. He barely replied, he barely acknowledged their worry (which is code for their love).
People have always wanted news from him. As a teenager, falling off the face of the earth was probably his comfort zone, because they wanted news. A way to escape the shame, the guilt, his responsibilities. As crappily as family can respond sometimes (“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS” etc), as an adult you still have to own up to what you did.

When he disappeared in the past, their worry would double. Where could he be, what was he up to? Coming home everyone would be so relieved he was okay, the repercussions of his childish behavior wouldn’t seem so big.
Today he probably takes their worry largely as an insult. He’s almost 30, he doesn’t need anyone to worry or look out for him. The more people worry and fire “where are you?” messages at him, the more he regresses in that strange disconnected zone, where he will take the space he’s got and kick everyone else out of it. This is the point where he turns off his cell phone, disappears and enjoys the anonymity of a new town. There’s another 10 days before I arrive there, and he will use those days to vanish.

He’s always done tiny roadtrips when he was younger, escaping. Nobody knew him there, he could just be an innocent visitor, nobody would judge him. The bottom line being that he likes to avoid his past.

Soon we are to be married. He could use this time to go back home and make some additional preparations. Prepare the house, look for nice places for us to go. But he won’t. I’m going to arrive and I don’t even know if anyone will be there to pick me up. Luckily I know there’s Greyhound buses from the airport to where he- “we” live, so I can always go that route.

I know I will be fine. And that’s all I need to be concerned with. If he’s not, that’s his problem. Not mine. Not anymore. I won’t lie for him, or cover for him. I will inform people of what he does, to my knowledge, and fuck ‘being in each others corner’. He’s not even in mine. For the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe.


July 28, 2013

I feel I have a lot to vomit now. This blog comes alive as I sink inside my own pool of confusion.

When my boyfriend relapsed this weekend, a week of very intensive contact preceded it. He was stuck at an airport, and I felt obliged to keep him company through Skype. After all, it was for me, for us, that he was sitting there, sacrificing time and sleep. My self esteem is actually low enough that that made me feel guilty. Looking back now, I’m disgusted by my own lack of character, my weakness. I really am so, so weak.
What I should have done, was to live on. Take my mind off things, relax and enjoy the Summer. Maybe he wouldn’t have relapsed at all then.

This relationship will absolutely destroy me if things stay the same. But there is no way out of it. Some days I think maybe there could be, maybe I could learn to mourn it and survive it being over. Maybe I could meet someone else, someone who wouldn’t endanger me. My essence. Someone who isn’t an alcoholic, who would just love me. Not because of a desperate cling to life, to salvation, not because he sees in me some kind of sign. Just because he likes me, and grows fond of me, and eventually wants to be with me and respect me.
But it is what it is. I did fall insanely in love with him. So now all that’s left for me to do, is work on myself so I don’t die from it.

Sometimes I don’t know if his love for me isn’t an incredibly selfish claim he lays upon me. If it isn’t his own needs who dictated this relationship to ever come to exist. A big part of that probably being my own fault.
I’m much, much too easy. Once I left him, early on, but I don’t think I could ever find that strength back.

My needs are… My needs are for him to be reliable. For him to be dependable and responsible, and constantly too. My needs are small, and often maybe materialistic, but they are necessary for all the rest. It feels like I’m the only one paying attention to reality. My needs are also the ones who are ignored, and I am left helpless to find out how to change that feeling. Because I’m the one who isn’t communicating, I’m the one who lets him determine the mood. I’m the one compromising my own wishes for his sake, because he has to be okay.
But how do I stop doing that? How do I put my foot down and grow independent from his mood? He will suck all the air out of my lungs if he needs it, and I will probably willingly exhale.

He’s an addict, he will always be that way. I have to be the force that resists. But I need a force like that myself, and he will never be that for me. He will randomly, and without notice fail me. He gets to do that.
So maybe I’m expecting too much. He shouldn’t be my rock, my thermometer. He’s just a man.

It’s time to grow up and resist him. Because he will always ask for more, he will always try to grab what he can get, and he will never be able to consider my capacity while doing so.