Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Poor choices and acceptance

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.