Thursday, August 29, 2013

The Hurting Game

   I don't like having the misconception out there that I have bad parents.  I know that I blogged about how my parents can sometimes make me feel, but this by no means is a good display of how I feel about them.
   When my heart is in pain, my immediate response is to write and get things out, I know that when writing on such a public forum, it's often hard to put yourself (and others) out there.  I write because I want people to know that they are not alone.
   I felt as though I was alone for years.  I thought that all the things that were going on inside me were mine and mine alone to deal with.  The moment that I became public about my issues, I found others who had similar experiences and would write to me and tell me how much my story reflected their own.  So I decided to continue in my quest of trying to cope with my inner demons and make it public for others to see that they are not alone by any means.
   Some of the things I write or say are immediate responses to how badly I hurt at the time.  I've always been the person to try to hurt someone as much if not more than they hurt me.  Just because I wanted to always be the one in control.  I wanted to be the one who hurt less.  I wanted to be the one inflicting pain, instead of the one who hurt so much that it was painful to breathe.
   As I grow older, I try to not hurt people and I try to be someone that people can come to, but sometimes I inadvertently hurt people without trying.
   My parents have and always will be 2 of my best friends ever.
   When I was younger, I could not fathom telling anyone about what my cousin did to me.  I always felt that no one would believe me and that I would get blamed in some way, shape or form for what happened.  "Why didn't you stop it?" "Why did you let it go on for so long?" "What exactly happened?" These were all the questions that I either never wanted to answer or could not find an answer to.
   When I finally came out with it to my parents, I was so embarrassed and disgusted by what had gone on, I wanted no one else in the world to know.  I wanted to put it behind me and never deal with it.  I wanted to forget everything about it.
   Little did I know that I would be haunted with nightmares and having this huge weight of this awful secret on my shoulders.  I became angry with the world and hated everything and every one.  I let this monster on my back ruin so many relationships and destroy myself for years.
   How does one come back from this?  How does one come up from a hatred that is buried so deep it's making it hard to see the sun?
   I told my parents about the molestation when I was 16 years old but I also asked them to keep my secret for me because of the shame that came with such a terrible past.  I wish that I could explain why I never came to them before that time, but I can't.  All I know is that I never wanted anyone to know and the only reason why I told them was because I wanted them to know that I wasn't trying to be an evil shit, I just didn't know how to deal with life at that point.
   I was an awful kid.  I would cuss at my parents and I would cut myself and I would tell them that I hated them because I was putting my pain on them.  I wanted everyone in the world to hurt as much as I did.
   I didn't know anything else.  I thought that telling my parents what happened would be a way to explain to them that I wasn't trying to be awful, I just hated myself.  Call it teenage angst or call it what it was, a mentally ill child that could not handle PTSD.
   In retrospective, I went about everything the wrong way.  I would definitely change everything I did, if I could.  What I did, I did for my family.  I never wanted to lose them.  That gave me an extra 17 years with my family that I would not have had if I had told my story back then.  I was right when I thought that my family would abandon me when I came out with the truth about that disgusting bastard.  Everyone except for my parents and a few others just left me out to dry.
   My parents and I have such a close relationship that we sometimes hurt each other without meaning to.  Yes, I am supersensitive now.  Yes, I take things to heart.  The good thing that comes from this?  It means that I can feel again.  I hated being such an ice queen and not feeling any emotions for so many years.
   I know that I have shitty ways of sometimes explaining things because my mind goes in so many different directions at once but I am trying.  I am trying to get my story out there.  I am trying to be a person that I can once again like.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

A Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

   I will admit to the fact that I am a difficult person to be in any type of relationship with.  Whether it be friendship or romantic or even related to me, I am a hard person to deal with.  I've always known this and I've always used it to my advantage to kind of "test" (I use this word because I can't think of any better way to describe it.) people to see if they truly do love me.  I mean, really, you only deal with difficult people when you love them, right?
   I honestly couldn't tell you why I do this, I'm sure if I sat there and really examined things, I'd get to the bottom of it, but one thing I know is "if you can't handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best" is something I've always seemed to live by.
   There are a few people who have seen me at my worst and still love me, those people are the people that I hold dear and let them truly see the person I am.  I've always told my mom that I know I'm hard to love, she says that loving me is easy, it's dealing with me that's hard.  Her and my dad have seen me at my worst.  They have seen me go through some of the toughest times in my life and they still love me, even when I hate myself.
   My best friend, Stephanie, has seen me hit rock bottom and has even dealt with my bipolar wrath, and she still loves me.  This is the type of person that I've always needed in my life but only in the last 11 years have come in contact with.  Most of my "friends" from my past have never loved me as she has.  If my inner demon has been invoked and she has to deal with that awful part of me, she simply lets me know that I will not be able to push her away, although I've tried many times.
   In my past, I've been the person who sinks into the darkness of depression and can't see any way out.  Usually, I've been alone when I get like this.  Now, I'm not alone.  I have my husband who has to see me when I'm enveloped in this darkness and can't see 2 feet in front of me.
   My husband has been there by my side for the last 5 years and he has seen the absolute worst in me and has stuck by my side.  Seeing me on occasion or a few days a week is nothing compared to living with me.
   I can be awful, I can be evil, I can be sweet as pie.  With the snap of a finger, my emotional roller coaster takes a dive and I am a woman possessed.
   I feel terrible when I become the evil part of myself and it's like an out of body experience because I can see the way I am acting, but I have no power to stop myself.  I can't put the brakes on the emotions.
   I know a lot of people look at me and they don't see a person with a disability or they can't understand why a person who seems as intelligent as I would act as I do.  Now, I wish I could control everything because if I could, I would not be so up and down with my emotions.  When I try to explain that I can't control myself, no one seems to understand.  I get told that I need to learn how to do this, but don't people think I've tried?
   I have been blessed and given a second chance at life.

   When I married my husband, I was reborn with a new name.  I left my old self behind.  I say this because I told everyone about being molested as a child by my cousin and that huge weight that was on my shoulders was lifted.  I may have lost my family by doing this, but I gained a new family built of those who love me enough to be by my side.
   For the last year and a half, I have dealt with being made to feel like a leper by the majority of my family on my dad's side (ever since I confessed the evil doings of the bastard sick fuck that molested me) and now, I haven't had as many nightmares as I used to and my therapy sessions were not focused on my being molested, they had moved on to other issues in my life (I have many) and that part of me felt like it was in remission.
   I still don't want anything to do with sick fucker, or anyone who has anything to do with him, but it's not because I can't handle it, it's because it's my choice.  I mean seriously, who the fuck wants to see the person that caused so much pain in their past, regardless of moving on?  It's like opening an old wound that has started to scar over.
   Ever since I realized that therapy had been focused on other things, I was able to to start dealing with this whole being bipolar crap.  I've been working on trying to understand who I am and how to deal with what is going on with me mentally.  Although I've been bipolar my entire life, it's only the last couple of years that I've had this diagnosis so I'm still trying to understand and learn a lot about dealing with everything that comes with learning something new about yourself.  Especially something as deep as mental illness.
   I don't want to deal with things the way I did in my past.  I don't want to go back to using alcohol or any other type of self medication.  I want to deal with this head on.  I want to learn to be the best version of myself that I can, despite my illness.  I want to take my bipolar by the neck and show it how strong I can really be.
   I know that I have a rough road ahead of me.  I know that most days, I will feel like my emotions are driving on the bumpiest road known to mankind.  I know that I will hit walls of depression, but I also know that I have a community of people (albeit a small one) who care enough about me to love me no matter how shitty I can sometimes be.  Because I will eventually get back to me, the person I was born to be, the person who loves so hard that it sometimes hurts.

Monday, August 12, 2013

When Your Brain Hates You...

So, I know I haven't blogged in a LONG, LONG time.  I've had a lot of things on my mind, but not the proper way to put the thoughts into words.
   I hate when I get like that.  For someone who lives for writing... art... books... it makes you feel like you are partially dead on the inside.  I know that people get tired of hearing the "woe is me" that is my life, so I rarely speak these feelings out loud.  I never say what I truly feel out loud.  I'm constantly wearing a mask and it kills me.
   I wish that I could for once be me and not fear that people will tell me to "snap out of it" or "stop being such a bitch" or "quit being so sensitive" or whatever other cliche it is that people tell those of us with mental illness because they just don'
  My heart hurts with the pain that I cause myself and others.  It's like watching yourself from above do all this self destructive shit and not being able to stop.
   I HATE when my parents say that I was a bad kid when I hit thirteen.  I hate that to no end.  Knowing what they know now, they should see that my being undiagnosed and being molested and having PTSD was what caused me to act like that.  It's not like I had any control over it.  Like I really wanted to be a shit?  Like I want to be the way I am now? NO.  I don't.  I hate this.
   I hate myself almost every day of my life.  Why give me more reason to hate myself?  Why give me more fuel to feel like complete and absolute shit about myself?  I know people don't mean to but when they point out my bad points, things that I really and honestly do not have control over (i.e. emotions) it breaks me in half.  My parents aren't the only ones that do this.  Almost everyone I know does this to me, probably thinking they are helping or not thinking at all... my grandmother tells me I'm spoiled, I'm not sure if this is to hurt me or what the fuck, but do people not think before they say shit?
   I'm a perfectionist according to my Psychologist and when I see that I am disappointing so many people with being an utter failure and asshole, it makes me feel like complete and total trash.  I feel like I'm not worth anything.
   When I hear how horrible a person I was/am, I feel so defeated.  I feel like if I suck so fucking much, why bother?  Why bother trying to do anything to please anyone?  Because every fucking thing I do in life is to please others.  I do nothing for myself any more.
   Ever since I fell down the stairs at my mother in law's on the 4th of July and became a complete fucking gimp, I feel like I'm worth even less than I was before.  I can't do anything without being in pain.  I can't sleep comfortably, I can't move around much, I can't even take a relaxing bath.  It's like I was handed a bunch of rotten lemons that I can't even use for lemonade.  What am I supposed to do with that?
   Now, I'm having a down moment right now because today sucked, but for the most part these last couple of months have been okay because I have been at a creative peak with my crocheting.  I think that since I had a shitty night and a shitty day, I just needed to vent.  I will be better and my next blog won't be as depressing.