toxicity

The things I am doing to myself are poisoning me, but I can't stop because I'm in control and I like it.

my pride is going to destroy me

Why can't I apologise for this?

Why can't I just say, "I'm so sorry. You're right"?

Why not this time?

Because I'm ashamed of myself?

I have this immediate refusal to make amends here. Like to do it would be to give up some power, and I don't want to want to keep this power, but I do. And I'm holding on to it so closely, I can't even see what is slipping away, what I'm losing over these stupid things I have done. My knuckles are clenched white and my eyes are closed tight and I'm screaming to block out the sounds everyone is making.

I take every opportunity to make it about how *I* have been slighted. How *I* have been hurt. How *I* am the one who deserves the apology.

My stubbornness won't let go though.

Even though I know I'm wrong.

Even though I know I'm wrong.

Even though I know I'm wrong.

Even though I know I'm wrong.

Even though I know I'm wrong.

Even though I know I'm wrong.

Even though I know I'm wrong.

challenge accepted

I feel like I'm on a mission to punish anyone who has the audacity to care about me.

Like I'll make them sorry for ever having bothered.

I'll make them regret it.

I'm not sure if it's to actually protect them from my instability or if I'm just proving myself right. That it's so easy to be rid of the people who "didn't really want to be there in the first place," all I have to do is be a little bit mean, a little bit insensitive, a little bit ambivalent to their presence and they'll just leave.

post script

The next time I feel suicidal, I'm certainly not going to say it out loud.

patterns

I have a habit of pushing people away just to see if I can.

I will justify and make excuses for my behaviour and wait to see who sticks around to call me on it and who shrugs and walks away.

I've always had this talent of alienation.

And I give up on people so quickly and easily.

I keep thinking, "Whatever, I made you leave because then I'm in control. It's not like you were going to stay anyway."

So far this year, I've gotten rid of: 2 family members; both of my parents; 2 friends; a third friend is on the way. We have a lunch on Wednesday and that will be the middle of the beginning of the end.

If someone were to call me on it, what would I do?

Probably lash out and push harder, actually.

Any kind of vulnerability is unacceptable.

Never tell anyone anything.

Never confess to anything.

Never say anything to anyone that cannot be said to everyone.

Embarassed? Run away.

Angry? Say it out loud.

Hurt? Say it out loud and run away.

People get one shot with me. ONE.

If someone breaks my trust, it's never ever coming back.

I forgive, but I never forget. Honestly, I'm not sure what I do is forgiveness.

It's probably more beneficence, which ultimately keeps me in control.

I gift them with my forgiveness, but it's conditional. I don't think that's the way it's supposed to be.

I am a giver of gifts of strings.

After years of trusting people who let me down over and over and over again, I stopped trusting anyone.

I created a facade of independence, of righteousness, of strength.

But I'm in a forced solitude, I'm a hypocrite, I'm weak.

I believe no one will ever find me worthy of anything so I act like no one's worthy of me.

Still, I strive for my own version of perfection.

I eat less.

I eat less and less and less and hide it behind a "diet" that actually seems to be working.

I'm falling back into the pattern of only being able to control myself, so I do it to an extreme.

It's like returning to a house you moved out of 14 years ago, when you said you'd never set foot in there again. And then you're reminded of the comfort and the smells and then the memories overwhelm you and you're back in that spot of 15 years ago when everything was fine but not really.

Before you left it.

Before you changed.

And now I'm the same again.

And I was nothing then.

I was wasted on this. I was a waste.

to whom should i be true

I made the mistake of telling too many people about this.

I should have kept it closer.

Right now, I'm torn between writing what I feel and fearing that it will be seen.

Part of me doesn't care who I piss off with what I put here. But another part wants to write something soft and lovely so no one is offended.

Aaah, I think I just made a decision.

over

My life would be a whole lot easier if I felt like it was going to be fucking worth it at some point.

As it stands, I can't see it. And I'm so desperate to be done here.

10:57 p.m. MST

I used to be able to pound all my little thoughts out on paper. As poetry, lyrics, kindling.

Now, I concern myself with the analysis of my little thoughts until they aren't thoughts anymore, as much as they are incidental and meaningless.

I used to have friends I could count on and now I have a group of people who I used to know and respect. Am I the one who changed or are they? Did we all?

How much of what I miss is the actual person and what they once meant to me and how much is it the feelings I had at that time? Do I miss the guy I said I loved, or do I miss the idea of what we had, which at the end was nothing?

These things roll over me like waves of grief and worthlessness and are compounded by my self-disdain, and now I'm worried for my mental health again and how often I've been thinking of suicide, in a different context than ever before.

It was once considered a great and difficult gift that I would be giving to those I love: an existence free of the burden of me.

Now all I see is the pointlessness of it all: I'll never be thin enough, have enough money, be confident, be successful, talented, etc., so why bother?

And I cry.
A lot.
All day, on and off.
At work.
In the shower.
Right now, in bed, when I should be sleeping.
I cry.

And I don't want to anymore.
I don't want to go through this again.

How much longer, how much more of my life do I have to dedicate to this heaviness, this sadness?

Because if everyone has their cross to bear, and everyone has their lot in life, and sometimes life's just not fair, I'm not interested.

If this is what I was put here to experience, by a fictional divinity or by an evolutionary shot in the dark, I'm too tired to see it through.

It takes so much to feel this way all the time: to feel completely worthless, and friendless, and useless, and talentless, and lifeless at all points in the day and have to fake the happy or at least the ambivalent because emotions are professionally inconvenient.

It's exhausting and I'm so tired.

I just want to sleep and never ever wake up.

Happy Birthday

My Blackberry told me yesterday that it was your birthday and I managed to avoid recognition of it until late last night.

Happy birthday. I hope your girlfriend got you something nice.

An Emotional Duvet Cover

I'm picking up tiny pieces of comfort lately.

Not comfort from what you'd think, but things in general.

I have a handle and then I'm dangling again and there are sharp parts of life that poke my feet and my neck and my heart.

I'm finding comfort in music which I haven't been able to do properly in years.

I'm finding comfort in the air which, when it enters my lungs, revitalizes instead of overwhelms me.

I'm finding comfort in mysterious sculptures that I have a hard time defining. I see that they are beautiful and I see form, but I cannot see it how the sculptor saw it, or how he commanded the stone into what it is now.

I get so worried sometimes that everything will crash and I'll be dark and sour again. I keep hoping that the peace that is here at this second only will remain for a bit longer.

And I have to remember to breathe deeply for relief. I forget and then I breathe shallowly and nothing feels as good as a breath that goes all the way in and all the way out.