I've been really anxious about writing since the last few batches of hurtful comments. The fact that the comments came from people who use fake information and programs to change/hide their IP addresses make it even worse. I'm not doing well. There have been a lot of reminders that I am a complete fuck up and will never have a normal life. Maybe people should protect children and animals from me.
My trip to Tucson wasn't what I had hoped it would be. I wanted to feel like I was going back home. It didn't. That feeling I was longing for was replaced by the feeling of being disconnected from everything in life. I am not grounded anywhere. I don't have roots anywhere. I don't have a home anywhere. I changed my blog banner because I feel it better represents my state of being. I am infected with this unyielding sickness for belonging. For home. I am so homesick and I have never even had a home. I am so homesick for a place that has never existed for me. I am so homesick for nowhere. And I will probably always be homesick. I never had a home because no want wants me and no matter how hard I try to hide or fight it I will always be me.
My childhood best friend, Alexis, asked me out to coffee but I turned her down because it was just too much pressure. We were inseparable when I lived with Maggie and Tim. We would call each other just to watch movies together after I moved away. We made crazy little comedy recordings of ourselves. We were hilarious together. We thought so at least. I really loved that little girl and I think she loved me too. But I kept moving away and we lost touch and then we grew up. I still feel really sad about losing my best friend and I'm sure she's over it--over me. I really wanted visit with her but the thought of meeting her brought me to a near panic attack. I don't want to kill my little fantasy of reuniting and having it be like time stood still. I don't want the reminder of my reality. I hold onto everyone I love and I always miss them, but people can get over me pretty quickly. I didn't meet any of my other friends either.
I made some really poor choices while I was in my "home"town. I behaved
in ways and tried things I promised I never would. Being in Tucson
just reminded me of who I really am inside all this bullshit I fill
myself with--behind all the lies I tell myself. I wear this mask of
ability and independence to cover up the fact that I'm a total loser. Instead of meeting my friends I went to parties with people I knew from high school and my year of college at the UofA. I behaved in ways and tried things I promised myself I would never do and until Thanksgiving weekend, I never had. I'd like to say that I tried something new, experienced it, and left it in Arizona, but I didn't. And why not? I'm not above it. I am my mother's daughter, no matter how much my mother wishes that away. Her e-card to me on Thanksgiving said that she's thankful that I am no longer her daughter and that there is no shame in taking my life if I want to. Thanks momma. Two other foster moms wrote to me on Thanksgiving too. Maggie and another one I haven't heard from in years. Their emails were nice, but they made me feel like shit. I am shit.
I went to the house. I went back to that fucking house. I have never been tempted to go back there before but for some reason knowing he's dead and she's moved away, I could not overcome the obsessive thoughts and impulse to go back there. Maybe I wanted to go back in time. Maybe I wanted to go there as an adult. I wanted it to heal something. I wanted it to change something. I wanted something in me to change. I wanted something to be different after I left that house. It didn't, I didn't, it wasn't.
I drove over an hour into a tiny town in the middle of the desert at an obscene hour after the party. I expected the house to be inhabited by a new family. I felt so confident as I drove, but once I arrived I was like a totally different person. I was surprised to find the house empty and for sale. I was surprised to find the house open. My initial plan was to sit by the house for a few minutes and then leave. I went inside the house because I'm freaking insane. I went in the house and everything was the same, but I don't remember the house being that small. Once I walked into that house I was stuck. All that confidence and resolve I felt on the drive over was gone. I was stuck on the floor in my old bedroom. I took my anxiety medication hoping it would help. They didn't and neither did that the gift bag of party favors I was given at the party. I laid in that room for hours, trapped by my brain and the chemicals I ingested to chase the memories away so that I could leave.
Last week I told CT that I am done with therapy. I don't feel better since starting therapy over a year and a half ago. My life isn't any better. My life is worse and I feel worse. There is no fixing what's fucked up inside my head. All I can do is accept that. Therapy is useless for me. I can't keep anyone around, even a therapist. I told her that I act like what happened between us in March/April doesn't matter but it does. It still hurts that she wanted to dump me. It hurts that she told me she couldn't hold my spot for me while I was in the hospital. I don't even know what that meant, but it made me feel like a paycheck. I promised to go back tomorrow to keep talking about it, but honestly I don't know what the point is. I will never have what I need. I will never be normal. I will never be happy. I will never not be totally fucked up and crazy. Maybe I don't deserve to have a family and maybe I should be kept away from pets and children. I deserve it. I deserve all of it. No amount of therapy will change what I am.