sad-poets-society

[sad-poets-society]

Kindness and attention feel a little too similar to feelings for someone who has never experienced either.

[sad-poets-society]

I'm not meant for friendship. That's not to say I'm not a good friend. I'm a great friend to the people in my life. I'm not meant for the friendship you see in the movies. The ones you read about in books. The talk all day, hang out on the weekends, in this hell together style friends.

I get too attached. I'm too emotional. I have too much baggage. I've been starved of friendship for so long I hold onto the person like a leech. I suck out the empathy, kindness, compassion, and patience. I suck them dry. It's not their fault they can't handle me. I'm just too much.

Im always fighting for my place in someone's life. I want to plead to the universe to send me someone who would fight for me. Someone who would notice when I'm quiet or down or not responding. Someone who gave a shit whether we saw each other once a week. Someone who would make the plans, initiate the togetherness, a friend that is there for it all.

But im not made for that. I'm not the type anyone fights for. I'm not the type that is invited to dinner on a week night. I'm the one that come to when there's no one else who understands. No one else to turn to. The one they keep in their back pocket for days that they're lonely.

Im a good friend. I just don't get one of my own.

[sad-poets-society]

I was and always will be Galinda thinking I am an elphie.

I'm not first act Galinda. Im not popular and beautiful and I was never truly mean. However, I am Defying Gravity Glinda. No matter what I have been through, I have always and will always choose the path thats expected and reliable.

I'd love to be an Act One and even beginning of Act Two Elphaba. The one who cant control her temper because she is so passionate about things and people. I put on a good show. I basically walk around painted green, hoping no one will see the flakes where the paint is cracked or see the pink shining through.

Im a people pleaser. Even when I act rebellious or passionate, it is still within the path predestined for me.

I think I was Galinda long before I knew who she was. I was the little princess that "rebelled" here and there. But it was always within the confines of the grey area. I could essily tip back to the white, pure and innocent. It was there, in the grey that I say I was pushed over to the black. I danced through the grey and out of nowhere was thrust to the evil side. I came out bruised and beaten and I now walk through the white side leaving stains on every surface i touch. Galinda goes from loving Elphie with her whole being to not only allowing people to talk about about her, but joins in calling her wicked. Did she have wicked tendencies? Sure. But rather than show the people she could be kind and caring, she feed in to the illusion until it became delusion. Then it became reality. Because reality is only what the person that comes out on top makes it.

"Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?"

I don't know. Depends on if I'm the Good witch or the wicked one.

"Goodness knows the wicked cry alone."

That's me.

"Life's more painless for the brainless, why think too hard when it's so soothing dancing through life?"

This one defines my 2021 and 2022.

"Nothing matters but knowing nothing matters"

So does this.

"Those who don't try never look foolish"

This defines my whole life.

"No uh it's because uh because you are so beautiful"

My people pleasing landing me in a shituation just like good ol Boq.

"Ive decided to make you my new project"

Me trying to make the best of the shituation while dancing on the line.

"Dont dream too far don't lose sight of who you are. Dont remember that rush of joy. He could be that boy. Im not that girl. Every so often we long to steal to the land of what might have been but that doesn't soften the ache we feel when reality sets back in."

Me being coerced/convinced I deserved more and better.

"I hope you're proud how you would grovel in submission."

My brain to me.

"Can't I make you understand you're having delusions of grandeur."

Her to me.

"Too long I've been afraid of losing love i guess I've lost."

Me trusting her intentions were pure.

"I hope youre happy now that you're choosing this. I hope it brings you bliss. I really hope you get it and you don't live to regret it."

How I imagine a conversation would have gone if we'd had one and I hadn't been the coward that just quit responding with no explanation.

"Everyday more wicked. Spreading fear wherever she goes. Seeking out new victims she can hurt."

Me allowing her to be the bad guy makes me the bad guy.

"There are bridges you cross you didn't know you'd cross until you've crossed."

More evidence I was the bad guy.

"I never asked for this or planned it in advance. I was merely blown here by the winds of chance."

The timing.

"I never saw myself as a Solomon or a Socrates. I knew who I was. One of your dime a dozen mediocrities. Then suddenly I'm here respected. Worshipped even. Does it surprise you i got hooked and all too soon?"

Me rationalizing my fall into the delusional state that ruined my sense of self. We'll what little sense of self I had.

"A man's called a traitor or liberator. A rich man's a thief or philanthropist. Is one a crusader or ruthless invader? It's all in which label is more able to persist."

Me making sure everyone who knew us agreed she was the bad and I was the good. My brain flipping between the two and changing my perception of reality daily.

"I've lost all resistance and crossed a borderline... For the first time I feel wicked."

Did I cross the borderline or did she? Will I ever know?

"One question haunts and hurts too much to mention. Was I really seeking good or just seeking attention?"

Me @ my relationship with therapy, medication, other people, mentors, friendships

"Ive heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason bringing something we must learn and we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them and we help them in return. I don't know if i believe that's true but I know I'm who I am today because I knew you. Who can say if I've been changed for the better. Because I knew you I have been changed for good."

The pros and cons list has been left blank. She changed me permanently. Did she help me to grow? Did I only hurt or did I help? I don't know who I am and I know that who I am is a shell or who I should be. Is it my fault or hers? Either way, it's permanent.

Was she wicked? Or did I thrust wickedness upon her?

Am I the one that people trust and follow and think has good intentions? The one people think came out as the victim of a person's unfortunate descent into insanity

when in reality I allowed her to lead me to the edge and pushed her so I wouldn't have to jump?

Or am I the one willing to jump for the things I care about? The one willing to tell the people who's opinions I care about to fuck off if they cross a line? The one who led an innocent person to the brink knowing I'd leave them behind to take the fall so that I could be free?

Did I knowingly walk the tightrope until it was no longer convienent and then fly off into delululand to avoid responsibility with good intentions and poor follow through or did someone manipulative push me off the edge to this land of delusion vs reality where I'm forced to create a story that explains why we don't speak?

Am I good or bad? Am I right or wrong? Did I conjure up an entire personality and story to explain her away and come out mentally unscathed? Or did I conjure up an entire personality and story to explain myself away and come out physically unscathed? Will I ever know?

[sad-poets-society]

The words I want to say to you, but would be terrified of you responding to.

To start, thank you. The past few years of knowing you, growing closer to you, building one of the most genuine friendships I've ever had, and working to create and respect boundaries I don't know if I'd want to stop you from crossing; has been one of the purest joys I have experienced. You've shown me that I can be myself and the world won't burn. I can voice an opinion and the earth won't shake. I can shut down, dance and play, or just simply exist near you, and you support all of it without trying.

Whether it started as pity or it started because you genuinely wanted to create a friendship, you quickly became the rare exception to the people in my life.

You didn't have to climb my walls, they just opened for you like an automatic door I didnt know was there. I think my fortified walls knew you were safe before I did. You walked in effortlessly, admired the wretched decor of my tragic brain, and rather than running away immediately - you walked through each piece as if you were in a museum - not Dante's 10th circle of hell. The more I let you in, the more my brain allowed you to know me.

I had no control over it, you see? That's what this is about. I feel as though our souls knew each other in a different life. You walked in and listened to me talk about everything from my trauma, my diagnoses, my highs and lows, to my little crush that has yet to stop growing. You listened as if my voice mattered when we were alone. As someone who has been voiceless and ignored in every stage of life, can you fault me for growing addicted?

It's not your fault. You were just being kind. I actually quit believing it was out of pity and genuinely started to believe you cared. That's new. Very new. Trust is not easy for me and you ran head first into the barrier I built. The bricks just disapated at your touch like the train station from Harry Potter. Nobody, not even me, knew how you got in so easily and quickly.

My attachment and addiction were not due to something you did wrong. Please hear me when I say that. My attachment and addiction are from my cup being filled when it's been dry for so long. My attachment and addiction are from my needs being met when I didn't even know I was allowed to need anything before.

My attachment and addiction are not something you should feel responsible for. When you meet an addict, you dont blame the manufacturer of the substance - if you're like me, you understand it's a disease and blame the chemical makeup of the victim's brain. Substances that, when used sparingly, do nothing save, bringing joy or peace, become addictive when the person using realizes how little joy and peace they had without it.

So yes, I became an addict. I became junky for attention because I never knew I was being deprived of it before. Jonesing for a fix of kind words, safe touches, and genuine compassion because once I experienced them for the first time - how was I supposed to go back to surviving without them? Every hit I got of your smile or touch took root in my brain. And while I know you are intelligent, it wasn't fair that I allowed you to stay ignorant to the effect it had on me.

This is all to say, pease make sure you put yourself first. I won't fault you for creating boundaries where they are needed. I won't fault you for my abandonment issues being triggered. I will struggle, and it will trigger some things inside me, but I will only fault myself if you stay out of pity or fear.

You see, I have never known someone who cared without ulterior motives. The lines of my borderline brain began to get blurry. Knowing you were not there to take whatever you wanted, my borderline brain decided to offer myself as payment for your kindness. You didn't accept it nor deny it. And that fucked with my head in a whole new way.

My worth has always been tied to my body. My importance has always been intertwined with what I could offer. And you wouldn't let me, you bastard. You wouldn't let me sacrifice my dignity for another fix. Which made you more irresistible and made it harder to suppress the feelings I had.

You treaded carefully. You showed me something nobody else had. You showed me respect. You showed me that I'm not just a walking sex toy. And unfortunately for you, that backfired. Between your heart, your brain, and your body - I had no hope of coming out unscathed. I knew that. Know that still. However, as I dove headfirst into the deep end, for the first time in a long time - I knew I wouldn't drown.

All that did was deepen the addiction. Praying for technology problems just to see you and know that whatever I'd said in our last conversation didn't cause you to hate me. My lack of object permanence convinced me that if I didn't initiate a conversation or contrive a way to see you, I wouldn't ever hear from or see you again.

See, there's a part of me you never signed up for. The part that has the ability to ruin anyone I touch. My borderline nominated you as my favorite person. Go ahead and google it. It's real. It's an unpaid and underappreciated job. I'm a lot to handle. I'm a lot to take on. And while you were kind by treating me like a person worth being around, I had to hold myself back from begging you to touch me so that I would believe you. While you were being compassionate and listening to my problems, I was thinking of all of the reasons I didn't deserve to be listened to. I've always needed to be useful to be worth keeping around, and when you never ask for help or share your words with me, I can't help. I can't be useful. So I can't understand why you'd still show up.

Borderline is a bitch. To the patient and to the support system.

All of this to say part one: I don't blame you if you think I'm too much. If the mood swings are a turn off. If the dysregulation is too much to deal with. I'd never blame you for being a decent person if you needed to leave. I couldn't blame you if you needed more boundaries in place.

My old self would allow the anxiety to take over. My begging people to stay phrase has always been "I'll do better. I'll be better. I'll be whatever you want. Just please stay." However; just like our friendship has been one of a kind (on my side at least), you dont deserve the usual trauma fueled speech. You deserve transparency.

All of this to say part two: This is my request of you. Please don't give up on me. Please don't use the free pass you have allowing you leave without looking back.

It may be the abandonment issues talking, it may be the sexual attraction talking, it may be the daddy issues talking, it may even be my soul talking - I wouldn't know, I've forgotten the sound of her voice most days - but please put your "permission to leave when I become unbearable" exit ticket back in your wallet a little longer.

I won't beg you to stay close to me. You don't serve to be guilted by my disorder. I've worked for three years not to be that person. I've grown so much. I can truthfully say I'm proud of myself. (Dont tell my therapist.) But please be patient with me while I continue to work on myself. You don't have to. But I'd love for you to.

You have the right to throw in the towel here. I know you pretty well at this point, I think. I could be wrong, but you seem like the kind of person who is too kind to just quit on someone. So I wanted to remind you that you have permission to. Not that you need my permission, but I digress.

I know this was long-winded, and most likely, you'll never actually read it. But please remember that you owe me nothing. You definitely deserve better friends who can offer you the same support you offer them, so if you needed to drop me to make room for one, I'll eventually understand. You have a free pass - a guilt free exit should you choose it.

But please, don't.

[sad-poets-society]

Self harm is

Cutting, burning, restricting, binging, purging, anything that can physically punish you.

Self harm is also

Flirting, spending money, taking extra pills, staying up late, refusing to take the step to fix what's broken. Anything that can mentally punish you.

Self harm is punishment.

For something I've done, for something I should have done, for something I want to do.

Self harm is grounding.

Brings me back into reality, shows me I'm real.

But reality is where I'm a fuck up.

And so the cycle continues.

[sad-poets-society]

Rock bottom used to be a goal of mine.

It sounds ridiculous, but it meant the falling would stop.

They never told me that each rock bottom could only hold so much weight before it collapsed as well.

The weight of my problems has pushed me through another false landing.

I'm free falling again.

I don't care what my true rock bottom looks like at this point. I just need a surface to rest on.

I just need something solid, so I can sit. Just for a while, before falling again.

[sad-poets-society]

The headache doesn't go away.

Not with sleep, not with medicine, not with water or food.

The headache isn't neurological. It's no migraine.

It's the constant fight between logical thinking and being mentally ill.

I can feel the push and pull happening with every conversation, every task, every decision.

It's being self aware. It's knowing how irrational you are while being unable to stop it.

It's knowing that people love you even when you're convinced they hate you because they haven't texted you back.

It's knowing that things will be okay while feeling, with every ounce of your being, that they never will be.

It's being unable to tell abuse from delusion.

It's being unable to navigate what's real and what's made up for attention.

It's waking up exhausted because your brain fights you even while you sleep.

It's sitting in a cesspool of a house and being unable to lift a finger while being internally driven by the need to clean.

It's staring at the calendar as the days go by inching closer to a due date and not being able to start the task until the day before.

The headache is physical. It's real. It's a whole body ache. But nothing makes it better.

It's an ache that refuses to go away unless you give in to the vices and lose what you love.

Im so tired.

[sad-poets-society]

In Luke Chapter 1, we learn that Mary was a virgin, she was highly favored by God, she was blessed among women. Is it too difficult to see then, why the night my virginity was stolen, so was my belief in being blessed and favored?

My viriginity was stolen, my faith in the goodness of God was lost, and the idea that I would be favored or chosen forever disappeared from my mind. Don't get me wrong. I didn't lose my belief in God. I wholeheartedly believe he is there, I just no longer believed God was good all the time (and all the time, God is good). Because if there is a divine plan, a reason for everything, if he gives the hardest battles to his strongest warriors, then he chose wrong. Because I was no longer his strongest warrior. I couldn't handle the battles anymore. It wasn't the enemy that worked his way into my head and filled it with lies. It was religion. It wasn't the evil serpent that made me feel unworthy of Eden. It was the mother Mary. It wasn't Lucifer who dragged me down on his fall from grace. He simply kept me company on my own fall.

So as I sit here, in this single sitter bathroom on the floor of First Baptist, while my kid sings Jesus loves me from the top of his lungs, I cry. I cry for the fact that I never had the chance to feel worthy, I cry for the fact that I will always be skeptical of filling my children's head with the idea that God is so good, because he wasn't so good to me. I cry for the fact that they love Christmas and want the full christmas story experience with the barn and baby and that bitch Mary because I can't. I don't see the nativity as my innocent children do. It fills me with anger and dread and the feeling that His divine plan for me included losing every bit of self love I ever had.

So go tell it on the mountain all you want to, I'll stay here in the valley with my doubts and hurt and hope my children can make the climb without me. And pray to a conniving God that he let's them out of this childhood with their sense of worth in tact.

[sad-poets-society]

The rope is being pulled tight. So tight it's going to pop. It's like an elementary school field day game of tug of war. My brain is doing it's damndest topple me into the dark. Into the familiar magic 8 ball of a person. Nothing inside but pre-generated responses. Yes. No. Maybe. Probably not. Nobody likes you. Nobody would notice if you stopped showing up. You're a ghost.

The newly medicated side is working so hard to pull me back into my body. The whole pharmaceutical crew is working hard to keep the flag from crossing the line. The darkness gets close enough for me to taste the familiar, sickly sweet flavor of being worthless. The drugs pull back and I'm yanked into a moment that is so good it doesn't feel real.

And somehow I'm watching it happen. I'm separated from myself and watching not knowing who I want to win. If I go to the darkness, I can stop. I can stop fighting and just exist. I can put down the pads and helmet and just get a break on the bench. But I know that I won't get play time if that happens again. I don't know that I'll make it back into the game If I bow out.

But the healthy side isn't super appealing either. It's effort. It's work. It's uncomfortable. It's confrontation. It's scary. It's paralyzing when it should be freeing.

So I sit in the stands and watch the game. The flag getting dangerously close on both sides.

I worry that I'm too exhausted to stay and watch who wins. I'm just so tired. I'm tired of trying to discern reality from delusion. Am I the victim? Am I the perpetrator? Do I want attention? Absolutely. But am I making it all up to get attention? Fuck if I know. I don't know anything and I'm feeling everything.

I just need a break. I'm tired of treading water. I just need someone to pull the drain plug so I can just be still and breathe. But there's nobody else here in the ocean of my mind. So I tread. I tread I tread.

I was never a good swimmer. I don't have good survival instincts. I need a lifeboat soon.

Boats pass and congratulate me on how hard I work. Planes fly over with a banner cheering me on to keep going.

Can they see i don't need their encouragement? I need their help. I'm drowning and all I'm getting is a medal for not quitting.

Im tired of watching. I'm tired of treading. I'm tired of feeling alone surrounded by people who care.

Im just fucking tired.

[sad-poets-society]

I don't know why I can't talk when you ask me to.

There's plenty in my head.

Am I ruining the lives of my children? Are they being traumatized because I haven't been strong enough to break the cycle? My gut reaction to minor inconveniences this week has been to audibly say "guess I should just fucking shoot myself". Do I bother you when I send you updates so I don't forget them? I dissociated the whole drive to my parents house with my kids in the car and it scared me. What happens if I die and the kids are left behind? Why am I not good enough at anything? I'd be dead by now if I didn't have children. I don't know if the meds work. I don't know if my marriage works. I don't know if I can do this.

You always ask "so what's up" and I always say I don't know because I can't put the words in my brain into sentences. I can't make it work. I try to. I promise.

I feel like I got the materials together, started a fire in my head, watched it engulf everything, all while holding a fire extinguisher and doing nothing with it. I just hold it and watch myself lose everything I've worked for.

Why am I like this?????

[sad-poets-society]

Somethings wrong with me.

I know to do the things. To take the meds. To avoid the triggers.

But the numbness is familiar. The darkness is familiar.

Familiar is safe in its own way.

You don't have to understand.

Im sorry to disappoint you.

I should have never let you in.

I should have never tried to be something I'm not.

I was made to feel wrong. I was made to sink into shame and hopelessness.

I wasn't made to be good or happy or stable.

Im sorry D.

[sad-poets-society]

[sad-poets-society]

[sad-poets-society]

And always you were there.

At softball games, at recitals, at performances.

Always you were there.

Through late night homework panic attacks, phone calls to help with essays at times that definitely violated the code of ethics.

Always you were there.

Through shitty professors, certification hoops nobody should have ever had to jump through, my first job.

Always you were there.

My wedding, my children, losing my first student, late night teacher panic attacks.

Always you were there.

One text away. Random: "You're doing great, I'm so proud of you" messages. Always there to encourage and guide.

Always you were there.

20 years of "I love you, you can do this."

And now you're not here.

And all I want to do is call you and ask how I'm supposed to deal with this.

Because you were always there.

And now you're gone.

And I'm here.

And I'm waking up every day, hoping to be just like you when I grow up.

Hoping to always be there for someone like me.

[sad-poets-society]

If Jesus met me today, what would he think?

Would he be proud of how I advocate for those who have no voice?

Would he be impressed with the way I put others first?

Would he notice how hard I try to keep everything running smoothly?

Would he be happy I still believe in him?

Would he understand how angry I am with him?

Would he see how hurt I am by what his people say and do?

Would he listen to my story and offer thoughts and prayers?

Would he tell me everything I've done wrong like the woman at the well, just to tell me only he can restore me?

Would he say I am nothing without him?

Would he offer me his body and blood in exchange for his forgiveness?

Would my accomplishments, my heart for the hurting, my desire for change, my love for people, and my unwavering belief that things have to get better outweigh my doubts and fears that they never will? That none of this is real?

If Jesus met me today, would he know how badly I want to believe his love is good and true and that the Christians have bastardized his story to serve their own purpose?

Or would he look at me with disgust, listen with rage, and tell me I was a waste of his sacrifice?

Would I even want to meet him?

[sad-poets-society]

I am numb again.

Numb to the noise.

Numb to the news.

Numb to the cries.

I am numb again.

I can function now. I wake up. I do the things. I play my part. I go to sleep. I do it all over.

I'm numb again,

But is feeling nothing really better than feeling everything all at once?

[sad-poets-society]

The orange one makes me go.

The green one makes me calm.

The blue one keeps me awake.

The white one keeps me alive.

The red one keeps me pain free.

The pink one keeps me full.

None of them keep the voices in my head from telling me how completely fucked I am.