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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.

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Dreams

July 31, 2013

Later today I remembered another dream from last night. One in which I had somehow gotten married to someone else. My actual partner was away, and it was a similar situation. I had wanted him to be there, but he had somehow fucked up and wasn’t. Some older man, like grey-hair kind of old, and pretty fat too, had been talking to me for a long time. Taken me out to dinner, been really friendly and generous. I remember feeling really trapped and conned, so I think in the dream I kind of got sneaked into marriage without knowing it, really.
There was a moment before going to bed where I was also ‘obliged’ to have sex with him, which I didn’t want at all. I felt terrible, and really defenseless. In real life I would have fought the guy off me with all my might, but in the dream for some reason I felt like I didn’t have that option. My signature was on a yellowed paper saying we were married, and he kept bringing that up.

I called my real boyfriend in my dream, asking him to please help me out of this situation now. It felt unsafe when I woke up, nothing tangible happened in the dream where he tore up the marriage contract or anything. I still had a really uncomfortable feeling, like I wasn’t protected. The dream left me feeling like I wasn’t looked out for.

And then I woke up and looked in the mirror, and remembered that my hair is ruined.

Pool

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.

Liver

July 28, 2013

Apparently we’re having liver for lunch. Generally, I’m extremely well trained to know all calories in foods off the top of my head. I can see a plate, and count the calories up to 50 cal precision. But liver? Liver is a new one.
I couldn’t help but look it up on Google. I had to know. 116 cal for 100 gr. That’s not exaggerated.

This has been a very difficult week for me. For us, as a couple. My partner got drunk on Thursday and failed to get to me because of it, and it felt like a dagger to my heart. He did tell me honestly pretty much immediately though (of course he was AWOL for 10 hours first), and that soothed a lot of my emotions.

Slowly, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I won’t see him for another two weeks. It was tempting to eat, to purge, even to cut. I haven’t wanted to cut myself in over 9 years. I didn’t think that would ever return to me. Him being off the grid was an unbearable situation that made me want to rip the skin off my bones, scratch my belly until I could touch my pelvic bone. I wanted to run into a wall, feel so much physical pain that I would feel nothing. There is something incredibly comforting about bruises and their pain. It’s a dull, deaf pain of a wound inside, under your skin. And it leaves no scars.

I don’t know why I can’t stand it. My attachment to him is one I’ve never had. It’s a relatively safe one, one I can’t function without. In my terms, that’s healthy. His love has never faltered, been lessened or been confusing. It’s always irrevocably there.
When I don’t know where he is, or under what circumstances, it’s very difficult to keep my composure. His cell phone isn’t the most reliable thing either, and he usually turns it off when he’s drinking. I felt more powerless and panicked than I had in a very long time.

I ended up eating ice cream and using cookies for a scoop last night. I hadn’t eaten much yet that day, so it felt okay to indulge. I promised him, and myself, that I wouldn’t purge anymore, so I didn’t. I kept it in, but plotted how I would make up for it.

My breakfast this morning was a huge can of green beans with one spoon of mayonnaise. I couldn’t finish it. Half of it I threw away in the toilet, because I didn’t want my parents to wonder why I was wasting food. Why I can’t just eat like a normal person, with the family. The truth is, I can’t. Not right now. Facing them is worse than standing on a scale, or looking at myself in the mirror.
I had told myself that eating liver seemed safe, but they are downstairs eating right now, and I’m pretending to be resting. I don’t want to sit at a table. I don’t want to eat.

Today I can hopefully stick to fruit and vegetables.