If you told me six months ago that I'd be moving out, I would have told you that you are a liar. If you would have told me that my parents would hate my boyfriend and force me to choose, I would have told you that you didn't understand the kind of connection my family has. It's a good thing no one warned me; this would have been even more frustrating than it already is.
I don't know where I am, right now. All of this feels alien to me, a new world. Parental distrust and disagreement is not something I ever dealt with growing up. If they had an issue, I would bend over backward to make it better and redeem myself in their eyes. This is the first situation, I do believe, in which I have not given up everything at the drop of a hat for them. They told me that they didn't approve of my relationship, I basically told them "Tough cookies." In a much kinder more eloquent way, I assure you, but tough cookies nonetheless. The more I think about the situation, the more I can see how they say I've changed.
I'm a stronger person, much to their befuddlement. I am not afraid to tell them that I'm making my own choices. "I understand how you feel, but..." type of a thing. Yes, I do suppose I've made some bad ones (read: making myself sick at the hospital). However, I also feel I've learned from them. I know better now how to handle myself without guidance from my parents. I also can disagree with them without even the slightest blush on my face. I'm unashamed that my opinions differ, where before I would spout my opinion as the same whether they approved or not. I am certain that, between me not being at home and being more secure in my own opinions, beliefs, and feelings while I am home, they do see a change in me. Perhaps it is a change they don't like. I feel better as a person for it, though. I feel happier in general.
This is not to say that I don't need my parents, or my family. I love them, and I can't imagine living without them, if only because I never have. I want them to be a part of the new chapter of my life. I want to be able to talk to them. But, at the same time, I can't stay here. I can't be told how to live my life.
Is it wrong of me to feel like a spoiled child for all of this? I'm so confused, I keep going back and forth. I think the biggest thing is that I'm terrified of failure. I'm terrified that I'll have to move back home. I'm scared that, when he dumps me, I won't be able to handle it and I'll have to admit that I wasn't as prepared as I thought I was. I feel prepared for it, but what if?
I'm just so confused.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Salt
It's been four months since Mr. Sick and I got together. Four months and five days, and I'm not sure that we'll be together much longer, and it is all my fault. Yet, I'm not sure I'm as hurt by this as I should be. Is it that I'm certain he'll be there when I get back?
Yesterday I had plans to take my brothers out to a movie with Brian and to get Father's Day cards. We never made it to the movie. My car broke down out front of the card store. My parents didn't answer the phone when I called, but Brian did. He came and waited with me for the tow truck, and drove me home afterward. My entire family met him. Hallelujah, right? However, they severely disliked him. Regardless, they were polite while we were there.
I ended up going to his house and staying the night so he could take me to work in the morning. My father fixed my car (as it turned out, it was merely a lack of oil), but I stayed at Brian's house anyway. I spent the majority of the evening at his apartment alone, studying and playing WoW. Then we stayed up late together after he got home.
This morning I awoke with a dizzy spell. It was bad enough that I could hardly stand without swaying on my feet and falling over. So, I called in sick. I told Brenda that I'd be in at noon, if she wanted, and I thought she told me not to worry about it; that she would call Sheree and there wouldn't be a problem. I was wrong. Even so, I shut off my phone and spent the day relaxing. We had a great time. When I turned my phone on at three-thirty, though, I had two voicemails and two text messages. One was from Brenda at work asking where I was. The other was from my mother. She bit off the words "Get home. Now." I texted her, and then called.
She picked up the phone with screams of "Where are you?" and "Are you aware of how many people you have freaked out today?" Understandable, of course, with my complete lack of contact. The store had called my house phone and, of course, this happens to be the time my mother answers. She said that all the ladies at work were freaking out, and that my parents had been to every hospital in the city worrying that I had been in an accident or something. She demanded Brian's phone number and address, telling me that she was going to come get me. I was hoping that, by denying her this, I was helping the situation. Maybe Brian wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. Yeah, not quite.
Brian pulled up in front of my house and my mother was out the door, flinging herself down the hill in front of our house with a cigarette in hand, hair flying, and pure hatred in her eyes. She opened the door and yanked me out of the car with a shriek, bending over and squalling at Brian in her frustration and fear, demanding to know if he was prepared to care for me, if he was going to marry me. He told her yes, if he needed to care for me he could and, if things continued to go well, he would marry me. I could do nothing but stand behind her and stare mutely at my feet as she called him sick and told him that he already had a chance to live his young life and I hadn't had that chance.
She finally slammed the car door and told me to get in the house. I called back that it wasn't his fault, and she snapped at me to stop defending him. Once inside, she screamed at me about how scared she was (rightfully so) and how horrible Brian is. She told me he'd get bored with me, that he'd leave and be fine. Once he's done with school, she said, he's going to either run off with someone else or be ready to settle down. She said she was worried I'd give up my life for him. I can understand that, as well, I suppose. Both of my parents lectured me on how horrible a person he is, and continued to tell me I was ruining my life and that the relationship was sick. They told me that they hated him, and that I was just rationalizing when I explained my reasoning. They said that I'd lost track of what I wanted in life, and blamed Brian. The issues they keep bringing up, though, were before Brian. They just had no name for them, and they refuse to blame me.
At first they forbade me from seeing him, my mother crying out that I had to make my choice; either leave him or leave home. My father began, and my mother agreed, that I should "at least" take a break. Two weeks, they've said, with no contact with him, during which time I am to seriously consider what it is I want from life. I've conceded this point, and conceded that he will not stay. I am not completely stupid after all, and I know I'm not worth much to most. Even so, should Brian decide he doesn't want me by the end of the two weeks I will leave it alone. But if he still wants me, and they still have an issue, away I go. I have places to go, and it's not just about Brian. It's about freedom.
So why do I feel like such a moron? Like such an angsty and unreasonable teenager?
Yesterday I had plans to take my brothers out to a movie with Brian and to get Father's Day cards. We never made it to the movie. My car broke down out front of the card store. My parents didn't answer the phone when I called, but Brian did. He came and waited with me for the tow truck, and drove me home afterward. My entire family met him. Hallelujah, right? However, they severely disliked him. Regardless, they were polite while we were there.
I ended up going to his house and staying the night so he could take me to work in the morning. My father fixed my car (as it turned out, it was merely a lack of oil), but I stayed at Brian's house anyway. I spent the majority of the evening at his apartment alone, studying and playing WoW. Then we stayed up late together after he got home.
This morning I awoke with a dizzy spell. It was bad enough that I could hardly stand without swaying on my feet and falling over. So, I called in sick. I told Brenda that I'd be in at noon, if she wanted, and I thought she told me not to worry about it; that she would call Sheree and there wouldn't be a problem. I was wrong. Even so, I shut off my phone and spent the day relaxing. We had a great time. When I turned my phone on at three-thirty, though, I had two voicemails and two text messages. One was from Brenda at work asking where I was. The other was from my mother. She bit off the words "Get home. Now." I texted her, and then called.
She picked up the phone with screams of "Where are you?" and "Are you aware of how many people you have freaked out today?" Understandable, of course, with my complete lack of contact. The store had called my house phone and, of course, this happens to be the time my mother answers. She said that all the ladies at work were freaking out, and that my parents had been to every hospital in the city worrying that I had been in an accident or something. She demanded Brian's phone number and address, telling me that she was going to come get me. I was hoping that, by denying her this, I was helping the situation. Maybe Brian wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. Yeah, not quite.
Brian pulled up in front of my house and my mother was out the door, flinging herself down the hill in front of our house with a cigarette in hand, hair flying, and pure hatred in her eyes. She opened the door and yanked me out of the car with a shriek, bending over and squalling at Brian in her frustration and fear, demanding to know if he was prepared to care for me, if he was going to marry me. He told her yes, if he needed to care for me he could and, if things continued to go well, he would marry me. I could do nothing but stand behind her and stare mutely at my feet as she called him sick and told him that he already had a chance to live his young life and I hadn't had that chance.
She finally slammed the car door and told me to get in the house. I called back that it wasn't his fault, and she snapped at me to stop defending him. Once inside, she screamed at me about how scared she was (rightfully so) and how horrible Brian is. She told me he'd get bored with me, that he'd leave and be fine. Once he's done with school, she said, he's going to either run off with someone else or be ready to settle down. She said she was worried I'd give up my life for him. I can understand that, as well, I suppose. Both of my parents lectured me on how horrible a person he is, and continued to tell me I was ruining my life and that the relationship was sick. They told me that they hated him, and that I was just rationalizing when I explained my reasoning. They said that I'd lost track of what I wanted in life, and blamed Brian. The issues they keep bringing up, though, were before Brian. They just had no name for them, and they refuse to blame me.
At first they forbade me from seeing him, my mother crying out that I had to make my choice; either leave him or leave home. My father began, and my mother agreed, that I should "at least" take a break. Two weeks, they've said, with no contact with him, during which time I am to seriously consider what it is I want from life. I've conceded this point, and conceded that he will not stay. I am not completely stupid after all, and I know I'm not worth much to most. Even so, should Brian decide he doesn't want me by the end of the two weeks I will leave it alone. But if he still wants me, and they still have an issue, away I go. I have places to go, and it's not just about Brian. It's about freedom.
So why do I feel like such a moron? Like such an angsty and unreasonable teenager?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Wisdom Teeth
It's been nearly three months with Mr. Sick, and I have spent every moment I possibly can with him. He's been out of the hospital for a while now, and in nearly perfect health, with the exception of the aftermath of his wisdom teeth removal yesterday. He asked me to drive him to and from. I didn't realize the care involved when I agreed, but I know I would have agreed even if I had known. Why would I not?
However, upon coming home, my father decided to accost me nearly straight through the doorway. On his way out, he turned to me and wagged his finger, telling me that I have to be more careful. He cited my tendency to leap into situations like this, telling me that I was again treating the boyfriend like a puppy, as my mother complained while I was with him during his second hospital trip. My father told me that I was going to get hurt, and said that he didn't want to have to deal with it. He softened to tell me that I was a giving person, and that he didn't want me giving too much, to which I replied that all I gave was reciprocated. He shook his head and complained that Mr. Sick was not there when I had all the work done on my mouth in December, January, and February. I quickly pointed out that Mr. Sick did not, in fact, even know I existed then, let alone that I was having work done on my mouth and could've used a friendly shoulder. I kept to myself that it was not as if my father was there at any but one of those appointments, as if he had to pick up where the boyfriend slacked off. He was working or playing video games while I drove myself to and from the appointments. Therefore, it was really not something that he had any right to complain about. I also neglected to mention that my boyfriend at the time, one who my father liked, refused to go with me upon the suggestion of a request. Regardless, however, I simply ended up telling my father that he did not know Mr. Sick, he had never met the man and therefore had no right to pass judgement on him. My father conceded as I began to cry and stepped over to hug me to his chest until I told him that he had done a good job.
I told him that I wasn't stupid enough to believe that this guy would stay. I'm not. I hold no illusions that he will stay where everyone else has left. I hold no illusions that anyone will stay. But, as I told my father this morning, I can't live my life in fear of the inevitable pain. I've seen what it does, I've tried to. I can't do it. I told him, too, that I am scared enough on my own of the guillotine that every relationship ends up. I do not need his help being unsure. I told him that I did not understand why he and my mother can't seem to just be happy for me because I am happy with this man for now.
I wonder to myself: is it because I'm never home anymore? Is it fear at the idea of me leaving? Is my father's blow up last night in any way related to my mother's somber mood today? Is he just stressed? My brother has told me that he has gotten worse and worse with his random explosions.
I told my boyfriend about what my father said, about what happened, and told him that staying the weekend was not going to happen because of it. I am worried that I've upset him. I don't want him to worry. Also, I have to admit, I don't want him to throw his hands up and say "Oh no, I am done with this." I'm expecting it any day, and dreading it at the same time. I've been insecure before, but this past week has been horrendous as far as worry is concerned. I am unsure why this is. Could it just be hormones? I am fairly sure that I'll be starting my period soon, and that most likely accounts for my inability to let my father's words go. Maybe it is the insecurity as well, because Mr. Sick makes me ridiculously happy. There is no reason for me to leave him, so all I can do is worry he's leaving me.
Funny how the title only enters here once, isn't it?
However, upon coming home, my father decided to accost me nearly straight through the doorway. On his way out, he turned to me and wagged his finger, telling me that I have to be more careful. He cited my tendency to leap into situations like this, telling me that I was again treating the boyfriend like a puppy, as my mother complained while I was with him during his second hospital trip. My father told me that I was going to get hurt, and said that he didn't want to have to deal with it. He softened to tell me that I was a giving person, and that he didn't want me giving too much, to which I replied that all I gave was reciprocated. He shook his head and complained that Mr. Sick was not there when I had all the work done on my mouth in December, January, and February. I quickly pointed out that Mr. Sick did not, in fact, even know I existed then, let alone that I was having work done on my mouth and could've used a friendly shoulder. I kept to myself that it was not as if my father was there at any but one of those appointments, as if he had to pick up where the boyfriend slacked off. He was working or playing video games while I drove myself to and from the appointments. Therefore, it was really not something that he had any right to complain about. I also neglected to mention that my boyfriend at the time, one who my father liked, refused to go with me upon the suggestion of a request. Regardless, however, I simply ended up telling my father that he did not know Mr. Sick, he had never met the man and therefore had no right to pass judgement on him. My father conceded as I began to cry and stepped over to hug me to his chest until I told him that he had done a good job.
I told him that I wasn't stupid enough to believe that this guy would stay. I'm not. I hold no illusions that he will stay where everyone else has left. I hold no illusions that anyone will stay. But, as I told my father this morning, I can't live my life in fear of the inevitable pain. I've seen what it does, I've tried to. I can't do it. I told him, too, that I am scared enough on my own of the guillotine that every relationship ends up. I do not need his help being unsure. I told him that I did not understand why he and my mother can't seem to just be happy for me because I am happy with this man for now.
I wonder to myself: is it because I'm never home anymore? Is it fear at the idea of me leaving? Is my father's blow up last night in any way related to my mother's somber mood today? Is he just stressed? My brother has told me that he has gotten worse and worse with his random explosions.
I told my boyfriend about what my father said, about what happened, and told him that staying the weekend was not going to happen because of it. I am worried that I've upset him. I don't want him to worry. Also, I have to admit, I don't want him to throw his hands up and say "Oh no, I am done with this." I'm expecting it any day, and dreading it at the same time. I've been insecure before, but this past week has been horrendous as far as worry is concerned. I am unsure why this is. Could it just be hormones? I am fairly sure that I'll be starting my period soon, and that most likely accounts for my inability to let my father's words go. Maybe it is the insecurity as well, because Mr. Sick makes me ridiculously happy. There is no reason for me to leave him, so all I can do is worry he's leaving me.
Funny how the title only enters here once, isn't it?
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Here It Goes Again.
My boyfriend is in the hospital. Again. This is the second time in the past week he has been incapacitated. Again, I am terrified, for no real reason. His condition is not life-threatening at this point, and he is where he can best be helped. Yet I am still unable to sleep yet again, and eating is a far more complicated thing than it needs to be. But, I digress. I will start at the beginning and work my way forward.
When his mom first gave him my number, he did not call me straight away. He was admitted to the hospital before he had the chance for intense pain in his abdomen. He was "violently ejecting everything from both ends." They just gave him some pain meds at this point and sent him home, citing indigestion as the problem. I did not hear from him for nearly a month after that. Last Saturday I ended up having to work instead of going to hang out with him right away. I was expecting a phone call around 11:30, after he gets off work as is usual. Standing in my kitchen at 8:30, my phone vibrates and screams at me, and it is him on the other end. I made a joke about him calling me early and he made a weak joke about it being bed-time, moving onward to ask me inane questions about how my day went, completely ignoring me when I shot questions back to him. I, of course, made a comment with a giggle about him ignoring me. He responded with a stutter and weak explanation. He was in the ER, the pain he had before we met was back.
He was admitted that night, and an MRI on Monday revealed gallstones to be the culprit. Some of them having migrated to the bileduct, they put him under for an endoscopic procedure to remove those before a complete gallbladder removal on Tuesday. One, however, was left behind with a shunt. It had become embedded, and there was too much swelling and infection to do anything about it at that point. Tuesday they did end up removing the gallbladder, and said that 3/4 of the organ was stone, and it was infected nearly to the point of gangrene. How he did not feel this, everyone is mystified. Regardless, he was allowed to leave Thursday.
I was with him every moment I could be Thursday and Friday, and he was getting better rapidly. I was sure he was on the mend. I had to work Saturday, and by the time I got home and called him, he was in the ER again and in rather copious amounts of pain. He asked me to come see him. When I got there, he was alone, and seemed fairly well. In pain, yes, but he was dealing with it. He was happy to see me. The doctor came in and was talking to him about the issues, asking questions about the pain. She laid him down to feel his abdomen, and sat him back up as she left. You could see it on his face. It was all over. From that point on, all he could do was lay there, sweating and shaking, blinking his eyes open to frown at me every once in a while. There were tests, and a liter of liquid to dump down his throat. He cried and grunted at times, but for the most part he was silent and sweating. The pain meds they gave him barely helped at all, and by the time he was admitted and I left, he was pale and silent.
As it turns out, the shunt had slipped, blocking the bileduct and building pressure once again. All I want to do is scream at the doctors, to help him feel better. But, they are doing the best they can do, and there is nothing I can do to change that, or to help him. I hate this. I just want him better, I want things to go back to normal. But, that is life, I suppose. Things rarely go the way we want them to, and there is not a damn thing anyone can do about it. At least he won't die. I just want him to be better right now.
The next time I see him half naked and sweating it had better be a good thing.
When his mom first gave him my number, he did not call me straight away. He was admitted to the hospital before he had the chance for intense pain in his abdomen. He was "violently ejecting everything from both ends." They just gave him some pain meds at this point and sent him home, citing indigestion as the problem. I did not hear from him for nearly a month after that. Last Saturday I ended up having to work instead of going to hang out with him right away. I was expecting a phone call around 11:30, after he gets off work as is usual. Standing in my kitchen at 8:30, my phone vibrates and screams at me, and it is him on the other end. I made a joke about him calling me early and he made a weak joke about it being bed-time, moving onward to ask me inane questions about how my day went, completely ignoring me when I shot questions back to him. I, of course, made a comment with a giggle about him ignoring me. He responded with a stutter and weak explanation. He was in the ER, the pain he had before we met was back.
He was admitted that night, and an MRI on Monday revealed gallstones to be the culprit. Some of them having migrated to the bileduct, they put him under for an endoscopic procedure to remove those before a complete gallbladder removal on Tuesday. One, however, was left behind with a shunt. It had become embedded, and there was too much swelling and infection to do anything about it at that point. Tuesday they did end up removing the gallbladder, and said that 3/4 of the organ was stone, and it was infected nearly to the point of gangrene. How he did not feel this, everyone is mystified. Regardless, he was allowed to leave Thursday.
I was with him every moment I could be Thursday and Friday, and he was getting better rapidly. I was sure he was on the mend. I had to work Saturday, and by the time I got home and called him, he was in the ER again and in rather copious amounts of pain. He asked me to come see him. When I got there, he was alone, and seemed fairly well. In pain, yes, but he was dealing with it. He was happy to see me. The doctor came in and was talking to him about the issues, asking questions about the pain. She laid him down to feel his abdomen, and sat him back up as she left. You could see it on his face. It was all over. From that point on, all he could do was lay there, sweating and shaking, blinking his eyes open to frown at me every once in a while. There were tests, and a liter of liquid to dump down his throat. He cried and grunted at times, but for the most part he was silent and sweating. The pain meds they gave him barely helped at all, and by the time he was admitted and I left, he was pale and silent.
As it turns out, the shunt had slipped, blocking the bileduct and building pressure once again. All I want to do is scream at the doctors, to help him feel better. But, they are doing the best they can do, and there is nothing I can do to change that, or to help him. I hate this. I just want him better, I want things to go back to normal. But, that is life, I suppose. Things rarely go the way we want them to, and there is not a damn thing anyone can do about it. At least he won't die. I just want him to be better right now.
The next time I see him half naked and sweating it had better be a good thing.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
So, it is now February. The month is winding down. I've gone through one boyfriend, and am stuck on the second in the span of a month and a half. Yes, two. I'm a slut. The second, though, is online again, and will not last long. He's not quite what I'm looking for in another human being. He seems to embody all the bad parts about my father, and doesn't really have the good parts to make up for it.
Y'know, so much is going on, and I can't even begin to know how to word it all. I sit down to write, and all I get are snippets of non-coherent thought, even during stories. My brain is moving too fast...or maybe too slow. I don't know. All I know is I want it over and done with.
Y'know, so much is going on, and I can't even begin to know how to word it all. I sit down to write, and all I get are snippets of non-coherent thought, even during stories. My brain is moving too fast...or maybe too slow. I don't know. All I know is I want it over and done with.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Guilt and Beginnings
It started days ago. It started this morning. It started one year, many years ago. The point is, it started.
Today I awoke bright and early at the strike of nine, staring at the gloomy sliver of sky I can see through my bedroom window from beneath covers weighing me to the mattress so lovingly situated directly on the carpeted floor. I woke, albeit sore and worried, with a certain hope for the day. Today was Christmas shopping day. Today might be all right. I rolled out of bed (eventually) and stumbled dizzily to the living room, flipping open my laptop and attacking my normal morning internet routine with fervor.
There were comics and e-mails to check. There was stuff to be done before I had to leave and begin hunting for Christmas goodies. Lo and behold, my kangaroo, my Popeye, my favorite person, was online. The conversation began innocently, as usual. Things were entertaining. I even got him to agree to allow me to buy and send him a Christmas present, as we talked and joked. As usual. But, as usual, there was a slightly sober tone this morning. As usual, the conversation turned sour suddenly. The conversation is long, and quite painful, so I'll skip over the majority of it and just touch on the juicy morsels.
"I should go to bed before I start bitching at you" he proclaimed, after a short conversation about my pouting, and emotions that should be left unstirred. I apologized, as I am wont to do, and he replied "It isn't your fault I can't talk to you without getting upset." Of course I, like a moron, didn't leave it alone and responded with "Would you rather stop talking to me?" I meant it honestly, I really did. There wasn't anything sarcastic about it. He replied with a clear no, and I went on to ask if I could help, if I could make it better. He continued with no, and "Just keep doing whatever it is that you do. I'll be fine." I must admit, I was just slightly hurt by this statement, but I ignored that, and simply told him that I couldn't just not worry about it. His response? "Bleh, I'm turning into (TYOB)"
I was confused, completely blown out of the water by the statement. Aside from the surprise at the suddenness of it, guilt returned to gnaw at me like ravenous ticks, and the slow burn returned to my chest. He went on to tell me that Chris was obsessed with me, that, regardless of how much we talk, he rarely goes by a moment without thinking about me, and that the only way he knows is because he's the same way. Which, of course, stabbed at my heart. Not only am I still hurting people by being here, but I'm hurting my best friend...still.
He then brings up my...well, at the time, my current boyfriend. I hadn't told him we were dating, simply because I knew he'd be upset, and I knew he'd worry over nothing. He, of course, found out, and goes on to tell me that I'm scaring him, and that I'm going to get myself killed. We have a tussle over lies.
He tells me that I'm slowly destroying myself. He says that I've changed a lot in the past year, and that I haven't changed for the better. Woah, low blow, eh? I want to make excuses. I want to scream and yell about how hard life's been, about how many new things I've had to deal with, about how every day is sheer terror attacking me, every time I walk through the front door. But, plain and simple, he is right. I have changed, and not in a good way.
It ends, long story cut very short, with this:
You've spent hours telling me that I'm a moron, basically, and talking about how much I'm hurting you, and everyone around me. And you're mad at me because I'm done listening to it? It's pointless. It's going nowhere and, quite frankly, it hurts like hell. I'm taking your advice. I'm done talking to (my ex). But I don't see how sitting here and listening to you drip poison in my ear is helpful. And you're not there, are you? You logged out. *sigh* Bye
And later:
Don't be worried; I'm not dead. The thing with Jon went beautifully, we barely said a word between the two of us. But I'm taking a break from the internets, and I'll probably not be online for a while. You're right. I'm sorry.
I dumped my boyfriend, but not solely because of this situation. I've had a similar conversation with my mother about him. He's dangerous, he's a liar, he's far too violent for me, and he raped me. He just isn't right for me. I was really only with him because I knew I could keep him at arm's length. The last boyfriend left me in tears, tattered and broken without him. I refuse to be that again.
So, this is my "break from the internets." Have to love that, don't you? Regardless, as much as it hurts to face it, he is right. So, I am making a resolution, the new year is quickly approaching, and I will change to meet it.
1) I will stop this self-sabotaging guilt and self-esteem issue. There will be no more "I'm not doing it because it might go wrong." If I don't try, I won't get anywhere.
2) I will make a conscious effort to be more involved with my family. When everyone else has abandoned me, they will be there for me, and so I should be there for them.
3) I will make a more conscious effort to spend time with those who want to spend time with me. This does not mean dating, this does not mean making deep lasting connections. Please do not misunderstand. But I will make friends.
4) I will be a better person. I will save the money I make for school. I will volunteer my time with charities, instead of sitting on my behind all the time.
I do not need anyone.
Today I awoke bright and early at the strike of nine, staring at the gloomy sliver of sky I can see through my bedroom window from beneath covers weighing me to the mattress so lovingly situated directly on the carpeted floor. I woke, albeit sore and worried, with a certain hope for the day. Today was Christmas shopping day. Today might be all right. I rolled out of bed (eventually) and stumbled dizzily to the living room, flipping open my laptop and attacking my normal morning internet routine with fervor.
There were comics and e-mails to check. There was stuff to be done before I had to leave and begin hunting for Christmas goodies. Lo and behold, my kangaroo, my Popeye, my favorite person, was online. The conversation began innocently, as usual. Things were entertaining. I even got him to agree to allow me to buy and send him a Christmas present, as we talked and joked. As usual. But, as usual, there was a slightly sober tone this morning. As usual, the conversation turned sour suddenly. The conversation is long, and quite painful, so I'll skip over the majority of it and just touch on the juicy morsels.
"I should go to bed before I start bitching at you" he proclaimed, after a short conversation about my pouting, and emotions that should be left unstirred. I apologized, as I am wont to do, and he replied "It isn't your fault I can't talk to you without getting upset." Of course I, like a moron, didn't leave it alone and responded with "Would you rather stop talking to me?" I meant it honestly, I really did. There wasn't anything sarcastic about it. He replied with a clear no, and I went on to ask if I could help, if I could make it better. He continued with no, and "Just keep doing whatever it is that you do. I'll be fine." I must admit, I was just slightly hurt by this statement, but I ignored that, and simply told him that I couldn't just not worry about it. His response? "Bleh, I'm turning into (TYOB)"
I was confused, completely blown out of the water by the statement. Aside from the surprise at the suddenness of it, guilt returned to gnaw at me like ravenous ticks, and the slow burn returned to my chest. He went on to tell me that Chris was obsessed with me, that, regardless of how much we talk, he rarely goes by a moment without thinking about me, and that the only way he knows is because he's the same way. Which, of course, stabbed at my heart. Not only am I still hurting people by being here, but I'm hurting my best friend...still.
He then brings up my...well, at the time, my current boyfriend. I hadn't told him we were dating, simply because I knew he'd be upset, and I knew he'd worry over nothing. He, of course, found out, and goes on to tell me that I'm scaring him, and that I'm going to get myself killed. We have a tussle over lies.
He tells me that I'm slowly destroying myself. He says that I've changed a lot in the past year, and that I haven't changed for the better. Woah, low blow, eh? I want to make excuses. I want to scream and yell about how hard life's been, about how many new things I've had to deal with, about how every day is sheer terror attacking me, every time I walk through the front door. But, plain and simple, he is right. I have changed, and not in a good way.
It ends, long story cut very short, with this:
You've spent hours telling me that I'm a moron, basically, and talking about how much I'm hurting you, and everyone around me. And you're mad at me because I'm done listening to it? It's pointless. It's going nowhere and, quite frankly, it hurts like hell. I'm taking your advice. I'm done talking to (my ex). But I don't see how sitting here and listening to you drip poison in my ear is helpful. And you're not there, are you? You logged out. *sigh* Bye
And later:
Don't be worried; I'm not dead. The thing with Jon went beautifully, we barely said a word between the two of us. But I'm taking a break from the internets, and I'll probably not be online for a while. You're right. I'm sorry.
I dumped my boyfriend, but not solely because of this situation. I've had a similar conversation with my mother about him. He's dangerous, he's a liar, he's far too violent for me, and he raped me. He just isn't right for me. I was really only with him because I knew I could keep him at arm's length. The last boyfriend left me in tears, tattered and broken without him. I refuse to be that again.
So, this is my "break from the internets." Have to love that, don't you? Regardless, as much as it hurts to face it, he is right. So, I am making a resolution, the new year is quickly approaching, and I will change to meet it.
1) I will stop this self-sabotaging guilt and self-esteem issue. There will be no more "I'm not doing it because it might go wrong." If I don't try, I won't get anywhere.
2) I will make a conscious effort to be more involved with my family. When everyone else has abandoned me, they will be there for me, and so I should be there for them.
3) I will make a more conscious effort to spend time with those who want to spend time with me. This does not mean dating, this does not mean making deep lasting connections. Please do not misunderstand. But I will make friends.
4) I will be a better person. I will save the money I make for school. I will volunteer my time with charities, instead of sitting on my behind all the time.
I do not need anyone.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Fork Me With a Spoon
So...guess what? It's Thanksgiving! Or, well, it WAS Thanksgiving today. Which means everyone sat around with families, blood or otherwise, and ate copious amounts of food for no good reason, and then gave copious amounts of thanks for the amazing things in their life. Right? Of COURSE! And afterward everyone farted strawberries and shat rainbows and glitter. Life is amazing like that.
Honestly, who among us has a non-dysfunctional family? Let he who is without sin...
Actually, though, my Thanksgiving ended up being pretty awesome, comparatively speaking. My family got along; we sat around all day watching TV and movies together, eating, and making fun of nearly everything that danced across the plasma screen. Yes, we have a massive plasma screen TV now. I'm sure it has nothing to do with our stunning goodwill toward each other. We didn't, however, make it to my grandparents' house, unfortunately. We'll be there soon, though. I miss them terribly.
There are other issues, though, that factor in to my general feeling of malaise this evening. I have even sat down and cried, fighting against the urge to snatch the silver Swiss Army Knife as my temporary salvation from pressure and frustration, as is my tried-and-true method of control. I don't deal well with pressure, it seems. I am a weakling.
My boyfriend, on the other hand, spent Thanksgiving at his friends' house. The friends that don't like me, as well they shouldn't. I'm not exactly good enough for him. But I digress, he spent his entire Thanksgiving over there, and is still there, because his dear sweet uncle showed up at his house for Thanksgiving dinner. I have problems with his uncle, just as he does. Though I've never met the man, he seems rather...nasty. Just today, he dislocated the boyfriend's shoulder. For no other reason than he was capable. So, I surely can't blame Jon for wanting to spend more time at his friends' house, the very same friends who saved him from a far worse beating from his semi-evil uncle.
However, I looked forward to the evening phone call with him the entire day long, as the frustration and the pain grew. It finally topped off when my license-less father informed me that he would, in fact, be driving himself to work tomorrow. That it would be FINE, that it was his life, and that any repercussions he would receive upon being caught were "not that bad." I know, I'm freaking out for no reason. He is an adult. But he could also go to jail, or lose his license for life. Call me crazy, but I really don't want to cart my father around forever. A year is plenty of time for such stress. But bah, it is not as if I'll ever leave this place; my life here seems set in stone because I will do nothing whatsoever to change it. Regardless, the "evening phone call" was the length of time it took for my boyfriend to get from his friends' apartment to his own. Which is, approximately, nine minutes. Most of it consisted of him reassuring me that he was never going to dump me, but that he'd accept my verdict if I decided that it was "game over." Because of my retardation last night. But we won't get into that.
I am a self-sabotaging moron.
Honestly, who among us has a non-dysfunctional family? Let he who is without sin...
Actually, though, my Thanksgiving ended up being pretty awesome, comparatively speaking. My family got along; we sat around all day watching TV and movies together, eating, and making fun of nearly everything that danced across the plasma screen. Yes, we have a massive plasma screen TV now. I'm sure it has nothing to do with our stunning goodwill toward each other. We didn't, however, make it to my grandparents' house, unfortunately. We'll be there soon, though. I miss them terribly.
There are other issues, though, that factor in to my general feeling of malaise this evening. I have even sat down and cried, fighting against the urge to snatch the silver Swiss Army Knife as my temporary salvation from pressure and frustration, as is my tried-and-true method of control. I don't deal well with pressure, it seems. I am a weakling.
My boyfriend, on the other hand, spent Thanksgiving at his friends' house. The friends that don't like me, as well they shouldn't. I'm not exactly good enough for him. But I digress, he spent his entire Thanksgiving over there, and is still there, because his dear sweet uncle showed up at his house for Thanksgiving dinner. I have problems with his uncle, just as he does. Though I've never met the man, he seems rather...nasty. Just today, he dislocated the boyfriend's shoulder. For no other reason than he was capable. So, I surely can't blame Jon for wanting to spend more time at his friends' house, the very same friends who saved him from a far worse beating from his semi-evil uncle.
However, I looked forward to the evening phone call with him the entire day long, as the frustration and the pain grew. It finally topped off when my license-less father informed me that he would, in fact, be driving himself to work tomorrow. That it would be FINE, that it was his life, and that any repercussions he would receive upon being caught were "not that bad." I know, I'm freaking out for no reason. He is an adult. But he could also go to jail, or lose his license for life. Call me crazy, but I really don't want to cart my father around forever. A year is plenty of time for such stress. But bah, it is not as if I'll ever leave this place; my life here seems set in stone because I will do nothing whatsoever to change it. Regardless, the "evening phone call" was the length of time it took for my boyfriend to get from his friends' apartment to his own. Which is, approximately, nine minutes. Most of it consisted of him reassuring me that he was never going to dump me, but that he'd accept my verdict if I decided that it was "game over." Because of my retardation last night. But we won't get into that.
I am a self-sabotaging moron.
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