I'm fucking sad. I'm sad for future plans that were taken away from me. I'm sad my friend was taken from his family so needlessly... And at such a young age. I'm sad I'm so alone.
I'm angry. I'm angry that I gave all of myself to someone who never gave any of their self back, I'm angry that although I have had so many other people's backs that I am alone in what I am facing.
I want to cry for all I've lost - My mother, my hopes, my security, my confidence - i want to cry and cry and not stop. I want to give up. I want to alternately go on a spree of self destruction so ridiculous that I go out in a blaze so bright no one can bear to look at it - But then, I kinda want to sleep and just never wake, letting the euphoria of release take over every part of me as well.
But I can't really allow myself to do any of those things. I have to stay. I need to be here to how my youngest son what pure love is - the kind with no expectations. I need to be here to so my middle son learns how to not be so angry and keep coaching him on. I need to be here for to tell my oldest how proud I am of him for never giving up on himself - no matter how much easier it would have been.
I can't do those things in giving up on myself. I can't give them reasons to stop. I need to be here to prove to myself, to them, that it was all worth it. So I can see once and for all the storms have passed -that I can live in peace - actually live and not just survive.
That's my pep talk to myself. What's the point in cutting out now after all the hard work has already been put in? What kind of idiot leaves just before the pay off?
I love these stupid kids - I have sacrificed more than I care to admit for them. I could have done more - been more - but that's all past. No point in dwelling.
I feel no guilt. I have put 190% of myself into everything I have ever loved. Regardless of how much more I could have done. looking back, I'm smart enough to know that ultimately it may have done more harm than good had I done it. Most of us have survived with minimal scars.
When I look back over my own bruises, some were self inflicted, others showed up along the way... Bruises are like that, really - either from hard (or clumsy) living or just a product of being human. This brings me to the hard part - admitting that I am a mess... a self-destructive, beautiful mess.
I don't know how to do this, but I'm pretty sure I've felt that same way when any of the other shit I've made it through happened and so far, my survival rate has been 100%.
So today - I chose to get through it. It might change me a little - It's supposed to, I guess. I'll just get through today.
I'm not arrogant enough to say it will all work out how I want, but I have enough empirical data to conclude that I will, indeed survive. I'm just going to let tomorrow happen - in the meantime, I keep telling myself - you just gotta get through today....
Welcome to the Darkside. Together we can make it to the light and help overcome trauma, support mental well-being, and heal from abuse through information and mutual support. You are enough. You always were.
Chapter #6 - What the Devaluation Stage Looks Like - My Story - Pt 1
This entry is going to be difficult for me to write for several reasons: I do not want backlash of any type. Not for me, not for him. I un...
Remember How You Loved Me?
Remember when it was all still magical? Even to this day, when I look back at that time I can't recall many moments where we weren't smiling. We went everywhere together, missed each other when we were apart... It wasn't even all that long a go.
Would you believe me if I told you I can't remember the feeling of being held in your arms when I slept? Strange, seeing as there was once a time where I couldn't imagine their absence. I've forgotten the way you used to look a me - the way your eyes would change. You said "I love you" in a way I've never heard before... or since.
I can't stay in those memories too long before the lump in my throat forms again, threatening to unleash a river of tears.
We were everything to each other; the future, the answered prayers of our past.
How you loved me...
How I still do....
I may not remember the way your strong arms felt when they held me - but it's only because the pain of your absence consumes me tot he point of forgetfulness.
I may not be able to recall being short of breath - gasping your name - but I'll never be able to shake the stutter brought on by sobs when I try to speak your name.
I have to believe you simply stopped loving me one morning upon waking and seeing my face - because the thought of you still loving me while choosing not to be here is too much for me to comprehend.
One day it will be easier, I imagine. The nights and days that pass without hearing your voice won't kill a little more of my soul at a time.
But right now, I'm not sure how I might make it through he night. What a stark contrast knowing that the only way I could sleep at night was with the thought of your love in my mind, to the reality of now - where I try not to sleep least the dreams of you should come and break my heart into a million pieces all over again.
You tell me you want to discuss it all, that closure will come of beautiful words speaking fondly of better times -you tell me you still want me in your life. Well, I won't. The pain is too much to bear.
Every time I see you, my heart breaks again, remembering how easy it was to walk away.
"I loved every stupid broken piece of you. I swallowed your badness an held my hand out for more. People thought I was stupid or heroic - I don't know which is better. Do you remember sitting on that mountain? I watched the moonlight stream through the cracks of your heart and I kissed them. Your sad was so big it took up my whole world. There was nowhere I could turn without wanting to hold your hand. There was never any hope for us, and you knew that, but I was the only light that never left, so your wrapped your hands around my warmth like you would have died without it. I could have lived on that mountain forever, you know... I could have washed myself after each dirty day with you and come up clean, I could have been the only good thing. We could have called it love."
Would you believe me if I told you I can't remember the feeling of being held in your arms when I slept? Strange, seeing as there was once a time where I couldn't imagine their absence. I've forgotten the way you used to look a me - the way your eyes would change. You said "I love you" in a way I've never heard before... or since.
I can't stay in those memories too long before the lump in my throat forms again, threatening to unleash a river of tears.
We were everything to each other; the future, the answered prayers of our past.
How you loved me...
How I still do....
I may not remember the way your strong arms felt when they held me - but it's only because the pain of your absence consumes me tot he point of forgetfulness.
I may not be able to recall being short of breath - gasping your name - but I'll never be able to shake the stutter brought on by sobs when I try to speak your name.
I have to believe you simply stopped loving me one morning upon waking and seeing my face - because the thought of you still loving me while choosing not to be here is too much for me to comprehend.
One day it will be easier, I imagine. The nights and days that pass without hearing your voice won't kill a little more of my soul at a time.
But right now, I'm not sure how I might make it through he night. What a stark contrast knowing that the only way I could sleep at night was with the thought of your love in my mind, to the reality of now - where I try not to sleep least the dreams of you should come and break my heart into a million pieces all over again.
You tell me you want to discuss it all, that closure will come of beautiful words speaking fondly of better times -you tell me you still want me in your life. Well, I won't. The pain is too much to bear.
Every time I see you, my heart breaks again, remembering how easy it was to walk away.
"I loved every stupid broken piece of you. I swallowed your badness an held my hand out for more. People thought I was stupid or heroic - I don't know which is better. Do you remember sitting on that mountain? I watched the moonlight stream through the cracks of your heart and I kissed them. Your sad was so big it took up my whole world. There was nowhere I could turn without wanting to hold your hand. There was never any hope for us, and you knew that, but I was the only light that never left, so your wrapped your hands around my warmth like you would have died without it. I could have lived on that mountain forever, you know... I could have washed myself after each dirty day with you and come up clean, I could have been the only good thing. We could have called it love."
The Obsession With Death
I have been obsessed with death as long as I can remember. When I was small, it was animals. It was mind blowing to me that something lying so still. so stiff, could have just moments ago been running free...
My mother called it a darkness... " You're got a darkness in you, that's for sure." she'd say...
As I got older, it was weird and random thoughts about dying - If I died right here, right now, would anyone figure out who I was? How would they know who to call?
Older still - a romance. Death ans I would flirt. I'd do outrageously reckless and impulsive things just for the thrill.
At some point, I even convinced myself I would die in a car accident. I've envisioned it, dreamt about it - nearly to the point it seems logical.
Once I discovered motorcycles it morphed into a different feeling. The feeling of power I possessed knowing that at any given time I could simply let go. At a speed of 90 mph on a bike there us nothing but the sensation of wind in your hair , rushing into your ears - the rest of the world is drowned out. The intoxicating feeling of knowing the ultimate freedom is just within your grasp, yet the power to not take hold of its' hand and escape.
Drugs, for me, was a subconscious game of hide and seek with death. Being doped out of my mind was as close as I could get to the euphoric numbness of snuggling deep into its' cold embrace - but without the commitment. That would actually be a damn good slogan for opiates - "death, without the commitment."
I don't want to die - but that doesn't make the feeling or experience any less fascinating to me.
What an unusual place to spend your life; drifting between the planes of a life I know I haven't lived as well as I could have - and sweet, euphoric nothingness. Total freedom.
I know i don't want to die. I knew it yesterday when I crossed the street. Before setting foot into the road, I looked to my right, then my left.
Looking both ways before you cross a street is not a survival instinct deeply ingrained in our DNA, it's a learned response. You have to be taught it. Consider a young child, recklessly darting through a parking lot, driven by excitement. Someone has to teach him. It's an act of self-preservation - a small, simple act that both goes unnoticed but yet screams out "I haven't given up yet!"
I looked both ways when I crossed the street yesterday.
Things are dark an uncertain in my life right now - I am unsure of my next move and at times, with all the loss around me like a cloak it's hard to even fathom moving - but nevertheless, I looked both ways.
I'm going to keep looking, too. I've got a lot of living to do yet.
My mother called it a darkness... " You're got a darkness in you, that's for sure." she'd say...
As I got older, it was weird and random thoughts about dying - If I died right here, right now, would anyone figure out who I was? How would they know who to call?
Older still - a romance. Death ans I would flirt. I'd do outrageously reckless and impulsive things just for the thrill.
At some point, I even convinced myself I would die in a car accident. I've envisioned it, dreamt about it - nearly to the point it seems logical.
Once I discovered motorcycles it morphed into a different feeling. The feeling of power I possessed knowing that at any given time I could simply let go. At a speed of 90 mph on a bike there us nothing but the sensation of wind in your hair , rushing into your ears - the rest of the world is drowned out. The intoxicating feeling of knowing the ultimate freedom is just within your grasp, yet the power to not take hold of its' hand and escape.
Drugs, for me, was a subconscious game of hide and seek with death. Being doped out of my mind was as close as I could get to the euphoric numbness of snuggling deep into its' cold embrace - but without the commitment. That would actually be a damn good slogan for opiates - "death, without the commitment."
I don't want to die - but that doesn't make the feeling or experience any less fascinating to me.
What an unusual place to spend your life; drifting between the planes of a life I know I haven't lived as well as I could have - and sweet, euphoric nothingness. Total freedom.
I know i don't want to die. I knew it yesterday when I crossed the street. Before setting foot into the road, I looked to my right, then my left.
Looking both ways before you cross a street is not a survival instinct deeply ingrained in our DNA, it's a learned response. You have to be taught it. Consider a young child, recklessly darting through a parking lot, driven by excitement. Someone has to teach him. It's an act of self-preservation - a small, simple act that both goes unnoticed but yet screams out "I haven't given up yet!"
I looked both ways when I crossed the street yesterday.
Things are dark an uncertain in my life right now - I am unsure of my next move and at times, with all the loss around me like a cloak it's hard to even fathom moving - but nevertheless, I looked both ways.
I'm going to keep looking, too. I've got a lot of living to do yet.