Friday, January 1, 2016

"I don't know why I cry, but I think it's cuz I remembered for the first time since I hated you, that I used to love you." - Gwen Stefani.

It may be a lame song, but I think that sentence sums up just about everything that makes me so angry right now. 

I have a problem with anxiety and obsessive thoughts.  Some people think this is normal, I think that there's a real issue with my ability to let things go.  It's been a long part of my history to live in morbid reflection.  Why Why Why goes through my heart, piercing every piece of me, my whole body goes hot and tingly with rage or sadness, alternating between the two when I get near a triggering event or have to see someone that I'd rather not have to see.  I tell myself that I'm better than that, that I have strength and that I am over things.  I think for the most part I am stable, but then I'm weak and I stumble upon statements that I should not have sought out, or should not have been passed along to me by those who love stirring the pot. 

I knew you'd be there, and I went anyway because I wasn't there to see you.  I was there to have fun with my friends.  I had no expectations for the night, and I was even prepared to be cordial to each other.  I figured we would say hello if we actually physically crossed paths, or just nod and acknowledge each other. The nod would say, "Hey, we don't have to speak, I know we're not ready to do this, but I'm glad you're doing ok.  Looks like you're alive.  Ok, see ya."

Instead of this, you looked at the floor and immediately left the room.  As if no one else would notice, talk to me about it, or that old sting wouldn't come back.  The sting of forced silence and my existence being ignored.  But we'll get to that later...

They say there are 5 stages of grief, and the stages don't necessarily have to come in order.  I know this, because mine didn't come in the usual order.  There was denial, and bargaining, and then depression, and then more bargaining, and then months and months and months of depression along with more begging and screaming and crying and more bargaining.  And then I snapped.

Right now I'm in the anger stage.  I'm so angry that someone else gets to do this to me.  That they think they are victorious or better than I am by their actions.  That they couldn't just be a fucking adult and say hello.  That I have to feel like I'm the problem, when I was treated like my feelings don't matter. 

I don't care what anyone says, you didn't win, you were not victorious.  People know you're not always that nice of a person.  People know you love to talk shit and how snobbish you can be.  People tell me how I'm better off without you.  Though I'm sure there are people who say the same things to you.  How you're better off without that "bitch" in your life.  How they never liked me anyway. None of them really know what went on between us.  Quit acting like you're so high and mighty.

You're a liar, and a hypocrite.  You act like the victim, and never admitted fault to your actions of deceit or selfishness.  You say one thing one week, and scream the opposite the next week, stunning and confusing and hurting, acting as though this was normal and ok.  Invalidating my feelings at every turn.  Biting and clawing your way out of a cave of sadness, coming from a place of pain, and burying yourself back into the darkness when I had your hand by the wrist, trying to pull you out.

I won't be dragged back down there with you.  Not again.  I was in a dark place for a very long time, blaming the entire thing on myself.  From the moment I woke up, until the moment I fell asleep, and even in my dreams, I fought back tears and imagined every fight we ever had and how I could've stopped them or made things better, or just surrendering and ignoring how I felt because I was so afraid of losing you or that you'd stop loving me.  It was never about, "Why are you upset about this?" it was, "that's stupid that you're upset in the first place, so don't be, you're acting childish."  A therapist was the one who had to tell me how bad that is.  And I felt awful realizing that I did that to you sometimes in return.  I don't know how many of our arguments you even actually remember, because half the time when I would say something I could see your eyes flickering and going into panic mode, that you were too high to have a logical argument with me in the first place.

I told you, during our first year, the meanest thing you could ever do to me was to give me the silent treatment.  You promised you would never do that to me again.  And you broke that promise.  More times than I could count.

You always decided when we would speak.  When I was allowed to speak.  When I was allowed to be upset.  When you were going to walk away and an argument was put on pause.  You'd disappear for a few days if you didn't feel like finishing an argument or communicating in a healthy manner, because my reasons for being upset were too "stupid" or "immature" for your liking.  And when it came down to the end, you decided to cut me off and silence me.  Block me, block my number, block my emails, my messages, etc.  Because even after it's all over, the cards are still in your hand.  You get to decide what I'm allowed.

And you threw your hands up, saying that the responsibility couldn't possibly be yours, that you didn't know what you were doing when you opened the door to your cave and let me in a couple of times.  I knew you were in there, I was waiting at the bottom of a cliffside, climbing up and knocking every so often, sending in notes, flowers, yelling to you to make sure you were still alive down there while I slowly died outside.  You finally peeked out and opened the door and let me come down into the cavern, settle in; we came up with a plan to crawl out together. Twice. And both times you pushed me out over the side of the cliff, and slammed the door, telling me it was my fault that I climbed down in the first place.  You never invited me in, according to you.  I must have broken in, you were weak for letting me stay, I'm the problem and I needed to be shut out forever. 

Weren't we feeling the same sadness?  Weren't we both dreaming? Weren't we both feeling each other's sadness from far away, doing the same things, reading the same things, listening to the same things, feeling empty inside and wondering, "what if" and why love couldn't conquer the shitty things that had come between us?  Even our dating lives being so far apart were mirrored, it was almost comical.  After I thought there was a glimmer of hope, I was all in.  I felt like this was the reason I held on, the reason that I believed in the fairy tale, and the reason why I couldn't let go. Because you hadn't let go, and it was supposed to happen for us.  I was ready to change my life around for you, admit that I made mistakes or I left too soon.  But you got scared.  Your anxiety and distrust got the best of us.  You decided to stop believing me and called me a liar, confused me, hurt me.  Each time I tried pulling you out, you were too scared to take the leap, and clawed my hand away and said horrible things. You retreated again, almost killing me in the process.

You expected me to put you before work, but you never put me before work, and that was my problem for having a problem with that.  We were not equals.  And that's all I ever wanted.  You loved me, but only to the point where I was convenient.  If it wasn't convenient for you, it was either put me down, shut me out, or whine the entire time you had to do something for me and how grateful I should be that you were "so good" to go out of your way for me.  How awful it was for you, that you had to spend time with my family, or go to a party, or spend money on something besides pot?

Was I really that horrible?  Was I really so much of a bitch, or so needy?  I just can't understand how I always made excuses for you.  "What do you mean he won't go to dinner at your grandmother's with you?  Boyfriends are supposed to do those things." "Well no, he doesn't like small talk and he works a lot so I'm just bugging him by asking him to do that with me."  "But your gramma?  He can't take two hours out of his life to make you happy?"  "If he comes, I'll never hear the end of it. I'll just tell her we'll go some other time, maybe I'll go by myself.  It's really no big deal."  "You seem upset, though."

And I was.  It made me really sad to defend you for really simple shit.  Like there were times we couldn't go somewhere because, again, you might not be able to smoke weed.  Because you just replaced one addiction with another in your life, and that was a bigger priority than me.  I won't discount all the nice things you ever did for me, or say that your efforts were wasted.  I won't tell you that you just weren't good enough.  But I will tell you that there were times you made me feel like I wasn't good enough, or that things that were important to me were just stupid and I should learn to stop caring about them.  Silly things like Christmas or Valentine's Day, or birthdays.  Or family or work parties, or anything that wasn't us doing what you wanted to do.

Oh, and don't get me started on how I was such a bitch for asking my friends about whether or not any of this was normal or ok.

You don't understand how much I still hurt because I was never heard, and the final moments of our last fight, I still wasn't.  My feelings didn't, and don't, matter as much as yours.  And don't think I don't know that you did that because you were also hurting a lot.  You shut me out to keep yourself from continuing to hurt.  I know that I hurt you.  I know that I yelled at you.  I know there were times when I was a selfish bitch.  But the difference is, I admit to it.  After blaming myself and begging you and crying to you, saying it was all my fault, please come back to me, I'll do anything if you'll just love me again, I realized that I didn't love myself.  I let you make me feel like I was a piece of shit and it was all me, because I was so desperate for you to love me again.  You didn't respect me.

Those times in the cave were a test that I didn't pass"Get back to the bottom of that cliff, try again next time, maybe in another year or ten years, when I decide you're allowed to again.  We'll see if you live up to my standard of acting guilty enough.  We'll see if you do what I want you to do.  Don't step out of line or say one thing that I don't like, because I'll shut you out again!"  

"But aren't you proud of me?  Look at all that I've accomplished by myself.  I did this for my career." 

"I'll never be proud of you.  You don't have a career."
 (I wish I made that part up)

That last time, after I was cast aside and told I was nothing, I left you there.  I built a boat, I rode out to sea, I found a far away island and fell in love with a king.  He saw me from afar, asked if he could give me the world, and offered me all the jewels of his kingdom.  There was a great feast, and dancing, and celebrations with great joy.  I thought I was finally free.  But something felt wrong.  There was an emptiness in my heart that I couldn't fill with gifts or affection from another.  So I said goodbye to the king, thanked him and said I was sorry.  That it was me, not him, that he was good, and I was not.  And I wandered off to be alone.  One night in the dark, sleeping on the shore, the sea took me out in my dreams and I woke up here. I didn't ask to be back here, I didn't seek it out, but your voice drifted out and pulled me back in.

So I stood there, deciding whether I should climb up and knock on the door and see if you're still in there.  If you'd speak to me, if you'd ever come out, wondering why I could never save you, why you'd never let me save you.  Why you never wanted to save me.

It's not about love anymore.  Love was not enough for us, and that's the saddest part, because I so desperately wanted love to be enough and to believe in the fairy tale.  But it's not the only part.  It's about how neither one of us felt like we were ever good enough for the other one.  We both felt mistreated.  We both felt malnourished in our efforts to find fulfillment in one another.  I wish you would just admit that.  Admit that you did some shitty things to me as well.  Tell me that you were wrong to say some of the things that you said.  Tell me that even though we live three thousand miles away from each other and maybe we weren't meant to be partners, that you're proud of me.  That I matter.

We only get one life.  Tonight I will build another boat, and I will go back to where you can't hurt me anymore.

Because I'm doing really well.