“You Can Always Call”

1 06 2016

It’s hard to feel accomplished when everything seems to be falling apart in a week’s worth of the wake of graduation. 3 1/2 year relationship over, in a way that one might expect a month or maybe six month relationship would be over.

I’m exhausted. and kinda glad right now to be alone. He wants or needs to be alone so bad, fine, good for him, but it’s very shitty to like essentially say good bye to the person you still profess to love as if you’ll see them next week. He claims it isn’t that far. Yet when….Oh I don’t care right now.

 

My head hurts.





Stale champagne

30 05 2016

On the occasion that you find yourself in a mostly packed and emptied house with nearly all of your possessions sitting in a parked u-haul van while your (ex?)(current?)(significant other)boyfriend? (former[or current] Partner) is away working over time trying to finish up a project because his boss’s brother in-law just OD’d on heroin and died. And his boss’s debut solo show is happening in four days with at least a week’s worth of work to do and so said former or current boyfriend is going to work through the night to dutifully figure out how to mount/frame the photos of the aforementioned boss in the complicated way that even the incompetent yet some how talented boss doesn’t know how to do. ON this occasion, where not knowing the actual state of the three and a half year relationship, that you did not realize had meant as much to you as you thought. Or perhaps that good ol’ patriarchal Christian monogamy still some how haunts you more than you realize. It is on this occasion that drinking the stale champagne that was meant for celebration mimosas, which ended up being merely sad lonely mimosa that you didn’t even finish because you have shown a recent self harming impulse when drinking too much.

This occasion in which you find yourself, baby-sitting the beloved elderly dog of said former or current boyfriend in the mostly empty house surrounded by said former or current boyfriend’s things, because you both deeply love the elderly dog, and some how are still not quite ready to face what your life has become. Sure you finished graduated school, and yes that is awesome. But when you have a meager amount of sanity left, and the relationship that now you realize you are willing to work on is probably ending, but definitely feels like limbo. And you’re having to strongly consider going into some kind of intensive therapy program, oh and you’re broke, while so many around you seem to have their dreams being come true….

It is this occasion in which drinking that stale celebration champagne is acceptable. Check your bank account and order some fucking indian food for yourself and try to not be so fucking sad. Salty stale champagne is just too pathetic, even for you.





Where will I land after graduate school…McLean?

4 05 2016

Sooo, my therapist is worried about me again. Worried that I don’t have the support system that I need in order to do the things that I need to do to get better. I’m starting to feel like perhaps he is right.

He said that I might fall on the BPD spectrum. I feel like a failure. I feel like I will always be broken. That I am a terrible person. I know that isn’t what that diagnosis means, and that he wasn’t diagnosing me exactly. He said that he was trying to give me a heads up for when I checked out the McLean website.

I think I’m going to give up drinking. Well, I think I’ll start with giving up gin, vodka, rum, tequila, sweet red wine, and PBR. I’m going to limit myself to two drinks. Currently I am too depressed and stressed to drink. I get to a really dark place really quickly. And then apparently I do things like: send sexually charged texts to people other than my partner, and slash my arm. It’s already scarring over. And as far as the sexually charged texts….there’s a kind of mutual understanding that nothing will ever happen beyond that sort of thing, as we live super far apart, and other reasons.

Ugh… I wish I could take back so many things. I wish I could take back cutting my arm. Take back sending a photo of it to my best friend and thinking in my psychotic state that I had to share something beautiful with her. For thinking it was beautiful. For being honest with any fucking psychological professional ever.

I probably have C-PTSD not BPD, Borderline is such a grasp at straws of the mind.

I am tired of my bullshit getting in the way of my life. I wish I could figure out a way to at least make money off of it like the Bloggress. That is not shade. I think she is amazing. I have no idea how she has managed to stay in Texas. Seriously they have some seriously fucked up mental health practices down there. Or maybe that’s primarily Abilene.

I want to be better. I know I need patience with myself. But come on! I’m about to finish graduate school and I am barely hanging on.  Like I can get an MFA, but I can’t not sabotage my life? No. That’s bullshit. I’m sick of my own bullshit. I don’t stand for other people’s so why should I listen to my bullshit. I’m done with it.

No more. Starting right now I will do the things that I KNOW help me better myself. I will exercise more, dance, yoga, ride my bike, and swim. I WILL write every day even if it’s one fucking sentence. Every fucking day. I will draw every single day. I will paint every single day. I will cook for myself. I will clean myself daily. I will not be smelly. I will not over shop. I will not pick at my skin. (I just stopped myself when I realized I was doing it! That’s a new thing for me. Usually it takes at least 10 min or more of scoring my body before I notice.) And I will FUCKING kill it at THESIS.

Cuz if I don’t I may end up in a residential institution. I mean I guess I could pick up Yayoi Kusama’s torch. But Ii’d prefer to travel.

 

 





Why I’m cool with GRRM taking his time; today at least.

23 04 2016

I can’t kill myself until I read the last A Song of Ice and Fire books. That will probably give me another….20 years at least.





Imagine

1 12 2015

I AM SISYPHUS
(happy)

I am the sobbing determined mess
struggling up that hill
The mountain cliff
With sun, sweat, and tears in my eyes
Blindly– I push forward
Hoping to see just for an instant
The view from the top, before I fall
all….
the

way

 

back

d
o
w
n.

And try once more,

tomorrow.





Doctors and PTSD

13 07 2015

I didn’t used to mind going to the doctor. As a kid I was sick quite a lot, and learned that doctors were going to be a big part of my life from a pretty early age. Being sick seemed like it was going to be a big part of my life, so I thought that I should just get used to it.  My mother was always hovering about when I was there, with that vexed look upon her face. Worried that her premature child would prematurely die. I was never safe in her eyes. But all in all I didn’t mind it. I did trust my doctors for the most part, until I was 12 and my left eardrum ruptured, (for reasons that are still disputed), but probably happened when I was concussed at a pool party. Or due to having an inner and outer ear infection around the same times. The good Doctor looked at me as the culprit though, me and my use of q-tips, even though I knew I had only gone in the outer canal, not nearly deep enough. Trusting myself, despite the shame he tried to put upon me for “doing it to myself” I started to harbor resentment for that doctor and I don’t think I ever saw him again. We then had to go to a specialist an ENT (Ear Nose and Throat) doctor who was an ancient man with glass that would make Mr. Magoo’s look slim. We would wait in an empty waiting room for hours, only to see this man for five minutes.

Those five minutes were the most painful thing I’ve ever encountered, and I’ve broken my arm before. He would put a vacuum down my ear, to clean it he said, each time. And I would see debris leaving my body out of the clear tube. It was the noise the vacuum made that was horrible. I had to dig my hands into the chair and grit my teeth, when I wanted to scream. Thinking about it still makes me cringe.  It was terrifying, horrible, and after it was over he would look through a magnifying lens and baffle at why my eardrum was not healed. After around a year of doing this charade over and over, and me at the age of 12 seeing the bill and it was well over a hundred dollars, (we were not rich by any means.) I demanded that we get a second opinion. That and a trip to Schlitterbahn, where I had to wear a swim cap, and my father had the brilliant idea of putting silly putty in my outer canal (which melted down into my ear in the hot Texas sun) and I ended up screaming about how I had a migraine and NEEDED to leave immediately and yelled at my father for making me put silly putty in my ear, even when I said it was a bad idea….right so we left, and soon after I saw that bill, and so we went to a different doctor. This doctor informed me that it was roughly 2/3 or 3/4 of my eardrum was missing. Livid, but justified I told him immediately that I refused to go back to that one ENT that he was horrible and should retire, and that he had to have known or was too blind to do his job properly. There was only one other ENT that came once a week to our town from another, slightly larger town, and we saw him the following Monday. He promptly looked in my ear and said that I needed surgery. That doctor and then the one I had later in college restored my trust a bit in doctors.

Then I was raped.

And then I moved to Boston. Socialized medicine is great. Except I haven’t been able to find a good general practitioner, yet. I think I might be one rude receptionist away from finding one that will do, for now. Going to the doctor for me, in part means telling them about abuse in my past. That is part of my medical history, because of PTSD. I also have to tell them about my concussions and ear surgery to be sure, but that doesn’t bother me. What bother’s me is being weighed. And having to tell them about that time I was forced into a mental institution for 10 days against my will, where I was put on all kinds of medication and learned that I was allergic to haldol.

But the worst is Planned Parenthood. The people there are very friendly, they are the best. I love the planned parenthood staff. But every time I’m there I end up crying. I cry because their little chart of sexual consent and power dynamics… I wish I had seen something like that in high school, and I cry thinking about how different my life could have turned out had I known that feeling guilty after being intimate with some one was never ideal, then maybe I could have had the courage to break up with the boy who became my abusive husband. I cry because I’m terrified that I’ve some how managed to have a weird delayed detection STI that the stranger rapist gave me, or that I contracted in my black out drunk days. I cry sometimes simply because they ask me if I feel safe in my relationships, and again, I wish some one had done that long ago…And sometimes I cry because I can’t help but feel uncomfortable when a speculum is in my vagina and swabs and thing are going crazy, and I can’t help but think about how the stranger hurt more. I wish I could feel safe there. I want to, but something about stirrups and paper blankets that will never make me feel easy.





Breaking up with friends is hard

2 10 2014

It’s not often that I am willing to turn my back on some one. I was raised to believe in the goodness of people, that no matter what dark hole people may be in currently they will come out on the other side eventually. I think that I was wrong. Sometimes people get so wrapped up in themselves and fall in love with their darkness or sickness and it becomes who they are, and too often they love it or at least they love hating it.  I haven’t had a friendship break up in this way since high school. When that one friend who decided to start lying about all of us and be super weird and we decided to not hang around her until she stopped being an asshole. And then I have my childhood friend who I was sorta in love with became so catholic she lived inside the pope’s ass. And well I suppose that sorta faded out, there were a few shifts but it took me years be like,”You know what? I just don’t care anymore.”

This however is different. I don’t know that many people here in Boston, and I have a tendency to put my eggs in few baskets or one pretty quickly, and then I usually I’ll spread them back out a little maybe? I don’t doubt that being my friend can be exhausting at times, I freak out and think that my friends will be there for me, every few months, but I also hope that my friends know that the same goes for them, I’m here is all I’m saying-I’ll listen.

And I’ve got my share of problems, ptsd making me act crazy, I have a slew of irrational fears mainly about leaving the house, and being attacked again, and yes I fantasize about death waaaay more than I ever let on. However, I deal with my shit. Sometimes not super well, and I need people to be like, look dude you are not dealing with shit well-fix that. And typically I do. I know things that help me, but it’s really hard for me to form the correct rituals and habits, because I have also this really bizarre thing against them, even though I totally function way better when I am living a more routine life. I fear that routine will bore me (which it does), and that it will prevent me from being able to be spontaneous, (which is silly, because I have to like psyche myself up so much to leave the house and socialize that I need anywhere from a week to months depending on the nature of the event)  However there are certain people that I will pretty much do anything with whenever, because I always have fun even if it turns into a disaster, it’s usually a great story.

I’m rambling.

My point is, this (ex)friend of mine has ptsd also, and she doesn’t do anything about her it, nothing, but complain. She complains about inequality continuously, but never does anything about it. And yes I am very aware that probably a lot of that has a great deal to do with the fact that she doesn’t feel like she has the power to do anything but  complain, but I can’t handle being around that. Especially when I simply state something that had helped me in the past and I get yelled at for telling her what to do. She’s kinda an asshole, at the very least she’s acting like a huge one and doesn’t seem like to be stopping anytime soon, so now I’m done. I was going to text her the other day when I felt super lonely instead I wrote to captainawkward saying:

I think that my best friend doesn’t want to be my friend any more. I moved here three years ago, and don’t know many people. I’m introverted, have ptsd, and so does she. I still have a great deal of my own issues, but I seek help for them. She doesn’t. And it’s exhausting to deal with. But she’s also really funny, insightful, and kind.

She has really high defenses, and they can go back up at any time. It seems like perhaps part of our falling out has to do with my boyfriend, and her new job.  I think she thinks that I’m changing for him. I did become vegan when we moved in together, because he’s vegan and has been such for ten years. I was already mostly vegan because of how often we cooked together, so to me it just seemed like a natural transition. Especially since I increasingly felt ill after eating things like dairy and eggs. And we’re all very feminist, some of our views don’t line up exactly.
And it seems that when some one disagrees with her, her ptsd kicks in and tells her that this person isn’t safe and can’t be trusted. We were all living together, so it exasperated everything.(and she never cleaned up after herself and was a very inconsiderate roommate, and didn’t even try to feign curtsy towards my boyfriend)
A few months back she decided to start camming, and said that I would be good at it, she was debating on it, and I was high or drunk and feeling impulsive and just signed up, but never followed through. And yes in part it was because my boyfriend was less than thrilled. But really it comes more down to me, I don’t think that I would feel comfortable doing it. She did it though, she is a cam girl now, and I’m happy for her, and that she even said that it was the best community she has ever been a part of. And she kept saying how good I would be at it, even though I told her I didn’t want to do it. She kept pressing it on me. I know that part of it was also that she wanted to do videos with me. Which made me really uncomfortable. I am bi and so is she, but I’ve never really been with a woman, and I’m still figuring things out and I’m in a committed relationship, and she’s my friend. I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that, not when she’s married, and we’re friends. She’s mentioned to me before that she and her husband would be interested in a threesome with me. Honestly, when she told me that it made me feel almost as if she was only interested in me because of the way I looked, just like so many guys.
Now we’re moved out and my boyfriend and I and her husband and her, each couple we have our own respected places. I tried reconciling after we had a blow out, and wrote a letter to her apologizing for how things went down, but also standing up for myself, but she wouldn’t even look at me when I was saying goodbye.
At this point, I don’t even want to reconcile I don’t think. I miss her really bad. But I don’t know what to do, I want to talk to her and figure out what happened, what it is that I did to become an enemy.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that she probably wasn’t a good friend. But then I think that a lot of that has to do with her PTSD, but then I also don’t think that’s an excuse for bad behavior.
Do you have any advice on getting over friendships that have ended? Is it just like any other relationship?
I know this was long, I’m sorry, I just don’t really have anyone to talk to about this.
Best,

 

-L

 

She responded in such a clear frank way that other people had been saying to me a number of times that finally it clicked:

Awkward Mailbox

Sep 30 (2 days ago)

to me
 “You have to do porn with me because: PTSD” = NOT A THING
“You have to do (anything you don’t want to do) with me because: PTSD” = Not actually a thing.
Selfish assholes get PTSD, too.
Grieve for this the way you would after any breakup or loss, but this person is not good news and not a good part of your life anymore, and you’ve made absolutely the right choice in leaving her behind.
Best to you,
J
So yesterday I let myself mourn the loss and realize that our relationship revolved around smoking weed, eating pizza or sushi, and me giving in to being a bad vegetarian/vegan, then feeling sick (literally stomach hurt/problems),  her dying my hair whatever color she really wanted, and then cutting it, sometimes her doing my make up and making me remember what my junior high self looked like, watching drag race or some really bad movie/show. When things were good, when our relationship wasn’t so superficial we made art together and were weird together, and made each other laugh with inappropriate words, but that quickly faded away once we because roommates.  I don’t think that I have to agree with some one 100 % in order to be their friend. I don’t think that I have to believe all the same things, I don’t need people to bend to my will all the time, or agree with me, or be my clone. I want people to be themselves, I’m interested in other’s because I like them for who they are not because I want to change them or they’re exactly like me. If I wanted to hang out with an echo I would just find a cave and talk.  So yea I guess it’s over, and I’m okay. It took a couple of months, but now I’m done moping, because it’s been a year of rapid decent into darkness. And I’ve had a lot of darkness in my life, I don’t want or need my friends to pull me down. Friends are supposed to be there for you yea, and sometimes that means going into the darkness, but not to stay there, friends are there to help pull you out of that shit, they’re not the ones that are suppose to be dragging you back into it.