I had one this morning. I’m in the middle of one now.
I sat in my dining room on the floor for nearly two hours crying my heart and soul out. Saying all the things to my dog that I can’t say to the world. I talked about my fear, my resentment, anger, pain, cursing the universe for making me suffer so much.
I came clean. I confessed.
To my house, my dog and myself. To the universe. I cried, but I didn’t beg today. I didn’t ask for forgiveness, I didn’t cry because I was sad about my life, I cried because I had all this pain I’ve been holding inside for so many ears that I’ve never talked about out loud, that I’ve never let go of. It did not – as anyone else might have you believe – feel good. It felt like shit. It hurt and it was sad and pathetic and cathartic and I needed it.
There are a lot of things I cannot put into the world yet, a lot of things I cannot write about because I am afraid. Because I am still dealing with them, and yet sitting in my dining room smoking like a chimney and speaking out loud the things I am afraid to tell other people was oddly helpful.
I realized I feel guilty for things I have no right, no reason to feel guilty for. A lot of it has to do with friends who have died – nearly all of whom took their own lives.
Last night I was going through old messages and one in particular that caught my eye. A Girl I used to know called me a poser and was mad because she “almost went to jail defending my ass.” The thing is. I never asked her to start a fight for me – I never asked her to defend me. She was angry because I had written about a mutual friend. She somehow got it into her head I didn’t even know our friend who passed away from Cancer shortly after giving birth.
I was angry, and I was hurt – until I realized that we all process grief in our own ways. I did know our mutual friend – I had memories with this person, and I miss her. I miss the fact that I missed out on her life. That I wasn’t there for here when she needed me the most – when she needed all the love in the world I walked away because I was too afraid to watch her die.
Much like when Jaymack died – I was afraid of his intensity, I for a very long time blamed myself for his death and I will probably continue to do so for awhile. I blame myself for not being there for him before he died. I too many times have walked away from good people because I couldn’t have them in my life for one reason or another, only to find out later that they’ve passed on.
We’ve all done this. Something about someone doesn’t feel right, or we get busy with our own lives, we walk away from people for thousands of reasons and regret it later.
I had a break down today about all the people whom I loved or whom loved me that I walked away from for one reason or another, feeling guilty for being a bad friend.
In many of those cases I was a bad friend and I will remember that for the rest of my life trying harder and harder to be better in the future.
The reason I can be so kind online is because when it comes to my online “family” I don’t have to get overly connected. I don’t have to hold people’s secrets or feelings or let them into my world. I can hold people at bay without really ever letting them in.
One day I will – maybe – but I’m just not ready today. I’m not ready to date and have a boyfriend or be in close relationships with people. I have too much healing to do and right now I can’t focus on real life connections and relationships because it will diminish what I’m trying to do to better myself.
When you put all your energy into helping other people all the time you lose yourself, you become addicted to the fact that you are capable of helping other people and when it’s all you know this becomes doubly so.
I’m looking out the window watching a man walk down the street as I write this realizing that I’m 33 years old. Like Rory Gilmore my life didn’t take the path that I thought it was going to. I’m sure as fuck not where I thought I would be.
I thought by thirty I’d be married and have or in the midst of having children and raising a family. Turns out the Universe has other plans – that’s okay I guess. I feel lost though, like I’m waiting for some magical sign or opportunity to start my life.
I feel like I’ve failed somehow – and I feel like I am supposed to take a serious long hard look at the world I was raised in, the worlds I chose to be a part of in order to find the spot that it all changed. That I went from being someone who loved learning, loved books and religious history to someone who was so damaged that she has to sit in her dining room crying for three hours.
That’s what I did today. I told my entire life story to my empty house out loud trying to figure out what point in time everything went off the rails.
Was it when I was five and sexually assaulted for the first time by a thirteen year old boy? A memory I only just recently recovered by the way. Was it when I was sixteen and looked into the eyes of the man who would become my rapist?
I don’t know. I probably never will know what moment in time the Universe or Angels or the God’s above decided that “this” moment was the moment that I was going to become broken and insecure and self indulgent and needy. I don’t know that it matters. It isn’t like I can change that right? I can’t go back in time and change the past.
I don’t know why I’m holding onto it so hard. I don’t know why I can’t just step back and look at my memories logically like Spock and let go – forgive and move on. I don’t have an answer because I’m not a shrink or a therapist. All I know is that bad shit happened and today I’m a little less okay than I will be tomorrow and a little better today than I was yesterday.
All this being said, if anyone has any idea of how the fuck to deal with a mix of bipolar emotions, survivors guilt and self victim shaming I’d really appriciate it.
I called myself a whore today. Not because I’m a whore but because when I look at the fact that every man I’ve been with has abused me in one way or another – even the ones I chose to be with (except for one) I feel ashamed.
I feel ashamed that after all my years of experience I let myself be abused even after I turned thirty – even when I knew the signs to look for. Even when I was on Radio free Voice talking about being a survivor I was lying to myself and to my former readers by saying I was a survivor because in reality I was still being abused.
Is this normal? Has anyone else experienced this? I don’t mean these emotions but the behaviors of going from one abusive relationship to another. Am I insane? Should I have myself committed?
I don’t know.
What I do know is I’m going to do some serious thinking about my life and my future and try to figure out not how things went so fucking wrong, but what I can do to make my life better.
I’ve always believed that we need to live as if the world is as it should be to show it what it can be (Joss Whedon rears his head one more fucking time.) but I gotta tell you I just don’t feel it today.
I may not be in the mood to die today, but I’m not entirely sure I feel like living either
I just…don’t have the fucking answers.
There’s another man outside my window. He’s pushing a cart filled to the rim and above with God only knows what. It’s cold and rainy outside and I know I should be grateful I’m warm and inside safe and protected for the moment from all things bad and ugly and dark, but that’s a (ha ha) cold comfort. Life ain’t really all that bad, but…it can get better…right?