…as I know it. Tonight, right now. Warning – bad mood. Angry mood, bad language. If you’re feeling in any way judgmental, over my complaining, or whatever, do yourself a favour and click back.
I’m a bad person. This is what you get when you run like hell from everything bad in life, don’t contribute anything to society, don’t forgive anyone for anything, never deal with a fucking thing. This is what you get.
What happened with Craig and I, is my fault. There, I’ve said it. All. My. Fault. Because even my best is not fucking good enough. When we got together, I was 18. Already in an abusive relationship, screwed up as all hell, and I dragged him into it. He was a student, working part-time, living at home, a nice guy, naive and nerdy.
He was solid, dependable, easy to get along with. He still is all those things, just not around me. With me, he’s a fucking wreck. We argue, he’s so mad he’ll actually start shaking. By the time we broke up, he had depression. Last time I asked him how it was going, he said since he left he’s barely been depressed. Pretty fucking telling.
I was sometimes mean to him, expected too much, expected him just to ‘know’ things, would get testy when he wasn’t as ‘quick’ as me. I thought judgmental things about him fairly often. I hated him seeing his family, because they were shitty to me, but I should have just dealt with it. Him leaving his shit everywhere used to bug me to the point of tears.
I’d love to clean up after him now. Really. I still feel that if he’d just been nice to me, I wouldn’t have cared how much of a slob he was. But I’m hard to be nice to, I get that. More than you can imagine.
I just…love him… I hate myself for screwing up what we had. I hate myself because now Bailey doesn’t have a full time Daddy. Daddy can’t stand to live in the same house as Mummy. And one day, he’ll know that.
I’m just…in the worst frame of mind I’ve been in for awhile…. I feel like I’m just…nothing….pain. Like that’s my whole existence. I know it won’t last forever. I know what’s happened isn’t the worst thing in world. It just feels like it, sometimes. I go through patches of numbness and patches of feeling everything so intensely its physical.
Last time I was coerced by my oncologist dragged myself to therapy, we actually made a chart of some things I’ve never dealt with, and she explained that now life has finally slowed a bit, it’s not ‘just’ the breakup, and cancer to deal with. It’s the breakups before that, the suicide, the family issues, the sexual assaults, and all the other shit that’s too traumatic to put into words.
This helps, slightly. The edges are less inflamed.
x
Hypersensationalism 