I really don’t know what the hell will become of me.
I am such a changed creature from the one I thought I was before this.
My discourse about myself prior to this included words and phrases like; strong, capable, loving, passionate, kind, tough, positive, resilient, yes vulnerable, a fantastic friend who would always have your back, compassionate, sensible-yet-fun-loving, empathetic, liberal, sexy, oh-so-sexy, oh-so-up-for-bedroom-adventures, fuck that, ANYWHERE hot, sexual adventures, hard-working, bright, an astute and accurate reader of the human condition, including character.
Yet, my self-discursive head chat now goes something like this, “you were stupid, you believed liars, you are now totally screwed because you can’t get better, STOP talking to yourself this way, you are killing yourself. You will never get better, the nightmares are still appalling, how can I stop them, how can I stop the mind movies, how can I stop my skin crawling at human touch, how will I ever get my sexual mojo back, never mind, it doesn’t matter, you don’t need sex, or even masturbation/orgasms to live…….” and on and on and on……
How the fuck do you shut that bitch up???
I am trying to do less blogging, but of course, you fall in the pits and that is when I find I start itching to vomit it all out here. I had a really weirdly weepy day yesterday. I didn’t actually weep. Only because I was at uni all day. I know I was already a bit vulnerable before the day begun, I will go into that a little soon. Then, in two lectures, I watched film clips that made me weepy, silly things, a young woman struggling with relationships, and packing her days from 6am-11pm with “stuff” activities, work, exercise, volunteering, trying to find meaning in her life after her mother abandoned her at 13 because in court they made her “choose” which parent to live with, and later, a flashback to the assassination in Quebec, of Pierre Laporte, in 1970.
Seriously. WTF Paula!
So, the reason I am down in this oh-so-fucking-familiar pit at present is mostly about some decisions I made recently. Some promises I made myself. Roger – hell, I’m done with the pseudonyms, I have only used them in the body of posts to appease his sensibilities anyway, always replied using his given name – and I talked a while back, and he pretty much told me what I already knew. He feels like what we talk about gives us nothing new anymore, it doesn’t help either one of us. He is probably right. But the purpose it served for me was to avoid falling in the pits. Nevertheless, I decided that if I am leaving him, there is no way he needs to be there, listening to me talk, trying to help solve my pain anymore.
So I promised myself to stop talking to him.
Only problem is, he is my only friend. He has been my only support throughout all of this. Well, that’s not quite true, my dearest old, lifetime friend, J, was fantastically patient for the first year, I leaned on her a lot. But after a year, I knew I needed to lose the crutch. Besides, she had no idea what I was feeling, and going through, she is lovely, but she doesn’t, can’t possibly, understand. She saw us together (has always liked Rog, thought he was the most awesome partner and father, and saw us have such a lot of fun together) and thought, okay, they had a moment, then you forgive and move on. And if this hadn’t happened to me, I would have felt the same looking in through the window. But not talking to him is like torture, the toxins build up in my veins, and I slowly rot.
But that hasn’t happened for me. I feel so fucking trapped by my misery, and I punch it in the face, and the genitals daily, but that MOFO is a tough sonofabitch! The frustration I feel at not kicking this in the arse is immense. I feel unworthy. I feel weak. I feel defeated. And I feel angry that I allow myself these pity parties, holy shit, the world is still orbiting the sun! I have three healthy, happy kids who are achieving, and growing, and pushing their boundaries in safe ways, looking to the world and life’s big adventures ahead. I live in an idyllic location, chooks, vege garden, fruit trees, home killed organic meat. I am grateful, but why is that not enough anymore? Honestly, the sun went out on my life the night Leanne texted me with the details of their (ended) affair. My world imploded. Okay, we all know this, most of you reading here have felt this. But why can’t I get a rebuild? A stronger life from what I have learned? I mean, Christchurch fell over because it was built without much thought about earthquakes. After the big ones hit, they regrouped and the rebuild is thoughtful, cleverly designed, aesthetically beautiful, and yes, to earthquake standards, now they KNOW they sit on some faultlines. Why does my rebuild not stick? What is it in my brain that self-sabotages?
Is the most helpless and pathetic I have ever felt in my life. Take fucking charge. Forge on. I do, but I can’t seem to keep any power up to the engines. I know I am exhausted.
The only thing that keeps me going, that has the last spark of my life glowing, is my studies. And I can’t say I love it. I am still scared every day that the facade of “success” will fall. I push myself to complete assignments, willing myself to throw myself over the finish line. But I am doing well, and if I didn’t have it, I would actually (no exaggeration) lose the will to live.
How pathetic is that?