Sigh. I guess you can say that I’ve been avoiding coming back to my blog. This is the number one place that I have to face what’s happening, recalling each event clearly as I write it down. Face what I’ve become.
I’m going to skip the long recap of my 5 week hiatus. Let’s just say that by the end, I was losing my fucking mind. When I came back to Atlanta, I was temporarily relieved. From the second we touched down, I felt like I had my life back. This was my city; hell, this was my half of the country far as I was concerned. My mother was mearly a guest in my domain. Short-lived too since after we picked up Ryan she checked into a hotel, and two days later, was back on a plane flying home. Finally, for the first time in three months, I was free. Well… not quite.
Having Ryan back was nice for about two days. After that, it became quickly clear how much I’d changed since he’d been in Georgia. I ignored and denied it with all my might. I tried and tried. I secretly knew that he never really knew me to begin with. He knew and fell in love with the person I let him see. The girl hidden by the pot’s softening effects. The girl who was happy on the outside and dying on the the inside. Maybe I’m too hard on myself but I can’t help thinking that it must have been like that since I am the way I am now. God, I’ve even lost myself now… I can’t even fucking write anymore.
Why don’t I just jump in? I don’t know how it started, when, why, blah blah blah. Pointless questions anyways. I’m dying. That’s all that matters. I think of my sleeping pills often. When will I get the nerve to just end this shit and be done. I’m stuck in a job that makes me miserable, but too tired and lazy to change it. I still don’t know what I want to do career-wise. I recently reviewed my college transcript and realized how much money I spent on pointless classes that won’t count to any degree even if I did go back to school. It seriously made me want to cry. I have no future. I look at Ryan with both love and distain. Am I happy that I’m to be married in less than two months? Meh is more like it. I don’t think he’ll get a job. I’ll be stuck carrying the financial burden like I always am. He drives me up the wall. Little things. Here’s what’s retarded: each time I get angry, I can think of the opposite and remember getting angry about that too. For example: Ryan cleans up the apartment. I come home and start bitching that I can’t find anything. But if he didn’t clean it, I know I’d be bitching that the place is a mess. He washes my clothes and I scream at him for touching my clothes. He doesn’t and I scream at him for not doing the laundry. He tells me I’m beautiful, I cry because he’s not being honest about my weight. He encourages me to lose weight, I cry because he’s telling me I’m ugly. It goes on and on. I hate myself even more every day because I know I’m being unfair but I feel powerless. Everything upsets me. Everything pisses me off. Everything makes me cry. When I’m happy, I look at him with glee knowing that I’ve secured a good man who makes me smile and takes very good care of me. When I’m depressed, I look at him with disgust wondering how I could’ve sunk so low. And I treat him accordingly. Ryan didn’t do anything wrong but in my world, he is both the hero and the villian. I’m haunted by my past. I think about David far too often considering it’s been over a year and a half since our breakup and I’m about to marry another man. I battle intense drug cravings on a damn-near daily basis, and suffer knowing that they are all mental, not physical. I’m back to cutting my arms regularly and what’s worse is that Ryan knows and I almost show them off to him. Like, look at what I’ve done. Look how much I hurt. Look at how powerless you are. Look at how much you’ve failed me. The first time, he suspected but didn’t say anything. When I told him what I’d done, I started crying asking why he didn’t try and find the razor. A few days later, he did and took it. I freaked. I started screaming at him and threatened to hurt him if he didn’t give back. He did. After that, I didn’t even bother wearing sleeves afterward. Far as I was concerned, it was my apartment and he was a guest. As such, I was not going to act any different. He knows when I fast. He knows when I binge. He knows when I purge. He knows when I do everything and more importantly, that he is powerless to stop me. As far as my eating habits, he’s actually encouraging. I’m breaking inside. I’m close to relapsing on drugs. I ponder suicide daily. And I’m becoming more and more depressed as I go on. I don’t see a happy life in my future.
When Ryan and I were arguing (if you can even call a one-sided fight an “argument”) one evening, he asked me, “Why aren’t you happy like you used to be? I just want you to smile again.” I just looked at him blankly and said that I was broken. I would never be the same. One night, I told Ryan that I was going to kill myself eventually. I asked him to bury my lifelong teddy bear with me so I don’t get lonely. He started to cry and held me, pleaded me to stay.
Why aren’t you happy? I don’t know. I don’t know what happened or what changed. I just know that this feeling is so familiar. And it’s been there, sometimes buried, sometimes exposed, my entire life. I’ve given myself twenty-one years to grow up, out of this misery. I’ve moved out on my own, fell in love, gotten a good job, used drugs, been to hospitals, seen doctors, been diagnosed, travelled the world, written and written and written about it… things have only gotten worse. I’m tired. This is not just about ending the pain. This is about the fact that I’m too fucking tired to continue on. I see no hope for things to improve.
Just Me - Raw & Uncensored 