Now that the latest crying jag has subsided, I can write.
I spent the vast majority of the last two days crying. Then I got a hold of some friends and spent the evening and night with Rockabilly and C, so that I wouldn't be stuck in my head. It worked- partially. I had a mental image I know to be a memory, with a name attached but no face, and a general idea of where I was living (and, thus, what age I would have been) when whatever it was happened... I'm not even sure if anything DID happen, I just remember this one image, and I can't figure out why it's coming up now.
Today, I get a text message from Mr. Wonderful Mexico today asking to meet me- I got completely blown off by him yesterday and most of the day before, and didn't know why, but I was struggling with loneliness something fierce so I hung out with other friends. I sure didn't expect to hear from him today asking to meet up. So I met with him- and he called it quits. Let me explain- I have hung out with him three or four times, talked to him quite a bit, feel very safe with him, and like him an awful damn lot, and today he tells me I'm too young (the same age as his ex-gf, 14 years younger than him) and that I'm wonderful and beautiful and could have any man I want- except, apparently not.
I can't explain why this hurts as much as it does. I haven't been seriously invested in this relationship, well, it's not even a relationship... But I cried like I haven't over any relationship that immediately.... I said I had no place to try to change his mind, but it sure sounded like that's what I was doing anyway.
I don't understand why this hurts. He still wants to be friends- which is, technically, all we really were anyhow- but it feels like a major betrayal, and I cannot comprehend why it hurts so damned much.
I'm tired of crying, but I'm more tired of being alone than anything else in the world.
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Monday, December 17, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Like A Scared Rabbit
I just want to run and never come back.
I want to give away, sell or leave every single thing I own, pack up my Jeep, and go.
I don't know where. I don't have a home, I don't have family, I don't have anything or anyone.
I just don't want to be sitting in this house, in this miserable town, feeling like I'm just waiting on an inevitable death anymore.
No matter how hard I work to stay out late, keep myself around people, stay busy, stay distracted, I always end up coming back to this house, alone, quiet, submerged completely in the misery in my mind... I don't want to do it anymore, and running seems better than going back to the 'just give it up and die already' mentality.
Maybe it isn't.
But maybe it is.
I want to run to that little house in Louisiana where I had a good time, felt safe, even though I could never forgive the man that lived there for what he's done since. I want to find a small house in the country or a small, small town, and move in- somewhere they don't know me, where I won't run into any exes, or wonder if an ex will show up to rescue me from the pain, or if anyone even wants me there.
No, let's be honest, I want a damn Norah Roberts novel- the girl from out of town that moves into a small, pretty town with the intent of making a fresh start after a severely broken heart, and winds up meeting the man of her dreams and falling in love and happily ever after.
This place will never be home.
I would rather live out of my Jeep than continue to live here.
I want to give away, sell or leave every single thing I own, pack up my Jeep, and go.
I don't know where. I don't have a home, I don't have family, I don't have anything or anyone.
I just don't want to be sitting in this house, in this miserable town, feeling like I'm just waiting on an inevitable death anymore.
No matter how hard I work to stay out late, keep myself around people, stay busy, stay distracted, I always end up coming back to this house, alone, quiet, submerged completely in the misery in my mind... I don't want to do it anymore, and running seems better than going back to the 'just give it up and die already' mentality.
Maybe it isn't.
But maybe it is.
I want to run to that little house in Louisiana where I had a good time, felt safe, even though I could never forgive the man that lived there for what he's done since. I want to find a small house in the country or a small, small town, and move in- somewhere they don't know me, where I won't run into any exes, or wonder if an ex will show up to rescue me from the pain, or if anyone even wants me there.
No, let's be honest, I want a damn Norah Roberts novel- the girl from out of town that moves into a small, pretty town with the intent of making a fresh start after a severely broken heart, and winds up meeting the man of her dreams and falling in love and happily ever after.
This place will never be home.
I would rather live out of my Jeep than continue to live here.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Today's Leap
Today's video about living with and (hopefully) surviving CPTSD.... and the med board process.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Love, Family, Relationships..... And Me.
In case you missed that, I didn't grow up in anything resembling a healthy nuclear family.
Abuse, manipulation and lies were pretty much the standard set, although, somehow, neither my sister nor I seemed to pick up the "family values" set down for us by our mother.
So, at nearly twenty-seven years old, I'm learning how to be part of a long-term relationship, part of a family, and to actually really, truly love people, flaws and all, for the very first time.
Nobody ever could have put into words how hard this would be.
Television makes it look so EASY to fall in love- sure there's always the stupid outsider who tries to break them up, but other than that, they KNOW they're meant for each other, and don't ever get truly tempted to just give up because they're TIRED of trying. That's all that seems to happen in real life. Once, I believed that any relationship could work if both people wanted it enough. Now, well, I have a much, much harder time ever wanting it enough to go through half of what I've been put through... not to mention the hurdles I've actually had some part in.
And now, there's C. One of my oldest friends, someone I've been madly in love with for years, who hasn't shown me anything that made me think I stood a snowball's chance in hell, and now we're together-ish, I guess??? Oh yeah, and I'm moving eight hours away from the life I've been building to be with him- granted, a lot of what I've been working on is transferable, but, seriously, that's a LOT of risk on my part. Which, at the moment, I would say he doesn't understand in the slightest.
NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST!
I know I'll feel differently later, once I calm down and he pulls his juevos out of his throat to explain whatever it is going on in that twisted little brain of his, but right now, I'm MAD. PISSED!! I didn't get a response from him most of the day (which I did a damn good job of sucking up and dealing with, considering all those insecure little bitches playing ring-around-the-sanity so consistently) and then he's out at the bar with friends, which doesn't really bother me, but he has little to no interest in actually talking to me, but says I have his full attention, then tries to talk me down off of any topic of real importance.
WTF, DUDE?!
I open myself up, after five years of being convinced YOU didn't think I was good enough (okay, so that's basic Freudian projection, what the F ever, I didn't know that THEN, JERK!) and laid it all out on the table and- voila!- you suddenly- FINALLY!- said you felt the same- and, no less, HAD ALL ALONG?! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!
Now, though, I'm just supposed to suck it up and accept all of this as natural and normal and not-questionable-or-scary-at-all and completely ignore the LAST FIVE AND A HALF YEARS OF SHIT?! WHAT PLANET ARE YOU LIVING ON?!
So, here's Miss Zia learning to actually believe people aren't ALL waiting to walk away and/or use her, and she's just supposed to have an easy time with all of this? Leave. The Crack Pipe. ALONE!
C is coming to visit this weekend. At one point, I was mad enough- albeit not entirely logically mad- that I considered telling him not to bother. And part of me wants to, just so MAYBE this boy will get a CLUE about what the hell he is asking me to DO here!!!!!!!!!! But I'll regret it if he doesn't fight me on it. And I hate the fact that I get why he can ignore my emotional moments- sometimes, that's just part of dealing with my crazy messy emotions. Ignore them. BUT NOT ALLLLLLLL OF THEM, JERKWAD.
Seriously? Some might be based on nothing but hormones and bad f'ing juju, but SOME OF THEM ARE STILL VALID AND NEED TO BE ADDRESSED.
OF COURSE I want/need to talk about this crap with the man I'm planning- not just considering, PLANNING- to move across f'ing Texas to be with, but Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!! He's got to be too stubborn to want to talk about this crap with me.
Whatever.
Jerk.
Abuse, manipulation and lies were pretty much the standard set, although, somehow, neither my sister nor I seemed to pick up the "family values" set down for us by our mother.
So, at nearly twenty-seven years old, I'm learning how to be part of a long-term relationship, part of a family, and to actually really, truly love people, flaws and all, for the very first time.
Nobody ever could have put into words how hard this would be.
Television makes it look so EASY to fall in love- sure there's always the stupid outsider who tries to break them up, but other than that, they KNOW they're meant for each other, and don't ever get truly tempted to just give up because they're TIRED of trying. That's all that seems to happen in real life. Once, I believed that any relationship could work if both people wanted it enough. Now, well, I have a much, much harder time ever wanting it enough to go through half of what I've been put through... not to mention the hurdles I've actually had some part in.
And now, there's C. One of my oldest friends, someone I've been madly in love with for years, who hasn't shown me anything that made me think I stood a snowball's chance in hell, and now we're together-ish, I guess??? Oh yeah, and I'm moving eight hours away from the life I've been building to be with him- granted, a lot of what I've been working on is transferable, but, seriously, that's a LOT of risk on my part. Which, at the moment, I would say he doesn't understand in the slightest.
NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST!
I know I'll feel differently later, once I calm down and he pulls his juevos out of his throat to explain whatever it is going on in that twisted little brain of his, but right now, I'm MAD. PISSED!! I didn't get a response from him most of the day (which I did a damn good job of sucking up and dealing with, considering all those insecure little bitches playing ring-around-the-sanity so consistently) and then he's out at the bar with friends, which doesn't really bother me, but he has little to no interest in actually talking to me, but says I have his full attention, then tries to talk me down off of any topic of real importance.
WTF, DUDE?!
I open myself up, after five years of being convinced YOU didn't think I was good enough (okay, so that's basic Freudian projection, what the F ever, I didn't know that THEN, JERK!) and laid it all out on the table and- voila!- you suddenly- FINALLY!- said you felt the same- and, no less, HAD ALL ALONG?! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!
Now, though, I'm just supposed to suck it up and accept all of this as natural and normal and not-questionable-or-scary-at-all and completely ignore the LAST FIVE AND A HALF YEARS OF SHIT?! WHAT PLANET ARE YOU LIVING ON?!
So, here's Miss Zia learning to actually believe people aren't ALL waiting to walk away and/or use her, and she's just supposed to have an easy time with all of this? Leave. The Crack Pipe. ALONE!
C is coming to visit this weekend. At one point, I was mad enough- albeit not entirely logically mad- that I considered telling him not to bother. And part of me wants to, just so MAYBE this boy will get a CLUE about what the hell he is asking me to DO here!!!!!!!!!! But I'll regret it if he doesn't fight me on it. And I hate the fact that I get why he can ignore my emotional moments- sometimes, that's just part of dealing with my crazy messy emotions. Ignore them. BUT NOT ALLLLLLLL OF THEM, JERKWAD.
Seriously? Some might be based on nothing but hormones and bad f'ing juju, but SOME OF THEM ARE STILL VALID AND NEED TO BE ADDRESSED.
OF COURSE I want/need to talk about this crap with the man I'm planning- not just considering, PLANNING- to move across f'ing Texas to be with, but Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!! He's got to be too stubborn to want to talk about this crap with me.
Whatever.
Jerk.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Dysfunction
Considering changing the name of my blog to "Another Dysfunctional Not-As-White-As-You'd-Think Girl".
Or something.
My Facebook status is currently set to "Don't worry. It's not MY blood." (Thank you, Bloggess, for giving me phrases like this to replace my usual sour snark with. It is very much appreciated. At least by me.)
Because it's Sunday night, the man I love dearly is passed the F out, an eight hour drive away and all my insecure little girl voices are running laps in my head shouting out random possibilities to see which one can freak me out and make me give up on sleeping.
EVER.
I've had not one but TWO exes try to guilt-trip me into going back with them this weekend, and, surprisingly, neither were of the variety I was ever married to.
My service dog is curled up behind me on the couch, my tattoo artist/friend is dealing with his baby mama, my photographer/former co-worker/friend is having a bad night of his own, my best girl friend is working (and roughly five months pregnant), and my cat is laying at my feet sleeping better because I'm not sleeping at all.
Bastard.
I've already taken one dose of my valerian root-passion flower extract/supplement combo which has managed to get me to the point of at least picturing getting all stabby on those insecure little bitches in my head, but not enough so that I've managed to shut them the F up.
I once joked (half joked) that I'm going to re-name Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder "Post-Tremendous Shit Disorder" because it just seems to get the point across to the ignorant fucks in my daily life much more quickly. Rape, child abuse, abusive relationships, etc., etc., et-f'ing-cetera have taken their toll, I had no say in it, and I would have preferred combat to living in this day-to-day crap unsuccessfully. Life-or-death I can handle. Your garden variety stupidity, stress and ignorance, not so much. I don't really give a F if my bills are paid on time, because I know from experience that I can live without electricity, without gas, without whatever- to include a roof over my head. I tend to prefer not to, so I pay my bills. That doesn't mean the idiot telling me I'm screwing up my entire life because I "don't want to get better" and live the life he's chosen for himself is worth the oxygen he is currently stealing from people who would be a much better use of it.
So, yes, I'm getting all freaking stabby tonight, because I know the brand of stupidity I will be forced to deal with tomorrow all too well, and it doesn't seem to be getting any easier.
And no, I'm not sure if the anger issues are part of my personality or the Post-Tremendous Shit Disorder. I can't separate the two anymore. Thank you for asking- NOW LEARN TO USE YOUR F'ING BLINKER, DICK WEED!!!
Or something.
My Facebook status is currently set to "Don't worry. It's not MY blood." (Thank you, Bloggess, for giving me phrases like this to replace my usual sour snark with. It is very much appreciated. At least by me.)
Because it's Sunday night, the man I love dearly is passed the F out, an eight hour drive away and all my insecure little girl voices are running laps in my head shouting out random possibilities to see which one can freak me out and make me give up on sleeping.
EVER.
I've had not one but TWO exes try to guilt-trip me into going back with them this weekend, and, surprisingly, neither were of the variety I was ever married to.
My service dog is curled up behind me on the couch, my tattoo artist/friend is dealing with his baby mama, my photographer/former co-worker/friend is having a bad night of his own, my best girl friend is working (and roughly five months pregnant), and my cat is laying at my feet sleeping better because I'm not sleeping at all.
Bastard.
I've already taken one dose of my valerian root-passion flower extract/supplement combo which has managed to get me to the point of at least picturing getting all stabby on those insecure little bitches in my head, but not enough so that I've managed to shut them the F up.
I once joked (half joked) that I'm going to re-name Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder "Post-Tremendous Shit Disorder" because it just seems to get the point across to the ignorant fucks in my daily life much more quickly. Rape, child abuse, abusive relationships, etc., etc., et-f'ing-cetera have taken their toll, I had no say in it, and I would have preferred combat to living in this day-to-day crap unsuccessfully. Life-or-death I can handle. Your garden variety stupidity, stress and ignorance, not so much. I don't really give a F if my bills are paid on time, because I know from experience that I can live without electricity, without gas, without whatever- to include a roof over my head. I tend to prefer not to, so I pay my bills. That doesn't mean the idiot telling me I'm screwing up my entire life because I "don't want to get better" and live the life he's chosen for himself is worth the oxygen he is currently stealing from people who would be a much better use of it.
So, yes, I'm getting all freaking stabby tonight, because I know the brand of stupidity I will be forced to deal with tomorrow all too well, and it doesn't seem to be getting any easier.
And no, I'm not sure if the anger issues are part of my personality or the Post-Tremendous Shit Disorder. I can't separate the two anymore. Thank you for asking- NOW LEARN TO USE YOUR F'ING BLINKER, DICK WEED!!!
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