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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Ouch.

(Also known as: here’s how piercing my nipples was a glorious act of self-care and an important step in my recovery/healing/story!)

Sooo. Hi. It’s been a while. This is going to be long and rambling.

I got my nipples pierced a month ago. This is something I’ve been wanting to do for at least five or six years. it connects to Longtime in that when I’ve expressed that previously, he never explicitly was like, “no, you can’t do that”…but he very much made clear that he did not like that idea or the look and generally all sorts of negative-nope-naysay comments. Then, with the boy (who has all sorts of piercings, including his nipples, that he’d done himself—yes, I know, sigh)…I’d talked about it with him, and he said he’d pierce my nipples for me. Luckily, that never came to pass for a variety of reasons (the boy had supposedly pierced a lot of people in high school, but had stopped), but it goes to show how much I trusted the boy and how incorrectly calibrated my good idea meter was because of that. During our situationship (thanks @thegassedlight) there was even a point where he offhandedly let me know he’d pierced [some random girl’s name I’d never heard previously]. I was like. Uh. I’m not okay that you just, did that? Without saying anything or asking or letting me know? And he was like sorry, blah blah blah. (I am pretty sure he probably did indeed, but that he did it to his now-wife.) ANYWAY. Anyway.

The boy had really emotionally abused/fucked over another girl, whom he’d introduced me to and we’d interacted with a few times, whom I’ll refer to as Red. I poured my heart out to her the night and days following The Shit, and she and I traded timelines and found out that there was even a point that he was cheating on (at least??) me, Red, and his current wife. At some point I talked about the nipple piercings, one of the many things he said he’d/we’d do and it never happened, and she shared with me that her current boyfriend is a piercer and if I wanted to get it done to just let her know. (And I loved that narrative; getting my nipples pierced by the boyfriend of another girl who (was unfortunately) emotionally destroyed by the boy, too, but who is now doing so, so much better, and is loved by someone else that’s so, so much healthier for her.)

August 16th, 2017 was significant in that it was the day I broke up with the boy. I’d written a wonderful letter to him two days prior that I’ll post in a bit, which basically said either we do this or we don’t, I’m not tolerating this shit anymore, that I’m healing with or without him. We came together on the 16th…and he told me he wanted to help me heal….but as friends. Even though we’d been fucking and acting like a couple and not even two weeks prior had gone on a romantic camping trip. Why had I written him this letter at all? After our lovely trip toward the end of July 2017, my Spidey sense was tingling again in mid-August, as it did from time to time. I hadn’t looked in a while, but something told me to go look at [his now wife]’s Instagram. She’d blocked me on there for some weird reason (I have a feeling he’d taken her phone and done so), so I opened an incognito tab and saw a picture wherein she thanked the boy for dyeing her hair so well (despite him having told me he’d cut off contact with her since earlier in the year, other than some bullshit about how she was living with his best friend [x] and that’s why asdkajdlak I can’t even go into that. But because he’d told me he wanted me, he wanted to work on us, that he was choosing this relationship and had severed the relationship with her because I told him that can’t happen if you have any contact with her). Anyway. The dyed hair thing. I can’t even remember what he said in response, that he was at a friend’s house, and that she showed up, and needed help dyeing her hair, something. It was so stupid. SO, so, so, so, stupid. I didn’t believe it then. So I wrote him this letter. I was done with him telling me bullshit. I had reached a point where I was perfectly ready for the relationship to continue, with major changes, or for the relationship to end, and that be that. But it never ONCE occurred to me that he might not want to be with me romantically. That he thought of me as just a friend. Because I certainly don’t go on romantic camping trips/do couple-y things/have sex with “just a friend.” Eye. fucking. roll.

Anyway. So another anniversary was coming up. I was feeling anxious about it. It was looming over me, as all these benchmarks seem to do for some weird reason. That whole tumblr post about anxiety being like hearing the boss music but you don’t see the boss, that sums it up. Or, like the theme from Jaws, as I said to a friend of mine recently. Foreboding. Ominous. About a week beforehand, the nipple piercings thing popped up in my mind again. I thought it over a day, and then reached out to Red. It felt like it was the right time. We talked a bit. And then I picked out the jewelry I wanted and she said she’d let her boyfriend know and that they’d arrive in the shop in about a week.

I told Red that I was intending to get them done the 16th. Work had been decent that day, but I was physically feeling weird all day, and started second-guessing myself. I had a tearful therapy session that afternoon. And then on the way home, I was like, fuck this, I’m going to fucking do it. I’m re-authoring this story. I’m replacing this day with something positive. This is the day I got my nipples pierced. Not the day the boy somehow broke my heart in a new way, not the day I remember walking away from him in the rain, not the day I expected a no but got somehow an even worse answer. I’m erasing that memory with this one; the pencil marks under it still remind me that I wrote something else first, but what I’m choosing to write instead is there now because I wanted it to be there.

Once I stopped waffling in my head, I messaged my roommate and she was happy to come along for support (who also has her nipples pierced). I went and picked up Red (WHO ALSO HAS HER NIPPLES PIERCED). Red and I have interacted several times in real life, but I finally got to meet her cat and she came over and saw my place. I packed a “don’t faint/seize/etc” bag with some mini Snickers bars and a tiny can of Mountain Dew (along with more sensible items like dark chocolate-covered almonds and crackers) and the three of us went to the shop. I was really nervous. But I was totally, nobody can change my mind or tell me what to fucking do, I-worked-13 hours-over-what-I-was-hired-for-this-pay-period-so-I’m-gonna-spend-it-on-meeee, 100% going to pierce my nipples.

I felt at ease when we got there and I met her boyfriend. He knew ALL about the boy—knew intimately how he had fucked Red over, the lingering damage he’d done, and knew how he had destroyed me in a new way because she’d talked about me. There was an apprentice with him, too. It turned out that everyone BUT me in that damn room (so, 4 out of 5 people) had their nipples pierced. I nervously made some joke about not being part of the cool kids club. But I felt safe.

I imagine that getting your nipples/anything else of the sort is kind of a weird situation to begin with. But I knew Red, my roommate…and knew “of”/but had only just met her boyfriend. I wanted both Red and my roommate there, but it was a little trippy to take off my tank top and unlatch my front-closing bra (which I never wear, but it seemed like a perfect time to actually do so) and show my breasts in front of 4 people who had previously never seen them before while he marked my nipples for placement.

(Also, props to Red: dude is so much cuter than the boy, so sweet, doesn’t drink at all, takes care of himself, and gave off super calming vibes. And has actually good tattoos and a stable job. It made me go. Oh, yeah girl, he’s fucking cute. If you can heal from what he did to you and find love again, maybe I can too.)

Red had previously offered to hold my hand and as we got ready she grabbed my hand (which, now that I’m thinking about it, is probably the only physical contact we’ve ever had) and it was so comforting. Red’s boyfriend was very professional and I trusted him totally, he walked me through how he’s going to do it and when he wants me to breathe and all that. The week prior, Red had told me he’d ask which nipple was more sensitive, which is a question I’d never asked myself before; I went, huh, I…don’t know, and then banjo-strummed both, and found out that my left nipple is indeed more sensitive. (I was so excited to find something new about myself I didn’t know before, haha.) So he pierced that one first.

I felt fine initially, and then started feeling weird. I said, I don’t know if I’m faint-y or not yet, but I let him know I felt kind of weird and he gave me a cool washcloth and told me to just relax and breathe. I said, hold on, let’s see what my pulse is, and my pulse was 53, so I asked for my “don’t faint” bag and chugged my tiny little can of Mountain Dew. We waited several minutes and then I was like, okay, pulse is back to normal, let’s do the other one. And did it!

It didn’t hurt too badly. I loved how they looked. It was a perception-changing act for me. Not only was I saying fuck you to Longtime (who’d poopoo-ed the idea many times in our relationship), but I was replacing “here is another thing the boy said he’d do and didn’t [and probably did with his now wife]” with “I went out and fucking did this myself on a meaningfully significant date that I previously had associated with something painful and I made it part of my healing narrative.” I caused myself actual physical trauma, triggering some feelings and sensations and emotions I had not felt in a while, in a controlled, supportive environment. I got to pick how the hurt happened that day. And the hurt wasn’t the focus of the whole thing; I wanted to do it because I’d been wanting to do it for years. I wanted to do something to make myself feel beautiful. Instead of having a panic attack thinking about the minutiae of that evening the year before, I got to have my new day. I took all the elements—the boy, nipple piercings, Red, Red’s boyfriend being an actual piercer, August 16th, my roommate—and I got to redo it all. Instead of having my nipples pierced by someone who systematically abused me, I had my nipples pierced by the boyfriend of someone who had experienced some of the same things, by the same person, and she’s here holding my hand as I leap into this experience and the boy is not. I wanted to connect these threads in my life in a way that felt empowering and healing and transformative. It was beautiful and sunny that evening. We had the windows down on the way home. A new memory. A rewrite.

I’m so glad I did it. I thought I was CURED of anxiety for about a week afterwards (spoiler alert: I was merely riding on the high of all sorts of adrenaline and pain responses and other hormones, I’m sure, haha). I felt so calm and cool and collected in a way I never had. Relaxed. At peace. And then “I” came back. Anxiety came back. Freaking out about work came back. But since then, I just. I don’t know. It feels different. It was a really healing act for me. I’m so proud of myself.

I’m going to stop here for now. But that’s where I am. My therapist told me she’s moving to California in a month yesterday. A year ago, I would’ve had a crisis. It would’ve been super jarring and I’d be in meltdown mode. I guess, I did do that, since my old therapist basically dumped me right after I found out that the boy had gotten married to the girl he’d cheated on me with ten months prior. tI think I am kind of having a micro-one, but the fact that I finally de-emotionally constipated myself by writing all this out, feels better. I think I’m sad about it. Yet I think this is the push I need to actually start trauma-based work/EMDR. We talked about it in session yesterday and she agreed. She asked if I wanted to continue seeing her or start transitioning now, and I said. It would be good to have a therapeutic situation wherein I actually have termination carried out properly, since I have never done that, and I would like for us to process and discuss our relationship ending so that it can happen in a positive way. Like. Woah, me.

She agreed I’m doing better, too. I have been exercising regularly, for the first time, since, childhood?? And it makes my brain feel better? WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME? (I might be being a little sarcastic regarding that query.) Eating is still not great. I am using my DBT skills naturally, which is cool. It often does still feel like whack-a-mole—once I feel like I have something figured out, another problem pops up. I guess that’s life, though.

Wow. How my mind meandered. I took my medication this afternoon with the intent to look back at my journals, something, I don’t know. (I was prescribed intranasal ketamine in PHP last December for treatment-resistant depression; it’d always been something I wanted to try but was out of my reach until I ended up at that hospital’s program). I grabbed the journal I’d kept during that time (the first ever composition notebook I completely filed every page of), the one I’d started after that, and the 2 wire bound notebooks I kept when I was with the boy, hoping to finally face head-on some of these things I’ve been avoiding re-processing for a while. I think part of it was me wanting to activate myself. In a healthy way, but also maybe not. I feel really good about the thing with my therapist but I know there are elements at work in my brain, things I have no control over, that are probably dealing with abandonment, again. Again again again again. It feels better now, I feel more in-tune with myself, but I know that some of these things I don’t have any control over. So maybe that’s why I wanted to grab all of these notebooks and re-activate myself. I dunno.

I feel good. Things are okay. I still hurt a lot. But it’s okay.

#mine #the boy #longtime #therapist #red #dbt #positivity #trauma #emdr #ketamine #abandonment #eating #august 16th

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Breadcrumbs.

Fuck. I can’t believe I’m getting close to it being a year without having been kissed or anything else. Shit imploded emotionally/mentally/relationally with the boy the day before Halloween, but we last had any physical contact in mid/late August, which is closer than I realized. We had such a hot, passionate summer. Part of it was being intoxicated by the fantasy of whatever I thought was happening, part of it was me riding the chemical roller coaster of his bread crumbing; every time he’d flake made the next time he’d stay over all the sweeter.

To be brutally honest, the boy was significantly less endowed than my other two previous male partners. Which had pros and cons, of course, but I think my brain/uterus confused the fact that sex worked more easily/without pain with further examples of “proof” as to why we worked so well together. To be fucking totally honest? I have admitted this only to my therapist the other week and still feel terrible and guilty and shameful but also feeling lighter as I continue to type this sentence out. The boy never once gave me an orgasm. Which isn’t entirely related to him—in part, yes—but it’s also reflective of me, namely, me, ignoring my gut feelings. Something deep inside me knew I couldn’t trust him. Something told me to not fully let go. Something also felt…performative. I’d tried so hard with Longtime (and had been shamed to hell and back by the first [my first boyfriend of 5 years, who had major hangups and perceptions of women and boy oh boy another messed up relationship whaaat no]) at the end, that I feel like I really latched on to this, “I’m a sex kitten, I like sex, I’m sexy” sort of mental reel that I’d leave on repeat. The boy and I started off as a casual thing and I did not anticipate falling in love with him but I suppose at the point it got more serious I felt like, I have to keep doing this. Hiding and “revealing” myself.

I did genuinely and consistently enjoy having sex with the boy, which was a first. Previously, it was a random chance if it was going to work, and if it was going to be painful or not. But with the boy, it was effortless. I thought, holy shit, I never thought I could like sex like this. And I got more confident, more assertive. Longtime had definitely run the show when we were together, which I liked, but there was an electric sort of chemistry between the boy and I, where we’d sort of shift roles…or there were certain things he’d never done, and I’d show him, or vice versa. I was enjoying sex, enjoying the closeness. I wasn’t having orgasms from his efforts, but I was satisfied physically. But something in me still couldn’t let go. And I had no issue gently redirecting or letting him know if he was doing something too hard or if a position was uncomfortable, had no issue asking that he shower after working on the truck before we hopped into bed, so the assertiveness was there. I don’t know. Maybe it was another situation where my brain was like, you know this is going to go nowhere, so put on this costume and have fun at least.

I never once thought, this, this is the guy I’ll marry. He’s irresponsible, impulsive, shit at taking care of himself. So bad. SO bad. God. Bad with hygiene—I mean, I’ve gone a week without showering in the throes of my depression these last few months, but I once took him to urgent care where he had an abscess lanced and where the doctor told him, “if you hadn’t let her take you tonight, you might be dead in a few days” because he had a god fucking damn staph infection. I’m the queen of “I’ll go to the doctor!!” but like, I don’t know when he last had a physical, much less the last time he went to a dentist. Doesn’t manage his diabetes. Vapes. Drinks, so, fucking, much. Eats garbage. These are all likely largely related to his PTSD/likely personality disorder(s)/comorbid conditions, trauma/abuse, and fucked up childhood/adolescence, and in no way excuses his behavior. But like, fuck, dude, go to therapy. Get the actual help you need. Get the help you lied to me about getting (DBT would be great for you, legitimately)…ugh.

I never once thought, this, this is the guy I want to have kids with. He has a child already; the kid is 2,000 miles away, but I don’t think he’s done anything but send child support since. Yes, he had this kid in high school, and he’s still a stupid guy in his early/mid 20s, but. Why would I think he wouldn’t abandon me? Why did I think I was safe? He does this. He destroys women because he probably hates them for not having protected him, or because none of them actually fill the voids within him, or because he lacks any sort of healthy relationship model to base anything off of. His sister and mom had alluded to his anger a few times, I’d seen him get irritated at his mom once, but I’d never actually seen the anger until the last few moments I saw him. I’d done nothing but call him out the whole duration of our relationship on shit that didn’t add up, but at the end he screamed in my face to Get the Fuck out of His Truck. Crocodile tears. Wah wah, I’ve ruined everything. A promise to give me all my stuff back (still waiting.) And then told me he was doing me a favor. Which, yeah, I guess he was, but still.

ALL OF THIS TAKEN INTO CONSIDERATION, why the FUCK am I still like, if he went to therapy…did AA…started working the steps…divorced her…lol. Like. What the fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m a crazy person. Just because a penis fit without hurting, we strongly meshed on an intellectual/mental/mutual level, and I was emotionally vulnerable in a way I had never been before (except lying about orgasms/to myself by ignoring my gut feelings, lols!) with a guy who was so profoundly deceiving me to this completely devastating degree…I’m like, SOLD. This relationship is REEDEMABLE AF!!! Get a grip…sigh. What the fuck.

I still feel so trapped by all these positive memories. I’m fucked up that I typed all this out and I’m still downplaying things. What he did was fucked up. And yet I’m like, but…love can overcome anything, right? Honey...love can’t overcome someone else’s fractured spirit. The degree to which that kid’s broken soul is injured takes a level of courage, bravery, and self-love to start to examine and heal that he simply doesn’t possess—who knows if he ever will. The whole adage, hurt people hurt people, is legitimate. How could I have expected anything less than destruction from him? How naive and childish of me to think that whatever I managed to scrape up from my dwindling well of goodness could ever make a dent in his lifetime of pain. How naive and childish of me to think I should’ve given anyone anything…that I had anything left to spare for anyone else. Silly girl.

He’d told me repeatedly how he didn’t want to date anyone again, after his previous relationship/fiancee broke his heart. All the while while dating another girl, and then marrying her. I’ve been through the ringer the last few months, but at least I’m not in that situation. Ick. I feel bad for her, because he cheated on her the entire duration of their relationship until the night before they got married. (His sister told me there was another girl who she’s pretty sure had been a longtime random hookup and who had been banned from their apartment after the wedding party, so. Classy.)

I don’t know why I can’t put all of this aside. I hate that there’s still a little girl voice deep inside that says, pick me. Why not me. That wants his mom or grandma or sister to reach out to me. That wishes they’d invite me over for dinner or to talk, like they said they would, so many months ago. What is it inside me that needs the validation of anyone, anything, other than myself? How do I get comfortable with validating myself? I guess, I’m doing that, sort of, by simply not going to them, letting the relationship be what it is, putting in equal efforts. But the voice is still there. Pick me, show him how important I am. It’s sad and it’s sick.

Or the part of me that flirts with the idea of showing up at his work. Feelings of, I want justice. I want you to feel like an idiot. I want to shame you. I want to remind your family of what you did to me. What is all that? Why is it still here? What is it telling me? I don’t envy their relationship; I feel bad for her, as she clearly is also in need of help. I have fleeting thoughts of, I want him to see how much more attractive I am than she is. I don’t know why I feel like tearing her down sometimes. I honestly don’t feel much of anything other than sympathy; I was in her shoes for so long, and at least I’m not saddled with the (likely) expense of divorce at some point. Why am I trying to prove something to someone who, if we’re continuing with the brutal truth, is below my league? I loved him. I did love him, even if I also loved the idea of him. I don’t know what to call what I feel now, but I don’t hate him. I wish I did; it’d make a lot of things so much easier.

What is that thought, of competitive reflection? Look at what you discarded, you idiot? It makes me think of all the body-related messages I got from him over the course of our relationship. When we met, I was the skinniest I’ve been in years after a good summer of regular gardening and tree-felling outside. I was all muscle and svelte. I remember him kissing down my stomach in the front seat of his stupid, big truck. He caught his breath when he got to my hipbones. I wasn’t underweight, but they jutted out a little bit above my jeans, and he said “I like these,” before nibbling and biting on them playfully. He regularly would just pet my hair and run his fingers over them. He’s a little on the shorter side, a smaller guy, but I’m under 5 feet so there was still several inches of height difference between us. His previous/current partner(s) had been bigger girls, both in height and shape, and I used to take a gleeful pride in feeling special when he’d tell me that, even though my body wasn’t traditionally his “kind of girl,” he thought I was gorgeous. He regularly would joke that he didn’t think he’d ever be into a short girl with long hair, big tits, and a big butt; that I was the polar opposite of what he normally was into (tall girl, short hair, smaller features). So I felt so special; he likes me so much and I’m so attractive to him that he deviated from what his normal type was. Sigh.

It goes beyond physical things, too, like how she’d never played Pokemon as a kid (video games were a big thing that we bonded over during our getting-to-know-each-other phase) and other petty shit. Like, she doesn’t even do car shit with you. I did that. Could she tell you what wildflower this is, or identify what bird that is? Probably fucking not. (He shared auto stuff with me, and I shared nature stuff with him.) Does she know the day your best friend drowned, or that it was eleven years ago? Doubt it. (If that last one sounds too dramatic, I did fact check it, both with his family and online after the fact, and it’s legit. Immediately after the shit, I had to ask a bunch of questions to see which things were true and which were/were probably lies, and his sister was happy to oblige me.)

I’m all fucked up, but I didn’t cry while writing a single word of this, so that’s good I guess. What is it all trying to tell me? What does it mean? Why is my brain holding on to this shit? What’s it trying to tell me, what’s the lesson I’m trying to show myself? Why do I keep feeling this strong compulsion to find these exterior reference points, when I know I have to make and stand by my own? I don’t know how to do that yet, so my brain feels like it’s grasping for anything. I think I grasp because it makes no sense that we could have what we had for two years and then poof, it evaporated. It makes me feel lesser that he hasn’t attempted to contact me. That he was perfectly fine erasing me from his life in that moment. What did he think was going to happen, after he got married? Did his dumb ass think he could keep emotionally dragging me along? Like, what the fuck. I hate myself for feeling sad that he hasn’t reached out at all. I hate myself for wanting him to drunk text me or show up at my house and make some stupid, dramatic display. I hate myself for wanting him to be like, I really, really fucked up, and I fucked you over, and I’m sorry for that. Of course, I also hate myself for wanting the more ridiculous thing, where he tells me he loves me and bla blahhh blah. I don’t know if “wanting” is the right term. This all feels so unresolved and like I need to act on something to avenge myself. I don’t know. I think perhaps the word I’m looking for, is, uhh, I’m angry? Maybe. I certainly don’t know what that emotion is.

All of these things wouldn’t be enough…but they’d be something. I’m wanting breadcrumbs from a ghost.

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Getting real old.

I’m so tired of crying every day. It feels like grief pours from this bottomless well of sadness. “How long can my body continue to produce tears?” is a regular thought I genuinely wonder.

Yesterday, Longtime asked if I wanted to get lunch. I wasn’t able to, that I was leaving at 1 and had therapy at 2 but would be by the old place afterwards. He was going to be over there, too, to get a medication at the grocery store 5 minutes from the old house, so I suggested we get something to eat afterwards or eat fast food at the house. At noon, he said once he “got his shit” at his first stop he’d let me know what his plan was and also invited me to go to something later that night, presumably with at least one if not both of his partners, to which I declined.

I did my stuff, got lunch anyway after therapy (3:15ish) and once it was 4:30 started getting that familiar feeling that I often felt with the boy when we’d made plans/I was waiting for him/he was flaking on me. That feeling like I’m a dumb little puppy waiting by the door for someone to come home. By 6pm (6 hours from when he said he’d let me know what his plan was), I finally headed back home and texted him, “Nevermind on [other thing I’d asked about]. Have a fun time”…to which he immediately responded, “Oh. I had frozen stuff from [grocery store] that needed to get into a fridge asap.”

I immediately started bawling in the car and pulled over and typed, “You didn't let me know what your plan was "after you got your shit" so w/e”, which yes I could have handled better but I was so blinded by hurt that unfortunately that’s how it came out. I added, “Just don't tell me you're gonna do something unless you actually plan to do it and follow through.”...which I find entirely reasonable.

He responded, “Ok. Just assume I'm not going to do anything then. I'll do my best not to extend myself in any way so as to avoid disappointment on your part.” And I cried harder, I started to type something more to lash out with but then decided I was going to put my phone down and drive home. I was too upset.

So I drove home, blinking away tears constantly and scream-crying here and there, brought everything I’d packed in the car inside, and texted him this about 40 minutes later: “You asked to have lunch. I gave you my schedule. You said you'd let me know. You didn't. I wanted to see you. I felt really upset that you didn't even bother to say, hey, not gonna work after all. It's not about disappointing me, it's about if you're going to follow through on things you say you're going to do or not. I wanted to see you. It's not fair for you to turn it on me and go into fuck-it mode; you were the one who didn't follow through on what you said you'd do. You doing that is about you, not me. I'd like to have a better relationship with you. It's also not fair or helpful to turn it on me and to use your presence or (lack thereof) as a threat. It's not unreasonable for me to expect you to do what you said you were going to do, nor is it unreasonable for me to be upset about it.”

I feel good about that. That was at 6:45 last night; he hasn’t read it yet. I stood up for myself, called out the inconsistent behavior without tearing him down, and expressed my hurt. I was so initially blindsided by emotion yesterday because it felt like such a familiar thing that had played out and I’d experienced similarly so many times with the boy. But the boy was going home to his apartment with his girlfriend/the girl he’d cheated on me with despite saying he’d cut contact/lying to me for over a year/etc., and I want to give Longtime the benefit of the doubt in that he didn’t do this maliciously but I know there’s some fucked up trauma bonding shit involved in this, too; point being, even if his ADHD brain gave him a lapse here, he still hurt my feelings. It still feels like he ditched me. It still feels like he prioritized frozen groceries over our relationship. (Which, now that I think of it, he could have stopped by anyways—yes, we unplugged the fridge, but the deep freeze is still plugged in—and regardless, it’s 5 minutes from the house. He couldn’t have stopped by? He had to also get on the highway that is like, right behind the house. It feels like a bullshit excuse to me.) Is that too dramatic? He said he’d do something, didn’t, but had to get the groceries home. At any point in between picking up his medication and buying groceries he could have said anything to me. And then to have him be like, blah blah blah, disappointing you…like, fuck you, I care about trying to have a better relationship and am literally the only one putting forth effort it feels like. Cool.

I told him this repeatedly, I keep telling myself this, have told others this. I can’t have people in my life who say one thing and do another. I can’t keep people around who say they’re going to do something and don’t. That’s what kept me entangled with the boy for too long. I kept making excuses for the fact that things didn’t add up, kept buying the excuses he’d give me, and kept myself hoping next time would be different because of the biochemically-deluded haze inside my brain. I can’t do it again. I can’t continue to let other people hurt me, keeping them around in my life if they, for whatever reason, say one thing and do another. Once in a while, whatever, like, shit happens. But I’ve had this conversation on several occasions with Longtime about various things the last month, and…I’m sure he’s like, she’s overreacting, blah blah, whatever. But. ??? I don’t know. I still don’t fully trust myself.

I feel so fucking alone. I don’t know what to do with myself now that we’re legitimately just friends. Not roommates. Not together. I don’t need his attention every day. I don’t need to hang out several times a week. I feel like I’m expecting the bare minimum, and that he’s acting like it’s too much. It makes me feel like with these two guys, I’m not useful unless I can provide something to them. That they wanted to use me for whatever they can until something else can do it better. I feel like I’m causing myself needless suffering. I’m obviously not at a point where I’m strong enough or healthy enough to fully separate their behavior from my perception of my worth. I know they’re unrelated. I know intellectually I am valuable and worthwhile regardless of how someone treats me, and that their treatment of me is a reflection of themselves and their values (or lacktherof) and not a measurement of my inherent goodness or worthiness. The shortcomings are theirs; not mine. But my emotion mind is like, yep, here’s another failure. Why do these guys keep finding better situations than you. The bottom line is that you weren’t enough. If you were, it would’ve worked out. But instead, they’re doing other things with other women, other women who have something you lack.

I know it’s skewed. I know it’s not accurate. But it feels true to me right now.

#mine #crying #longtime #the boy #familiar feelings #dbt #trauma bonding #assertiveness #alone #consistency

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Food.

I see my therapist again later this week, but last week she suggested I log my sleep/food stats. I feel really down on myself looking at the last several days. I tallied up the calories just to get an idea: 1,113...1,970...950...1,576...1,489...952. That seems pretty erratic. Today I tried to eat something better for breakfast, only to go with a little package of trail mix. I barely ate the whole thing in an hour, too, I just...I don’t know. I feel so entirely disconnected from my body. I think I don’t recognize hunger well. I feel so detached from myself. How do you not know what hunger is? Or is my grief really so intense right now that I’m simply naturally feeling the symptoms of it?

I feel like I am really high up in emotion mind, feeling in crisis mode, trying to do what I can, but my body is like, don’t eat, there’s danger. Everything feels dangerous. Every truck and car I see I look to see if the boy is driving. I cringe but always frantically look every time I see a company car and check to see if he’s in it. Everything reminds me of him still. Shouldn’t this shit be lessened after, going on seven months now? There’s always an anniversary for something around the corner though. July last year was a particularly up-and-down month. And my new place, it’s close to his mom’s house...and we shared a lot of memories on this side of town, ones exclusively tied to him as I didn’t really go over here a lot. And then, I’m also probably activated because while we were moving, to go pick up the truck involved us driving super close to his work (or where he worked last I knew; it’s an area/place I haven’t been since before the shit)...and when we returned the truck, I drove my roommate’s car past it. Maybe I got a little too cocky.

I feel like I’m so high up in emotions and crying every day and everything makes a memory pop up in my head and it feels like my brain is doing something against me and I don’t know what’s happening to me. I hate that when I try to flip through my DBT skills in a time of panic my brain will sometimes go, try to think of a positive memory. And I cannot recall one, one that is so strongly “ahh calming/happytimes”, that doesn’t have to do with the boy. I feel like I’ve lived the last 7 months in a therapy blur. Yes, I know the answer to only having memories around here is to make new ones. Yes, I know the answer to only associating happy things with someone who systematically manipulated my reality is to do things that might also make me happy with other people/myself. I can barely leave the house right now to go to work. I really needed my weekly DBT group to meet today but it got cancelled and I don’t see my therapist until Friday. I tried to make the best of today but it was very hard. I spent a long time spraypainting stuff and hanging out with myself at the old house, trying to get rid of some cans and also do some craft projects. We have two more weeks to get everything out and I normally don’t work Tuesdays, but I feel like I got on autopilot, as suddenly it became 8pm and I needed to go home to take my evening meds and my whole day had seemingly just, happened, without me recalling it much.

Yesterday I called Longtime and told him how I felt and that it hurt my feelings that he didn’t respond to my message for over two days, and didn’t technically until I called. Is this what our relationship is going to be, now? I guess I put all my eggs in one basket. I suppose I relied on his presence in my life as my roommate, and on regularly seeing his two partners on a weekly basis, and now I’ve gone from regularly seeing several people to...just my roommate. I’m trying to not bug her a lot. She’s got her own shitty family stuff and I am trying to cope with some of this on my own and don’t want her to feel burdened by my problems.

I am trying to mentally cope ahead with the conversation my parents want to have about money tomorrow. Not sure what I can provide. I’m not making enough. I feel anxious because I don’t know what I’m supposed to prepare to talk about. I don’t want to ask because then I’ll know. I don’t feel like I am mentally in a good position to have an emotionally-charged conversation like this, because my feelings of self-harm are pretty high, and that makes me go, oh, you must really be having a hard time if you’re resorting to the reaaaal old shit, brain. Writing helps. Petting my cat helps. I haven’t given in to any of these urges (haven’t self harmed in years) but they’ve been on and off the last several months, so it seems to be working. I guess I’m scared they’re going to give me an ultimatum and I didn’t get much help from the county so I don’t really have much to offer them in terms of shit that had been discussed in a family session I’d done with them months ago. I don’t know.

#mine #the boy #food #disconnection #cars #panic #activated #the shit #DBT #crying #trapped by memories #memories #struggling #family shit #money shit

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Feeling out of control.

I’m having a really hard time. Just moved. Well, still not fully moved out. But mostly. Been here a couple days.

Trying to reach out and/or build relationships with people that I may have not. I don’t know why I try and do this with my mom. I suggested she maybe stop by to see the new place today. She called me and I felt myself close up, shut down, do this thing I do when she calls usually. I haven’t spoken to her over the phone more than a few times in the last 6-7 months…since all the shit went down. But I was like, ok, maybe it’s me, maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing, maybe it’s the depression talking, I don’t know.

Yesterday she was trying to get me to do something, talking about how sometimes if you have something to look forward to it can make you feel better. Even after I told her that I was resting (the first day in like, a week and a half I had no plans to do anything/move anything, even though I got out of bed at 12:30 [highly unusual for me] and was seriously depressed and cried a lot all day) and stuff. And she was like, what if we went to a movie, blah blah, etc. I understand she’s trying to cheer me up in her way and stuff but I felt pushed when I was saying how I was going to rest and that not being enough.

Anyway, on the phone today, she talked about some stuff, and even about innocuous things I just…I start dissociating, I don’t even know why, and the only reason I recall this is because she asked if the boy had ever tried to contact me since and I immediately snapped to alertness and told her no, mom, and I don’t want to talk about him. And then she started talking about how she thought his truck was behind her on the highway and she thought, what should I do, flip him off? And now I’m sort of vibrating and I feel really fucked up. I got out of bed again today at 11:45 and felt like absolute shit mentally, crying less than yesterday but still like…way too emotional for how I normally am.

My ex (not the boy, uhm, it’s complicated…let’s call him Longtime) and I still lived together until this move. We’ve been friends for over 16 years now, were together for like…eight-ish? nine? Another complicated, intense, initially unlabeled romance that has at least been more stable for me in some ways but also like…a situation where I am now realizing that I was trauma bonded with him as well, even after we broke up (which never happened like, This Is The Breakup Happening, it was weird, because I have issues, and so all these men I have in my life also have issues)…and…and he took the boy cat and I’m so sad about it and I’m so fucking alone. For the first time in my life since I was like, 11, I have not been in a long-term relationship with a guy/had someone waiting or developing. This is the first time I am entirely on my own. So of course I understand why I am having a hard time. But I didn’t even really realize how much I was still dependent on him. And didn’t, still don’t, fully realize how fucked up our relationship is. He’s so mean to me and says really hurtful things and behaves toward me in a way he doesn’t behave toward anyone else. And I miss him so much.

We tried the open relationship thing, which intellectually sounded great to me and became clear something I might “think” sounds great but doesn’t actually work for me, and he always knew that was sort of his thing. But basically the whole duration of our relationship was spent in monogamy, we just had a good time being together. And then things kept heading south, I thought I was the problem, I went to therapy to fix myself, even went to physical therapy for pelvic issues because I thought the reason why sex with Longtime was so difficult and painful was because of me. And not maybe, I dunno, him being an alcoholic and not contributing as a partner and being mean to me, I don’t know. And then I met the boy when I was starting to feel better and I was like, oh, I have feelings again, I feel passion and desire. And I communicated all of this to Longtime and he was excited for me. But we didn’t realize until later that it was the end for us, really. He met a new girl and they really clicked, but yeah…we did a slow, messy, confusing, ??? sort of fade. And when we moved we moved into a new place together. I don’t know. It’s all fucked up. I can’t go back in time but it’s all a mess so no wonder I’m feeling messed up.

He’s still with her and now another girl who moved here last year, and they two girls are longtime friends and I also consider them friends, and they recently all bought a house. I worked as the sole breadwinner for years while he tried to get some really good business ideas afloat and now I’m all alone and they’re combined making like, I don’t know, probably $400k a year, maybe more, and I feel so fucking poor and less and useless and I don’t know what I am. My parents are still having to lend me money so I can survive. I know I’m making progress and I have done a lot of hard work and doing so much therapy and it’s great I got a part time job. But I took my truck to get an oil change last week…one of my few prized possessions, the biggest purchase to date that I’ve made entirely without anyone else’s help, and they told me I shouldn’t drive it because it’s not safe. It’s like going in for a cold or something and being told you’re Going to Die. I was crushed. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t have more money hiding anywhere. My parents want to talk to me about money and budgeting and whatnot but my thing is like, I don’t have more money. What do you want me to do. I feel like I’m not doing that great lately, this move and all the feelings it’s brought up have me in a really tender, crisis-ish place, and it’s scary. I don’t feel like I’m ready to work full-time yet. I was going to see how I felt after the summer. I would also need to get a new job because this job is 100% part time. I also slammed my knee into an X-acto a few days ago and it stuck in my leg and I freaked out and I handled it but I was so scared and I don’t know what to do about the truck situation and it makes me miss the boy, too, because cars/trucks/etc. were our thing and I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it. I had all these plans and ideas to work on my truck with, and there’s a person with the model before mine’s truck across the street at my new place and I was like, maybe I’ll go be friends with him. Or maybe he can buy my truck for parts.

I feel like I have nothing. Nothing but shit. I have art supplies and paper and notebooks and clothes and all sorts of stuff but everyone else has more than I do. I know I’m not alone but I feel pretty fucking alone. We were going to buy a house together. I don’t want to be with him again. I intellectually know it’s good for us to do this, and that it could possibly salvage/heal our friendship, having actual distance. But we have lived together for almost a decade. And I just never processed our breakup and now all these feelings of resentment that I pushed away because I thought I was doing the right things are screaming at me. I texted him a question yesterday at 1:30, and called him a little bit ago. Nothing. But his two partners both texted me yesterday so I’m like…? I don’t know. I feel like I’m not important to him. Which is not totally true; it’s that other things are more important. I am low on the list. It’s not important to him to communicate with me. I guess this is the least we’ve communicated in the last 11ish years, we don’t go days. I am a loser. Ugh.

I am looking forward to going to work tomorrow so I can numb myself and not feel emotions for several hours.

#mine #Longtime #why wasn't i enough #abandonment #this cuts deep #harmful relationships #the boy #cars #money shit #crying #trapped by memories #tenderness #pain #observations #mom #parents #ramble #abuse #trauma bonding

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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012417-040917

How did it start?

Who initiated it?

Why did you take her to [concert that he went to with her and his mom]?

Were you truly planning on telling me the night I confronted you?

When you came to get some water for your radiator at [my old work], were you coming from your house? (he showed up at like 8:30am, wearing pj pants, and said he was out driving…some dumb shit, idk)

Have you actually bought me Christmas gifts?

Who else knew then?

Who else knows, now?

Did you tell anyone not to tell me?

How intimate did you get?

How long did it really go on?

How did you get from “start” to her saying she loves you/you guys repeating sleeping in bed together?

How frequently were you really seeing one another?

How frequently did you lie about not being with her?

How often were you sleeping in bed together?

What concert did you go to? Did you go to [band]?

Why did you lie about just going to that free [band] concert with just [his sister]? (I saw an Instagram picture that showed all 3 of their reflections in the window of a building)

Why did you tell me you were seeing things/hearing things when you were sitting on the couch with her? (according to his sister; recurring theme of if you’re going to lie maybe don’t be saying scary stuff that I’d inquire about to your family members, especially if you’re in the same room as them at the time)

How often did you tell her you love her first?

How often are you communicating with her?

Can I scroll through your texts with her?

Where’d you go after the [event we went to together]?

Was she ever officially your girlfriend? Since when? (I later found out she was living at his mom’s house with him, so presumably yeah, and a while, lol)

Why didn’t you come clean after any of the times I asked about this/was concerned/etc?

What were you missing that drove you to pull away from me? What did she give you?

Why haven’t you gotten re-tested?

Can you connect with your therapist/get a new one?

How many dates did you go on? How much money did you spend on/with her?

Why did you take her to [restaurant] with [his sister] and not me?

What did you say when you told her? (he told me he had told her about us/cut things off/etc)

What made you decide to tell her/want to tell me?

How were you going to tell me?

Re: note [that I found in his truck when it died and he left it here for a week+], about your first day [at work], she said there are “cuddles when you get home”—explain?

Re: note, expand on her statement ”…that silly romantic part of me that you seem to adore.”

Re: note, expand on “I love showing you new places and people and having the favor returned.”

Re: note, expand on “…you tell me you’re mushy (? sic), indisputably in love with me.”

Re: note, expand on “I’m so glad to be yours.”

Did truly nothing happen on the trip?

Did anything happen over the summer?

Did anything ever happen with [his most recent ex]/anyone else over the time we’ve been together? (a lie, she confirmed later on, sigh)

Explain hickies, marks on your back? (ugh I’m such an idiot…I hate myself. he said it was from being on his back working on his truck)

Do you want to be my boyfriend?

Or perhaps, why do you not want me to be your “official” girlfriend?

Can you provide proof to me that you’re “over”?

Was her calling you her boyfriend on that photo (that I saw on Instragram a week after confronting him about cheating on me, heh) honestly the first time [she called you her boyfriend] (as he’d said)? Why’d you freak out so hard?

Why did you seriously think it was okay to take her to buy the [new truck] (a week after me confronting him about cheating on me)? Why’d she seem like you’d not just told her days prior that you were cheating on me?

Did you ever speak/refer disparagingly about me to her, or anyone?

Where have these bathroom (nudes, lol)/shirtless pictures been taken? (not at his house…lols)

Why don’t you call me princess/anything special lately? (‘Kiddo’ seems to be for everyone.)

“Look at this fucking cutie” comment (on a photo of her new haircut on Instagram) vs. you not liking/saying anything about my haircut…why?

Why did you take/post a picture of her (when you were in [other state]) but don’t take pics of me?

Why were you so active on social media with her but not me/ignore [social media] posts I tag you in?

What does a secure relationship look like to you?

For us to feel good/happy, what steps/actions would we need to take?

What really happened on New Year’s Eve/NYE Day/the day before?

Explain the “accomplice” crap again”?

How did it come to pass that you took her to the [exhibit] with [your other sister] and not me?

How did you get to that point between her “finding out” about us in July and whenever your relationship started? What did you say to her about us?

Was it really your “other friend” whose nipples you pierced? Why didn’t you tell me about it before you did it?

Tell me about test driving a vehicle with her?

You said things didn’t begin until after Thanksgiving at one point, but this is untrue according o those notes, so can you tell me why you lied about that? (and that she was actually living at his mom’s with him, yeah, mhm, siiiigh)

What happened with you being unable to help me move? What was going on?

Why did you not want to do the [app] with me?

Did you guys ever work on that table?

Did you truly not spend Thanksgiving together? (his mom told me otherwise, and yet…)

What about Christmas? Did you ever end up exchanging gifts/celebrating at all?

So, after she called you her boyfriend on that IG post, she must’ve blocked me; that picture is still there, and I see you liking her posts. Why? Explain this.

Are you able to provide proof; because otherwise I’m going to approach her about this, and can I see if? (unsure of what I was intending to add on to this)

What are your thoughts on all the things we’ve talked about doing (camping, trip, drive-in…etc)?

Will you unfollow/block her on Instagram? Can I read?

Did you really read my journal?

Why does it feel like you make little effort to see me, even for lunch, and we never seem to spend time together anymore? (sigh @ myself)

Why haven’t you gotten off [older ex who was his fiancé at one point, lol] (phone) plan?

Where is [this cat you adopted], really?

Who is [girl I don’t think exists who is apparently catsitting for this adopted cat]? Who is [a girl that does exist that his sister is pretty sure has been a longtime on-off thing with him]?

Why don’t you invite me anywhere?

Why don’t you take me to run errands?

Why has it been 6+ months since you stopped by, unannounced, to surprise me?

Where did you take her that you’ve taken me?

Where did you take her that you haven’t taken me?

What “date”/“romantic” things have you done?

Were you hanging out with her the many times you cancelled on me in October/the general fall?

Why didn’t you show up that one day you helped [mutual friend] with his car—you were going to pick me up from work, but I had to get someone to drive me home, and you ended up being with her? (according to his sister)

Will you be my boyfriend? Why or why not?

Why did you ignore me/not acknowledge me when I spoke about our “anniversary”? Do you not care at all?

How do you really feel about me?

What’s really the deal with Xmas/birthday stuff?

Thoughts on our trip? How can we save a bit of cash every paycheck?

How can I reach you in an emergency if you never pick up my calls anymore?

I’ve seen you Facebook Messenger-ing people/girls before—why do you ignore me on there?

What happened the evening of Valentine’s Day?

What’s your thought process like when you ignore one of my calls/a specific subject in a text message?

How did test driving a car happen?

Did you sleep together at your house?

Do you want to go on dates with me?

Why did you lie about the textbooks in your truck?

That night we were [activity] by your house, you seemed to get a message and then immediately “got tired” around 9:30—what really came up? (Early Nov)

Are you ashamed to be with me? Do you feel like “hiding me”/our relationship for some reason?

Do you feel you respect me?

Would you consider relationship therapy?

Can you at least contact your old therapist (for yourself/your mental health)?

Do you want to see me more? Do you miss how things used to be? Do you want to see me more than 20 minutes-0 minutes a week? (sigh)

What was really going on that day I took off work/we worked on the [car]/I cancelled my evening plans, then you suddenly had to leave at 3:45?

On NYE, why’d you tell your grandma not to mention I was there?

Did she give you any gifts? For Christmas or Valentines? [Item] or [character] necklace?

Have you been to [store we all worked at at one point] since you both quit/in the last 1-3 months? How often?

#mine #the boy #cheating #ugh #writing: other #hug @ myself

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Stuck in cycles.

I am separating this post from the one I’m about to post next, which is just a list of questions relating to my ex’s cheating that I amassed over two or so months. I found concrete evidence of him cheating on me around January 24th, 2017. I gave him a letter sharing my thoughts and confronted him about it on January 26th, 2017. I then spend the time in-between that date and April 9th, 2017, trying to get him to give me straight answers, but he would answer a thing here and there, we’d talk a bit, or we’d have a setback, or we’d have a good few days, but I kept thinking of questions I wanted answered or addressed and would write them down.

We sat down early April, had some drinks (him presumably to numb himself enough to be able to lie to my face about basically all of them, me to get the courage to read each one of these out loud), he answered all of them. Lying to my damn face. Went over two months of him saying “we’ll talk soon, I want to sit down and talk”…he ditched me on my birthday…and still when he finally answered all these things, I felt such relief. And now I know that they’d actually moved in to their own apartment about a week or so prior to him being open and answering all of my questions finally about his infidelity. Nice.

I am reading a lot about the effect divorce has on daughters and how there’s this “sleeper effect” that posits many of the negative effects of divorce isn’t fully expressed by young girls until they’re growing and becoming young women, when things like choosing a partner and navigating and negotiating romantic relationships start to come into play. I’ll share some passages soon, as I’m still working through a book and journaling, but it is fascinating.

I am trying really, really, really fucking hard to put my patterns, my decisions, my choices into perspective. I am embarrassed and yet feel freed by posting this. I see a scared little girl. I see a woman trying to get the truth. I see me not trusting myself. I see someone in desperation and someone in crisis. I feel pathetic and yet am trying to be gentle with myself, trying to be nice. I see someone who desperately wants to be loved and accepted by someone who is very, very sick. I hope that by sharing this it’ll have less power over me. I never got to see what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like growing up—how else could I avoid playing through the same script I’ve been taught my whole life? But now that I’m aware of it, I’m working and pushing to rewrite everything I’ve ever been taught, whether directly or indirectly or otherwise.

#mine #the boy #divorce #family shit #progress #healing #therapy #embarassment #january 2017 #april 2017

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Blegh.

Feeling what I can’t really describe as anything other than emotionally constipated. Always like, there’s so much more I want to say, I want to get out.

I am really missing physical touch. I have these moments where I get so hungry for touch, for closeness, for that intimacy between people. Then I feel guilt/shame like, oh, well, was what I felt even that, if he lied to me about it? Or is intimacy merely a figment of the imagination to begin with?

I won’t die from not being touched. But it feels like I’m healing in a vacuum. I keep telling myself, it’s good for you to not be alone right now, I keep hearing that from other people, too, and yet, when is that time limit completed? When is it the right time? How long do I deprive myself of the sort of closeness I crave for me to have earned it? How do I know I’m doing it healthily? Perhaps that’s why my brain is so fixated on recreating and remembering moments with him, because those moments existed, they are memorable, there was a time when I felt physically and emotionally and mentally vulnerable and close with someone. Even if it turned out to be a poor decision.

I talk about “others” in this abstract, because I haven’t met anyone, don’t do things to meet people, haven’t even had any sort of inclination that I’m even remotely attractive in months. I know I am. But just. I’m a ghost. I think I’m beautiful, but also look at myself in the mirror and go, man, if this goes on any longer, they’re going to miss out on this. I’ll never be as beautiful as I am today. Repeat ad nauseam.

I feel like I keep repeating the same patterns. I think doing DBT has been helpful. But I feel like I’m treading water again. Being triggered and activated in ways I never was, now, too, so. Not sure what to do. I was going to ask my therapist about EMDR at my appointment on Thursday but apparently my appointment was on Wednesday and I forgot to change my Google Calendar alert and I haven’t done that in years. I was so upset and embarrassed and mad at myself, because I really needed to talk to her. Normally I’m 15 minutes early. I never blank out or cancel last-minute on appointments. I came home and listened to some guided meditation on YouTube and napped and that seemed like the right thing to do.

#mine #the boy #physical touch #intimacy #dbt #therapy #therapist #embarassment #shame #guilt

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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070717

Is this the (e)X-files? I want (so badly) to believe. But, just like Fox, you’re good at lying to yourself. Alternative facts; unfollow her? you (liar) did not. An alien in your life. Another girl, front seat, her Sally paystub as proof. Becky with the good hair. I wanted (so badly) to believe. Wish in one hand, bullshit in the other, the truth was out there in your stupid truck.

#mine #the boy #writing: poetry #cheating #liar #ugh

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Embarrassed to say I watched a video of him that I hadn’t in a long time. He’s super drunk, but was laughing so purely about this song, and it was just...ugh. Why did I do that. I really felt my heart pull.

Do you ever miss a voice?

#not mine #the boy #yep #memory

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Oh, and a little yay.

Trying to also include some good stuff, too. I didn’t realize it yesterday but I was dissociating (aka I have no real memory of driving home, which is not abnormal sometimes for even people without trauma issues, but...) and how I stopped was when I was pulling into the garage (backing up, granted) and just, smashed my truck’s mirror. I sat there for a moment being like, what is that crunchy noise, what’s going on. And then I started shit talking myself, like, what the fuck are you doing, have you never driven before, what the fuck, you’re poor you know right? And then I decided I wasn’t going to be mean to myself about it. I wasn’t going to punish myself about it. I went, hm. Okay. And ordered a new mirror off Amazon and will deal with it tomorrow. It’s ok.

#mine #ramble #positivity #dissociation #cars

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Just shut up.

I’m so nauseous. Since last week. I restarted my sleep med. Thought it might be interacting with my birth control or anything else I’m god damn taking. I’m really feeling sick right now. And have to take my sleep med in the next few minutes, which is making me even more nauseous to think about. I keep being like, is it this med? Is it interacting with that med? Is it something I ate? Is it ____??? And there’s this little voice at the back of my mind that’s like IT COULD BE THOSE, but it could also be you repressing feelings because you can’t fucking deal with DBT ending/starting a new job/trying to get your shit together/finding a place to live/splitting all your shit with your previous-previous partner finally (not the boy)/packing/moving/etc etc etc. I can barely just. Get through each day. It feels like everything is yelling at me. Every time I see my parents they ask questions related to these things. Like I need someone else in my life exacerbating my anxiety about any of it, while also full knowing that a lot of this shit is entirely out of my control, so all I have is what I can do to take care of myself and what I can do to cope. I have had a hard few days. I don’t think I’m getting enough nutrients. I think I’m going to get some meal supplement shakes or something. I don’t know. I wish I had a full day to write. I feel like that’s what my body wants to do.

#mine #ramble #parents #the body keeps the score #sooo how far behind am I #heh #life

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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#not mine #pain into art #discombobulation

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Checklist?

Another thing that trips me up, that really gets my head all muddled, is when I start looking at lists about symptoms/signs that an relationship is unhealthy to the point of being verbally/emotionally/mentally abusive. And…how he doesn’t fit so much of that. But there’s no way you could say that he didn’t abuse me. Right? Right. (right?)

Non-physical abuse is already so insidious and I know it’s normal to have those thoughts, to have the second-guessing and have the whole highlight real of “did he REALLY abuse me?/was it ACTUAL abuse?/am I just OVERREACTING to things?” recur without fail during those more tender moments. It spins me into this headspace where I ping-pong back and forth, sometimes so jarringly and rapidly that I become disoriented and foggy-headed and forget what I was even thinking about to begin with. But what he did was abuse.

The fact that you lied to me, for OVER A FUCKING YEAR, about things I nearly 80? 90? percent of the time directly asked you about, or called you out on, I just. Ugh. How many times did you look me in the eye and say you’d cut off contact with her? How many times did I find evidence of the contrary and asked you about it, thinking perhaps oh, maybe I’m just crazy, and you soothingly assuaged my fears with some buuuuullshit reason, someones one that was SO fucking bad I don’t know how dumbstruck with the belief that you actually loved me and that what we had was anything but a figment of my imagination I had to have been. I remember once you said something about needing to leave early on Sunday morning, to go renew your truck tabs or something with your [male friend] x. I laughed in your face. I said, oh yeah, going to do that, on the weekend, when surely governmental buildings like that are open. Uh huh. GIRL. WHY DID YOU PUT UP WITH THIS SHIT? SO STUPID.

I wonder if he got a thrill from pulling the wool over my eyes. From seeing how much he could get away with. I wonder if he got off on making the smarter person of the two of us believe (“believe”) such stupidity. Or did you really not know what to do with the confluence of your apparently super-serious relationship with your now-“wife” (who is, by all accounts, somehow even more of an idiot child than you are, and one who somehow makes more rash and stupid decisions than even you do) and me, who you loved to expend vast amounts of emotional labor on and also I guess loved the hot sex. I can’t believe I wasn’t enough for you. I can’t believe you needed someone to help you kill yourself with more than anything else. I know it’s not about me. I need to not take it personally. Your death wish/alcoholism/need to destroy everything you come into contact with isn’t on me, but it still hurts me. It hurts that you picked someone who’d drink profuse amounts of alcohol with on the daily and watch movies with. That’s literally their relationship. Which is why, even though I feel like things were still a mirage, it was pretty believable for me at a time that I was dying for water.

Like, you’re an adult, get a therapist. Fix your shit. You are fucked up. Nobody who is healthy does this. So don’t lie about it this time. I can’t believe I believed even for a millisecond that you were in a DBT group, lol. Ugh.

#mine #the boy #ramble #abuse #second guessing #liar #idk ugh

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cicatriselle-blog · 6 years

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Let it gooo.

There’s also this urge. To like. Fix him still. Fix it.

I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not so much, fix him. But there is that element of, he is not a person who keeps healthy people around him. He is not a person who makes good decisions. There’s that little voice in my head, the one I’m ashamed to admit is still there, who says, I was different. We were different. I could’ve helped him more. I wasn’t the only person capable of helping him. But…I’d just, I’d created this image of us, of him, of me. I’d heard over and over how me being in his life was so good for him, not only from him. How he needed more relationships like the one he had with me. A good friend. I laughed, sure, good friend, but I get what you mean. Mmmyeah.

Anyway. I have this urge to be like. MY GUY. DO YOU REALIZE HOW FUCKED UP YOU ARE. DO YOU REALIZE?? I don’t know why that urge is still there. To control it somehow. To exert any sort of control over the uncontrollable. I can’t let go.

But there’s also that more rational part of me who goes. I wish I could tell his mom about his abuse. So that when stepdad comes back he’s nowhere near any of that family. Who knows how many other kids that guy has abused, I don’t fucking know. Am I just supposed to not say anything for the rest of my life? Is it my place? I don’t have anything 100% so I guess I probably should. But…when it’s in regard to a person who has already received multiple felonies for that same crime, it’s like. ??? I don’t know. I’m so angry one of the last few things you ever said to me was about that. Fuck you.

There’s other stuff, too. How if he actually got treatment for his PTSD so many of his health issues might resolve or lessen. What I’d read about tinnitus and PTSD. How I’m 99% sure he’s got some sort of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and how I wished for so long he would have gone to the doctor. I remember taking him to urgent care twice. Once after the now-wife, then-still-friend, accidentally broke his nose and gave him a concussion jumping on my trampoline. She thought it was hilarious. I was like, you are fucked up. He kept being like, nah, nah, but who still found it funny and who brought your stupid ass to urgent care who told you to get an MRI/CT scan to be safe. Who, when you were like, does this look bad?, took you to urgent care again because you had a staph infection and could’ve died had you waited another couple days. Idiot. Now you’re both ruining your livers/pancreases/etc. You’re going to be dead by 30. Or 28, dead like Avicii.

I just want to ask him. Did you stepdad do this shit to you? Even if he didn’t, what your sister told me is still abuse. And that’s not okay. What you did to me was not okay. What you did to me was still abuse, but hurt people hurt people—do you realize you’re hurting people? Do you realize you’re going to keep doing this, that it’s not something that magically goes away?

Look at me. Trying not to judge it. But there’s that voice again, this time, telling me how pathetic and lame and stupid I am. Expending all this fucking energy, when you’ve been gone nearly six months now. If only I could let it go and save some more for myself.

#mine #the boy #abuse #ptsd #caretaking #codependency

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