Why I write this
Finally I get to write in my blogs. School has been hell this week. It makes the loans I took out to go seem massochistic. They probably are, with my track record.
It was pointed out to me that so far a grand total of two people have commented on this thing, and suggested to me that I close it down. I'm not going to close it down. I like the anonymity too much. I have another blog that I cannot write in without alerting two of my three brothers, a sister in law, a potential sister in law, two friends of the family and this one girl I used to know who gossips too much. And their friends. My life is full of wonderful people and they love me. And they talk. A lot.
I hate secrets, but truth has consequences. People are fragile and unpleasant truths can drive them off, or push them into denial to protect their vision of the world. I know that rejected feeling too well to be completely honest in my other blog. But I also hate secrets. I hate them passionately. This is my compromise. I put things out in the open without risking the up close relationships that I've built slowly over years. And while there may have only been a couple of people commenting, it made my day every time. And I've been exposed to some neat new people, which is always nice.
So no, I'm not shutting this down.
I try to keep my blog light, but there are parts of my life that are dark, and this is the honest blog. I won' t apologize.
Last night I had a nightmare. It was shapeless, mostly because I can't remember what was in it. It wasn't bad because it had bad images or events in it. It wasn't the kind of dream I had when I was a teenager and a walking monument to PTSD. It was a feeling.
Most people go their whole lives without ever really knowing if their nearest and dearest would sell them out, would kick back and let bad things happen to them just because it would cost to much to aknowledge the truth. Most people (so I hear) grow up with some form of reliable adult around. Imagine being eleven and realizing that not only would your own parents sell you out just to keep up appearances, but that there are no reliable adults to take their place. Imagine your whole family; cousins, Aunts, Uncles, siblings, even Grandparents, collectively looking away while you get hurt over and over again. Imagine how you would feel if your life was like this for years at a time, and you were just waiting to be killed out pure negligence.
It was that feeling.
I have never been hung over, but I imagine that that is what my waking up felt like. I don't usually rise gracefully, but I couldn't pull myself out of bed until three pm. That's a record, even for me. I felt sick, dizzy, and somehow low. I thought the feeling would go away after I got up and moved around. It didn't. I caught myself snapping at my boyfriend. I like to think of myself as a person with good self control. I think that no matter what else may be wrong with you, you should be able to restrain yourself from hurting other people for emotional reasons. I try not to let the insubstantial realm of emotions control the concrete reality. That was blown straight to hell by 5pm.
By 6pm I was curled in the fetal position on my bed feeling worse than I've felt in about a decade. Sometime since I'd waken up I had argued with my boyfriend. I had a meltdown, I hit mysef, right in the middle of it, accutely aware that I must look ridiculus but so far over the edge that I really didn't care. He must have thought it was a manipulation tactic becase he tried to ignore it; he should have known better. It was actually a measure of how much self control I had lost.
It wasn't the last time of the day that I would hurt myself.
I'd like to think that it will be the last time this lifetime. It won't.
Even as I found ways to make myself feel pain I was accutely aware of the irrationality of it all.
It didn't stop me though. This was building for weeks; petty errors I made that I couldn't forgive myself for, things I remembered doing that were wrong from long ago, things that I did not so long ago. Logically I know that other people would not hold me as resonsible for them as I do, that this is my belief in personal responsibilty take to an unhealthy extreme. But there are really two kinds of knowing; knowing in your mind is easy. But its a shallow knowing. Knowing in your heart is harder. And your heart is not a logical thinker.
It was pointed out to me that so far a grand total of two people have commented on this thing, and suggested to me that I close it down. I'm not going to close it down. I like the anonymity too much. I have another blog that I cannot write in without alerting two of my three brothers, a sister in law, a potential sister in law, two friends of the family and this one girl I used to know who gossips too much. And their friends. My life is full of wonderful people and they love me. And they talk. A lot.
I hate secrets, but truth has consequences. People are fragile and unpleasant truths can drive them off, or push them into denial to protect their vision of the world. I know that rejected feeling too well to be completely honest in my other blog. But I also hate secrets. I hate them passionately. This is my compromise. I put things out in the open without risking the up close relationships that I've built slowly over years. And while there may have only been a couple of people commenting, it made my day every time. And I've been exposed to some neat new people, which is always nice.
So no, I'm not shutting this down.
I try to keep my blog light, but there are parts of my life that are dark, and this is the honest blog. I won' t apologize.
Last night I had a nightmare. It was shapeless, mostly because I can't remember what was in it. It wasn't bad because it had bad images or events in it. It wasn't the kind of dream I had when I was a teenager and a walking monument to PTSD. It was a feeling.
Most people go their whole lives without ever really knowing if their nearest and dearest would sell them out, would kick back and let bad things happen to them just because it would cost to much to aknowledge the truth. Most people (so I hear) grow up with some form of reliable adult around. Imagine being eleven and realizing that not only would your own parents sell you out just to keep up appearances, but that there are no reliable adults to take their place. Imagine your whole family; cousins, Aunts, Uncles, siblings, even Grandparents, collectively looking away while you get hurt over and over again. Imagine how you would feel if your life was like this for years at a time, and you were just waiting to be killed out pure negligence.
It was that feeling.
I have never been hung over, but I imagine that that is what my waking up felt like. I don't usually rise gracefully, but I couldn't pull myself out of bed until three pm. That's a record, even for me. I felt sick, dizzy, and somehow low. I thought the feeling would go away after I got up and moved around. It didn't. I caught myself snapping at my boyfriend. I like to think of myself as a person with good self control. I think that no matter what else may be wrong with you, you should be able to restrain yourself from hurting other people for emotional reasons. I try not to let the insubstantial realm of emotions control the concrete reality. That was blown straight to hell by 5pm.
By 6pm I was curled in the fetal position on my bed feeling worse than I've felt in about a decade. Sometime since I'd waken up I had argued with my boyfriend. I had a meltdown, I hit mysef, right in the middle of it, accutely aware that I must look ridiculus but so far over the edge that I really didn't care. He must have thought it was a manipulation tactic becase he tried to ignore it; he should have known better. It was actually a measure of how much self control I had lost.
It wasn't the last time of the day that I would hurt myself.
I'd like to think that it will be the last time this lifetime. It won't.
Even as I found ways to make myself feel pain I was accutely aware of the irrationality of it all.
It didn't stop me though. This was building for weeks; petty errors I made that I couldn't forgive myself for, things I remembered doing that were wrong from long ago, things that I did not so long ago. Logically I know that other people would not hold me as resonsible for them as I do, that this is my belief in personal responsibilty take to an unhealthy extreme. But there are really two kinds of knowing; knowing in your mind is easy. But its a shallow knowing. Knowing in your heart is harder. And your heart is not a logical thinker.
posted by jen at 1:36 AM
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