i’m back.

Well, I’m back. Not sure what to write or say or do, but here I am.

New goal: lose 40lbs.

Don’t argue with me, I’ve checked a bmi calculator and it is still within the range of healthy weights.

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goal

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sanctus.

Ever had a few verses of a song punch you in the face?

Not this whole song at all, but the following:

“If weakness is a wound

That no one wants to speak of…

I am not immune

I only want to be loved

But I feel safe behind the firewall

Can I lose my need to impress?

If you want the truth, I need to confess

I’m not alright

I’m broken inside, broken inside…

Cause honestly, I’m not that strong

I’m not alright

I’m broken inside, broken inside…

I’m not alright

I’m broken inside, broken inside

broken inside, broken inside…

I’m not alright, I’m not alright, I’m not alright…”

 

I’m not alright.  Fuck that.  Fuck this.  I don’t want to share anymore.  I don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t want to talk.

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stop whining.

There are so many worse things going on in the world right now.  I should stop whining.  Get over this.  Move on.  It was my fault anyway.  I let it happen.  I don’t even have a right to cry about it.

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everyone needs a mom.

I have these times in my life when I really wish my mother would just stand up and be a fucking mom.  But she won’t, she can’t, and I’ve accepted that.  But, where does that leave me when I need a mom?  Everyone needs one, damn’ it.  Don’t try to say you don’t.  Even people who fight with their moms constantly and swear on their lives that they hate them.  They still have a mom of sorts.  And somehow, somewhere in their hearts they know that they are loved.  My mother isn’t even like that.  I wouldn’t mind having one like that, if it meant having one.  Mine is dangerous to be around.  I have to avoid everything about her.  I still love her, but she certainly does not love me.  Not even a little.  And, yes, I do know this.  She has said it repeatedly, she has also proved it on numerous accounts.  So where does that leave me?  Feeling like a lost little girl watching the world whirl by around her.  Have you seen Maslow’s hierarchy of needs?  My pyramid is built with crumbly layers.  Probably the source of my tendency to fall apart.  Probably the source of feeling like I need someone else to help me put it back together.  Maybe everyone does not need a mom.

I’m building a new pyramid.  One that doesn’t involve anyone else.  If I don’t need anyone else, then I can’t be lonely and I can’t get hurt.  It makes sense in my head.

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I am lonely here and I do care.  I need people right now and I ran away from them.

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little truths.

Instead of waking up every day and being thankful I’m alive, I wake up and wish he would have shot me.  Then I wouldn’t have to live with this kind of shame.  The shame of letting it happen.  It’s weird how when you think you’re dying all you want to do is live and then when your life is spared sometimes all you want to do is cease to exist.  

[side note:  I am not going to kill myself so stop wondering.  Plus if you know me, I just got a really cool fucking job and some other stuff is going really well so why would I?]

Drinking simultaneously makes me feel better and makes me feel horrible.  At least it lets me cry.

I had a short relapse of caring that the only time I actually talk to other human beings is at my counselor, in my Watercolor class, and when it is absolutely necessary.  It’s over.  I’m wondering if my vocal chords will dry up from underuse.  I’m not sure I would care.

I’ve stopped sleeping entirely outside of two naps a day.  I look like hell.

I’m homesick for a place that I can never go back to.  I felt so safe there, but apparently it was not the kind of safe I expected from it.

I’m so badly broken right now, I don’t have a choice but to invent something new with the pieces that are left.  I also don’t have any glue and I’m out of both fucking nails and screws.  Fuck it, I’ll just leave the pieces scattered everywhere and call it installation art.  I trip over a piece of myself every so often, cut my foot on a shard, then I kick it away and continue to wander around lost and empty.  I don’t really care enough right now to sort through the pieces, pick out the good ones and do something with them.  Perhaps due to the strange apathy I have toward my existence in general.  I won’t do anything to influence it either way, I just don’t care that much.

I’m letting this eat away at me.  It’s like acid.  And I don’t care.  I don’t have the energy to do anything about it.  I’m just quietly waiting for it to bubble my skin away and expose my heart.  Maybe then people will be able to see it and I won’t feel like I’m hiding myself.  But, I don’t really even have a self to hide.  It’s like I don’t exist while I still do.

EMDR.  I’m trying it as a last resort.  Reprocess the memories.  They won’t be so disruptive to my life.  But, even without disruptive memories… am I going to have a life?  What is a life?  Not this.  Not waking up every day ungrateful I’m alive, not waking up and wishing he would have shot me.

Tell me one good reason why this is not my fault.  One good reason why I couldn’t scream.  Why I couldn’t shove him off the bed.  I can’t find one and I’m not so sure there is one.  How the hell am I supposed to forgive myself and be able to move on when I can’t find one damn’ piece of logic that tells me this was not my fault?

Fuck you Faceless Man.  Fuck you for showing me these little truths.  Fuck you.  Fuck me for letting them be true.

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