selfhelp-less - Tumblr blog

[selfhelp-less]

I don't think anyone still follows this shell account and it's been a very long time since the intense type of shame I experienced led me to this page. I mean shame is a big part of what I do/am but very rarely hidden like I'd tried to do with this.

I don't know what to say. I came back because maybe someone read those first posts and decided to wait and see what happened to that poor girl. So here is the long and short.

I never spoke to him again. I never did hard drugs again. I made friends a priority and the got married to a truly wonderful person. And then a pandemic and still married and befriended.

I cant say that the trauma isn't here. I work in therapy for people who've gone through similar and different things and I find comfort and empathy to be there for them. I like to think how much of a difference someone like me could have made. I guess I did, for myself.

So that's all. I'm not closing anything but I do know myself better than to imagine I may return to anything with absolute consistency and commitment. But I thought it was fair to revisit my testament of loss and let anyone who needed to hear it know- it absolutely does get better. Easier. Smaller. You will trust again and you will build a whole huge life that makes him a stranger to you. It never goes away but it gets so small you can carry it in your pocket most days.

[selfhelp-less]

*when you follow and talk to ppl for months and don't know their damn name*

Put your name in the tags.

[selfhelp-less]

this week’s biggest cat news: cat street view

[selfhelp-less]

Almost a year sober from hard drugs. That’s something. Starting again. Traveling. Trusting. What is the hardest? Benson wants me to be independent for the first time he has ever expressed. Who is this man? I loved the man who collapsed into me and loved me with the weight of knowing he didn’t need another. He’s never going to understand

[selfhelp-less]

Hair

As a right of passage, I cut off most of my hair. And then my love died, my hair shriveled with it and I dyed it bright red and cut it pixie to remember her purr. Some things you cannot change. I think I'm beginning to see the meek outline of this truth.

I'm begging to realize that there are only really three things-  the truth, the hopes, and the fears. And they clutter my mind, bouncing against one another in a cacophonous battle where none may win. But I'm beginning also to hear the difference, and recognize truth.

I tremble with the fear that he is the only one who will truly appreciate me, love me, be enamored with me and have me return with such fervor. But that is just ego. I do not need an admirer. I would prefer a partner.

That was not love. He did not love me. I have to remember and never return, even if he changes his name and face. I cannot confuse love with admiration, with attention, with affection. I may not know love completely, but like truth, I'm begging to recognize the tenor.

God help me. God Love me. God forgive me.  

[selfhelp-less]

Vulnerable and Scared

I don't know what to say. This summer was this summer was this summer. It was my spent youth. It was the end of the beginning. And I keep traveling back their in my memory. 

The mistakes I made, the vast endless emptiness of thinking I was filling a craving when I was only feeding it. And now with the new I carry so much guilt, I cannot forgive. I see myself as stained by my past, my choices. I cannot understand how so much good has happened to me in such a short time from these decisions. I feel that all the luck should be taken away.

This isn't karma. This is dumb luck. I keep repeating in my head the old insecurities - I will be found out, I will be realized. The defective piece will be removed from the assembly line again. I am built to lose. I am pure imperfection cased in all of my mistakes. This is too soon to be happy when just months ago I was dying. And he is so normal, so sane. I thought for a moment that we both had something to offer, both could expand the horizon of the other. 

But now rejection is so real  Rejection is every other word tumbling from my lips, every other thought racing my mind. Now that he likes, can he can dislike. Now that he has kissed, he may walk away. Now that he is close he can distance. Now that he has seen, he can close his eyes. 

When will I begin to trust?

[selfhelp-less]

Hang

Teach me how to cope

such a delicate rope

of sunshine and shadow

the stillness of never knowing when to say

now.

Teach me how to cry

over the memories of who I might have been

I'm learning to take credit for the little things

and let the rest go. 

[selfhelp-less]

The Burden of Memory

It is very hard now, to go back. To be that same girl in empty rooms with empty faces, all hands outstretched. To remember the greed consuming her, inside and out. The dead man in her bed rotting and yet he still lives to this day. And so she is consumed. 

I do remember though. I remember being so highly delusional that I was sure I was dead and that nothing I did had any real consequence. I was certain that I could not escape the hell that I was living inside every day, that I had chosen this fate, somehow sealed it, and was chained to seeing it through. I believed, completely, that there was a hell and that I was in it. And let me tell you exactly what hell is. 

Hell is following a man at 4 in the morning as he paces around town furious at you for breathing, as if you have a chain that wraps around him and hooks directly into your diaphragm. A man who would willingly spend most days acting as if you don't exist. If he isn't pissed and drunk, screaming in his anger. Hell is knowing you won't ever be free It's the upstairs neighbors waiting until the screaming dies down to come check on you and then to realize you are truly alone, and he is gone again. It is being imprisoned to a room and not even being able to cry, to eat, to sleep. All you want is to be touched, to be seen, to be enough. You will never be enough. 

You are being scooped out with a melon baller, and you are asking for more scoops. Your skin improves greatly as your body dries into a husk and you scamper and beg for anything, anything to take this away. Reality is the horror now, you've stopped watching scary movies as you begin to live one with your own lucifer humming in bed next to you, watching television as loud as he can, pacing your floors, burning your blankets, breaking your chairs. 

There isn't anything he won't burn with his tail and he begins to burn you from the inside and you beg for it because for the first time you can't feel it anymore. 

[selfhelp-less]

As A Matter Of Law, The House is Haunted

It's easy now, to ignore herself. Alone, Alone, an echo through an empty room. Hollow like her howling stomach quieted only by time. Eating, once a pleasure, is now worse than a burden, her body the betrayer. She har only heard of abstinence in pleasure as a form of control, as a means of escape. But now she knows better- she knows it is punishment to eccrue the insurmountable guilt that rises like a wave inside her, quelling the lame of hunger.

She no longer recognizes herself, and it is not the weight. It is all the choices she swore she would never make. She still accepts a single challenge- no poison. She knows it is poison, can smell how the insides begin to rot with each swig. The way he permeates with it. The way he hums with a rotting smell. He is replaced with his own carcass and still, she can't sleep. 

There are no more voices assuring her that she is only alive. There is no melodic hum of voicebox and vibration, only the tinny silence of the television. She searches her reflection in the bent black screen - is she real if she is the only one who sees?

Trapped between this world and the next, trapped in her own flesh. 

[selfhelp-less]

The Very Beginning

In the young woman's room, "something good" by ALT J plays in the background and she wonders about all of the missteps that have led here. She is 25 with a degree from a fairly prestigious university living in her father's spare room. And before you balk at her 'why me' attitude, please let her indulge in another moment of completely blank conscience where she can scream and rage and blame every other person but herself. In fact - there is a delightful poem she scribbled in the height of her break down which applies to her entitled nature

.

Someone who isn't me

(because if she was

she wouldn't have-)

Swallowed the world

and refused to eat

wondered of hospital stays

and cries for help.

It isn't that she wants to die

It's just the burden of being alive.

Someone

(who still couldn't be me)

went against everything she believed

and suffered over and over again

plead with herself to never return,

and found herself there, against all earthly will

like an act of god

but remember?

This girl worshipped you

Bennu

She saw your emptiness and sought to fill

only succeeding in emptying herself. 

.

And where to begin? I guess at the bottom, as we begin to crawl our way back.