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 15, 2013

My fingers hover over my keyboard as I try to pinpoint what I need to write about. Writing is something that frees me, but it doesn’t always naturally come out. It takes some searching and thinking to get to a point where I know what thread to follow.

A few days ago, my partner and I broke up. Or rather, I broke up with him. The lie had gone too far, the extent of the illusion was too great for my love to peer through. If I hadn’t put a stop to it, it would have put a stop to my very heartbeat. But I am left with a huge hole inside, a gaping wound that hasn’t started bleeding yet.
It’s like when you burn yourself. You pull away before the pain arrives. But you know it’s coming, and that nothing will prevent that. You try to get ready for it, but you never are.

Back in October, I broke up with him the first time. What still feels to me as forcefully, he got me to talk to him again, and twisted himself back into place. By my side. Instead of accepting his wrongs and letting me go through whatever steps necessary, he took what he thought was his rightful spot. Instead of honestly respecting my stance on our relationship, he dug up whatever feelings remained and used them against me. Not for my own good, not to make me happy, but for his own gain. And after that, he had me right where he wanted me. Where he could lie to me again, make himself look good, flatter his shattered ego with my naive adoration.

Now, that is over. I can forgive, and I can move on, but trust is a very slow thing to recover. It’s a fragile thing that has a mind of its own. Likely that is an important lesson for me; I’m too gullible, I cave too easily and I sometimes want things so badly that I actually forgo what my rational mind tells me. My emotions overrule my knowledge, and I shouldn’t let that happen.

The anger has subsided now, and it feels really nice. It’s the first time I’ve been able to relax in weeks. Today, all I have done is watch movies, and sleep. Sleep, sleep, more sleep. I had never realized how tired I was, until I was away from him, from the whole situation, and could start distancing myself from the whole mess that was our relationship. What a mess it was. A disgusting mix of his lies, my anger, his mistakes, my spite and horrific misunderstanding. When the basis of truth falls away, the whole couple becomes a farce. All the energy that should go into loving each other better, goes into saving the crumbling ruins of a dream.
I’ll have to be at home to fully grasp what it is I have lost, and what I have gained. My freedom, carelessness and integrity are gained, but the loss is still unclear. It’s difficult to see what he gave me, when what he took was so vast and fresh. Right now I still mostly feel robbed of some innocent part of me. But maybe that part really did need to be gone.

We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.


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.


February 2, 2013

The plan was to get a maine coon. They are those cats the size of a dog. Their paws are like a toddler’s hand. Their purr sounds like a motorcycle. But I’m poor, so I got a stray cat.

I don’t know how to handle him. Like I mentioned, there is reason to worry about his health, but I don’t know how to handle masculine panic. Because it’s nothing like us women. When I freak out I eat ice cream by the gallon, purge and go shopping for things I don’t need (think baby clothes and sports gear of a sport I don’t exercise). Another thing is that I whine and complain about it all day long, it would be very hard not to pick up on my troubles.
He’s not like that. He prefers talking about anything else. I try to follow his lead on it, whatever helps him is fine by me. I’m not terribly worried either, because nothing’s definitive and it would be pointless to waste my energy on that. Energy I might very well need, once an actual diagnosis comes out. And it could be bad news, realistically.

We’re in the process of watching his favorite movie, which started out as a fun way to pass the time. As the end draws near, I’m getting the impression his thoughts have caught up on him. I feel a bit powerless, but also know it’s not my load. He’s gotten quiet and probably needs some time to himself now.
I’ve been very determined to not force anything, to not steer the conversations in any direction he didn’t want and all that. I’ve even been biting my tongue about meetings, his neighborhood, his days. Leaving him alone and letting him determine the entire weight of the conversations has been my main goal, and it seems to have worked. So long as he has me to be safe with, I think he’ll be okay. It makes me proud of myself that I managed to keep that up.

But the thing is, I’m not sure where to go from there. What do I do tomorrow? What do I do the next time he wants to have a conversation or wants me to talk to him while he falls asleep? ‘Cause I’m bad at a lot of those things, and am unsure how to fix it. It’s making me feel like my improvement with regards to handling him, is a requirement for his overall happiness. I shouldn’t feel that way and maybe I’ve been too accommodating. These last months have basically consisted of me looking inside myself, finding mistakes and working on adjusting them. For his sake, not mine. I might reap some advantage from some of the adjustments, indirectly, but my main motivation was to be a better girlfriend. And I’m not sure that’s a good attitude at all. I’m starting to think I’m piling guilt on his shoulders because he’s aware of that. That’s a remarkable example of circular reasoning.

I’m afraid that if I put my foot down on some things, or remain “me” with my flaws too much, he’ll eventually go away, or he’ll drink himself to death. As much as I tell myself nothing I do can influence his choices about drinking, my heart isn’t in it.
Not that I could ever really eradicate all my flaws to a point where there’d never be anything wrong anymore, but you always try, right?

Some things about him make me angry, or sad. But I haven’t been talking about them, I think I’ve been bottling it up. It was unconsciously though, I didn’t mean to. It just… happened. I told him so many times already, after a while you just don’t want to be the nagging one, you know? He knows what’s important to me by now, reminding him over and over that those needs aren’t being met in some areas just doesn’t seem productive anymore.
Especially now, he’s already pretty beaten up.

I actually feel bad that I started writing this, I wasn’t aware of these thoughts before I did. And now they’re laid out in front of me and I have to face them. And do something mature and constructive with them, too. Why can’t I just be stable and strong. I wish I knew what to do. But I also know that time brings me wisdom and a little calm, and that soon I’ll have a lot of things to worry about that will distract me from all this. Monday I start a new internship, and hopefully that will push all this into a better, more balanced perspective.