Had a rough few days. I’m so drained, and still have things to take care of. Crying every now and then. Music by my side, stuffed animal by my side. I do not hunger and I do not thirst. I just sit here like a brick as I keep moving forward. I read a an old posted link and It made me realize I am not as good as I thought. While other want to fight but don’t know how I’d just like to get away from everything. Away far away. I don’t know where that is. But it’s what I want. And just like everything I don’t and probably won’t get it. Creating hope just enough to do chores, and force my self to sip or snack. If I lived on my own I’d be dead already. Staring blankly at a wall with music going in the background. dying with my eyes open in the dream world.
My past is haunting me vigourously lately. I’m fighting in maladaptively as a waking dream. The bullies I wish I were physically strong enough to over power, the girl I could have persued a little harder. Or the day I could have jumped out of the school window. THe people who teased me I wish I could just break their jaw, but I already know I’d be no better than they. The days my dad tried to hit me out of some strange rage. The times I wish I could have ran away from home, but knew I had no family who was on good terms with my folks to go to. All the bridges I burned because we change. We change so much it’s too awkward to converse.
Fear? Yes fear is all I’ve known and I’ve known “bravado” and I’ve done a little courage once or twice. 23 yrs old. A long and painful life ahead of me. I try to stay thankful in small ways each day. Ego? yea I have one. I’ve never had a positive one for as long as I can remember. That was broken. I’m weak and really always have been. Obviously you have to be or else nothing would get to you easily. The tinyiest thing can bring out the greatest frustration.
I want to go back to cutting. Something I gave up years ago because i didn’t have the correct tools. I still don’t. And the decorative knife I bought years ago cant even slice bread.
I want to thank my parents for the negative words they gave me when I was younger and the few positives they gave me that made me think “Yea it’s all my fault they’re normal” And now being in their 60s and not remembering a got damn thing wrong they did to me and say I’m making it up or they don’t remember, yet here I am cleaning up a grown man’s messes and accidents. Here I am doing the very damn best i can to make this house look nice inside and out because they are no longer able. Just like they wanted me to when they adopted me. I remember the out louds you spoke when the news came on and a child helped their ailing elder. “Oh isn’t she or he an angel. I WISH SHE WAS LIKE THAT.”
I want to thank the bullies.
First the middle school girls who you to poke fun at my burned hand, and the ones who loved to pull on my long hair. The ones who thought i was so weird because I was masculine by spiritual nature and didn’t like sitting and gossiping or doing my hair and make up. That I thought they were attractive but I was some type of monster.
Second the middle school boys who were so “religious and pure” God don’t like ugly, you twisted hand freak, Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve. You ugly face monkey. You smell. You can’t play with us this is a man’s game.
Third the high school boys who punched me, pushed me, teased me, taunted me and one who nearly tried to rape me. To the one who broke my finger, and back stabbed me. To the other high and mighty God don’t like ugly taunters. To the one who bothered me at the crack of dawn during the last year of high school. With his innocent eyes to the teacher who petted him as he teased me and another in the class. My germs, and the what happened to your hand question, You eat ****? Why you like girls when guys have what you need most. To that same guy who put me on the spot at every fucking chance he got.
Fourth to the high school girls who sat in the groups and gossiped out loud, to the ones who looked at me like some type of disease, the ones who said I like dick every time they saw me. To the one who reported me to the principal because I wrote her a love letter and hadn’t realize she wasn’t like me. To the girls who also back stabbed and double crossed me. The ones who actted one way and felt another.
Fifth to the queer crowd. The people I thought I would be accepted in. The few in the group I thought i could relate to were the very ones who treated me like the rest. To the ones who played the back and fourth game between guys and girls. And yes I apologize to anyone reading this who’s bisexual I’ve had a very hard time with people like this. The ones atleast who changes mates like they change their britches.
I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry to the one girl I should have pursued harder but backed down because her friend wanted you to herself. I’m sorry because I thought you hated me. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the one you fought for. I’m sorry that I’m now back on facebook to come back and live my life like before behind closed doors and you just happen to still be a member. You were intelligent, beautiful and shyer than most in your group knew. You were sweet as pie, but you have your own life now. You have your own goals and routes and friends. You even still have her. and I’m thankful that I didn’t go with you. I realize 7 years down the line, that if I became who I am today. God you would have been so hurt. And you don’t deserve that. I don’t want to break anyone’s heart. Never want to. But I’m sure I did.
I probably will leave. But I have a year or two worth of planning to do. I need to be in an isolated place covered in lush grass and flowers. With a beautiful cabin for two. Not to far and not too close to a body of water I can filter and drink. When I reach a place like this I’ll make my bed. I’ll polish my gun and I’ll lie in my bed and sleep. But I’ve got so long to go. And if I still don’t do it? Well I’ll have my dream done and I’ll kill myself slowly by plowing the fields, planting the seeds, and fixing what needs to be fixed as my already declining body starts to break down even more. Even if I had that one as my wife she wouldn’t want to live on a farm. Muddy, or dry, or too hot, and frostbitten. Flooded or too stormy. Too buggy, to dangerous or to humid. I don’t know women in this type of life who’d want to live like that. So I go it alone. I don’t want it too take too long.
I still have so much to release and the maladaptive nightmares just don’t help at all. I need to go back to fighting the air. Lots to do