I'm conglomerating all of my Blogger stuff. This post was originally from early 2011.



Today I woke up at 8:30am, 1:00pm, and finally 3:30pm. I had been up late playing Words With Friends with my buddy Fiske in San Francisco. We sat up on Skype while playing, discussing my recent absolute soul-shattering heartbreak. It shouldn't have even been that horrible, I should have bounced back sooner, but at this point I think I am lucky to be feeling halfway buried in mental quicksand six weeks after the breakup. 

My ex and I were still intermittently chatting, and I had been on an upswing of hope for a few days while he lavished me with attention, only to have it crashing back down once again into accusations and silence. He had accused me one evening, while drunk, of being "absolutely koo-koo totally crazy." He isn't the first man to say this to me, not at all. And he mentioned that I had said it about myself. And yes, there is some truth to this, of course. I am different, strikingly, than most people, in not only my personality but my inability to completely function like "normals". My hyper-analytical overreactions to things that wouldn't phase someone altogether healthy tend to freak people out, and my intensity of emotion (and absolute conviction of expressing my feelings) makes me an instant target for the more stoic to brand me "crazy". 

In any case, this latest pigeonholing had really crushed me, because this man had initially struck me as the kind of person who would never judge me for who I am. We opened up to each other over time, while I was in intensive PTSD treatment, and he was not phased by my extreme pain during the beginnings of our relationship. I utterly blanched and sputtered at his description of me, his disdain. The reality of his lack of care and concern for me sunk in. It reminded me too much of what I had allowed myself to endure in the past decade, and it hurt deeply. I spat back at him, "Don't you have anything nice to say about me?", and he replied by hanging up.

The next morning, realizing that in order to have any kind of healing occur in my immediate future, I had to cut him off. He texted me something innocuous and I ignored. I went to class, and Thursdays being my long day, I didn't reply to him. He sent me another text while I was in lab, snapping "I guess you're going to ignore me today!?". I wrote him back, caving, saying I wasn't ignoring him. Why? Because I can't stand him thinking I am a shitty person.
I SHOULD have ignored him forever. He doesn't even realize the amount of pain he caused. And at this point, I'm not even certain he remembers what he said to me.

Since then it's been sporadic. That night his brand new $800 bicycle was stolen right from under his nose. I felt bad, so offered my kindnesses. He asked me to stop using terms of endearment when talking to him, to keep things baseline. That was the final straw for me. I wished him well and fled. I haven't contacted him since. He sent me an email with a link to a speed-drawing video on YouTube, to which I would normally reply. But I haven't and I can't and I won't.

Somewhere in my heart I feel I deserve all of this. I don't feel like I deserve to be happy, I don't believe I should be allowed to get better, to thrive, to succeed, because deep down inside I am unfuckinglovable, crazy, incompetent, and desperately overwhelming to the people in my life. I read these self-help blogs, I read depression literature, I read read read. I cannot act. Because inside my most secret part of my soul, I feel like I do not deserve it. I deserve to suffer.

And until I can fix that, nothing can improve, and nobody will ever love me back.

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