basket case

i haven't written in a *really* long time, which is stupid, unhealthy, and lazy on my part. writing has always been therapeutic for me, and it frees up all the thoughts that are constantly running through my head. if i wrote a stream of consciousness piece for the span of two minutes, it would probably contain forty different topics/ramblings.
p.s. i'm not doing labels any longer; if you want to find a word, hit "control f".

writing is the best way i know how to express myself, other than quoting lyrics verbatim. that's why most of my tattoos are quotes. i love words; they have so much meaning, ambiguity, power (if you let them). they can tear you apart or make you feel like the luckiest person in the world. as is my habit, the title of this post is a song title, "basket case", which i could use to describe myself in pretty much *every* romantic relationship i've been in. it doesn't seem to matter how fucked up the person is, how urgently my instincts are telling me to run...i get in the same situation every time. well, the situation isn't the same, but the outcome is: i become a masochist, or maybe i already was one, and dating just brings out the part of me that wants to destroy the rest, the part that doesn't believe i deserve to be happy, or cared for, or loved.  and having someone chip at you bit by bit, day by day, year after year is a fantastic way to masochistically, albeit with help, tear yourself apart...

i could write a fucking book as to why i seem to believe that i'm undeserving, but this isn't about my psychological theories regarding my psyche. people tell me all the time that i'm "strong". what the fuck does that even mean? how am i strong? i know i'm not physically strong right now, not like i used to be because i'm just trying to make it day to day, my body has yet to heal thirty one months after surgery, and while exercise might be on the agenda, other things take priority when they probably shouldn't, or let's face it, i'm in too much pain, and it hurts just to breathe. other than that, most people don't know what i go through, or what i've been through. it's not that the ears aren't there...i don't ask for help unless i'm literally afraid i may die, or there's something i absolutely cannot do for myself. that's part of my "illness", if you want to call it that...masochism, reiteration of my belief that i deserve to suffer...whatever.

i'm so tired of getting into these self-sabotaging situations. i'm moving to austin, in part, to get away from the current one, which is the BEST thing i could possibly do, but also to be close to my family. i'm 40 years old, and i've lived three hundred miles away from them since i was 6.  maybe that's why i allow these stupid, regrettable, self-destructive, abusive behaviors in my life...because i don't really know how to be loved or how to be part of something. i've felt like an adult since i was 5, and i've felt alone and different from everyone else for as long as i can remember. i was always smarter, or shorter, or younger, or not cool enough, when i was a kid.

regardless of whether my mom did her best to raise me, she took me away from any stability, identity, gatherings, closeness, dysfunction, and formed bonds that i've never had. i only realized that recently, and i can't say that i'm not resentful; i am. her desire to live in a city with a better income outweighed any effects that moving away from my father and grandparents, and all my blood, caused. it was always me and her against the world, and once i turned 14, it was pretty much me against her because i realized that she's human, and she didn't like that one bit. to hear her tell it, she was perfect, and i became a monster on october 9th, 1987.

i've stayed in relationships in which i've been hit, kicked, thrown, punched, pulled by my hair across a room, cheated on, lied to, deserted, disrespected, abandoned, made to feel unimportant, verbally abused, emotionally abused...i could keep going, but i can't think about all that right now.  i knew at the time it was wrong, so very wrong, and that if someone loved me, they wouldn't do any of those things. why didn't i leave? is there something wrong with me? if so, what is it? i wish i had the answer because years of on-and-off therapy haven't cleared it up or taught me anything other than

i don't believe that i deserve to be loved or treated well. 

that's a really difficult sentence to type, and to look at, but it's the truth.
that is the root of this evil, i believe. now the question: how to fix that?

this idea is a major source of my depression and anxiety; i've also struggled with whether my parents truly love me because if your parents don't love you, who else would? there must be something innately wrong with me for them to stop loving me. i remember feeling loved as a child; i have a lot of memories of my childhood when my parents were married, and not one of them is bad, except when they told me they were getting divorced. at 4 1/2, i even knew what that meant when my mom asked me: "you and daddy aren't going to live together anymore".

jesus christ, if those words came out of my child's mouth, i would sink into the ground and hate myself for the fact that she even knew the definition of divorce. i never heard my parents argue, i never saw anything untoward happen, i remember watching "charlie's angels" with my dad on our horrible, green, '70s couch. i remember sneaking my mom's cup of cold coffee from the dining room table and drinking the remnants of cream and sugar. i remember ripping my dress because my uncle (of course i didn't know this at the time) dressed up as santa claus. i literally ripped the front right off.

i remember our house, and turning the trash can upside down in my room so i could stand on it and turn on the light because i wasn't ready to go to bed, and once i did that, i had no idea *what* to do. i remember throwing my rubber shark in the tub every time my mom ran a bath for herself because i loved that damn shark, and if the water was running, we were getting in. i remember standing in the gutter to intentionally get glass in my feet so my dad would take care of me. that's not exactly healthy behavior, and i'm not sure what spurred it; i don't ever remember feeling ignored or unloved. funny though, i have memories of me with each of my parents, but i can't think of many that included the three of us. i can say that from birth until the age of 4 1/2, i have no complaints. since then, i've felt like the adult, the one doing the "raising", not being raised.

i'm horrible when it comes to self-care; i isolate, i know what helps me and i ignore it, i don't ask for help, i push people away as hard as i can, i don't answer the phone, i don't leave the house, i indulge in pretty much every self-destructive behavior i can, except for self harm (not counting suicide in that definition) and addiction.  sleep is how i self-medicate; drugs and alcohol have never really done anything for me, thank god, because i have enough insanity to deal with. in no way do i believe that i'm strong. maybe people think i'm strong because i don't ask for help?

strong people don't fight with depression daily, strong people don't try to commit suicide because they just want to go to sleep and never wake up, strong people don't stay in bed for days at a time, strong people don't hide in their apartments and only go outside to take out the dog, strong people don't let others hit them and hurt them, strong people get what they want, no matter how hard the fight. i do fight for what i want, but most times it doesn't matter because i can control no one but myself, and often the things i want concern other people, not just me.

i desperately need to figure out a way to get out of this. i know i'm not alone; i've had several very brave friends share their struggles with me, the same issues i've dealt with, but in this category, i want to be alone. i would never wish my pain or idiocy on someone else, particularly the dear, beautiful hearts that have touched mine.

hopefully leaving will help. no, i'm *not* running away from myself. i'm running away to help myself, to get away from the abuse and the addiction and the lies and the pain i've chosen to deal with for almost three years. i've wasted ten years on relationships that never really went anywhere. by the time we tried to repair the first, over five years of pain, cheating, lies, and games had built a foundation that would foster nothing but anger. there is no repairing the second, and i don't want to. i want to figure out who i am, not be told that i'm a bitch, a liar, and a whore who deserves to be raped. i want peace, and not endless texts that say, "i hope you die. i pray for it every day". i want to be around people who *act* like they love me, not just say it because words can also lack power, and when your actions don't back up your words, they're not only useless, they're a waste.

listen to the song in the link above; it's good.