Life doesn’t even feel real to me right now. More like a vague nightmare that I can’t remember fully but remember how scary and painful it was/is. I barely grasp the passing of time throughout the day. I guess I avoid it too, since it’s a very big anxiety for me – watching time pass. Especially with shit to do that I just can’t bring myself to get done. There’s a lot I need to get done. I’m stuck in a limbo in life right now – in between still being a kid and growing up. The next steps scare me. Talking to people scares me. Change scares me. Everything is overwhelming. But my brain has boxed all of it up for the time being. Not that I don’t feel it, per say. It’s just boxed for now. I feel it cracking. Idk. Every time I look at myself – well one, I question if it’s me, if I’m real, etc, but mainly I just feel shame. Embarrassment. Guilt. The usual, I guess.
Funny, my mom asked me the other night if I was okay. I guess I let my guard down a bit. I wasn’t, but I told her I was anyway. I was trying to find information on her. Just to see if she’s, well, alive. I don’t have any socials, so it made it difficult, but pretty sure I found something. Not 100% if it was her or not, but whatever. I stopped looking after that night. Had a dream a night or two later, we were talking back and forth. I kept asking “why” but got no answer. That and other things, multiple things were bothering me, but I said nothing. But I actually did appreciate that mom bothered to ask. People very rarely do that. But I just don’t feel like I can trust anyone in my life with this stuff anymore, so I just don’t bother. She doesn’t even know that *she* left. “Left”. Idk. Whatever.
My grandmother – my mom’s bio mom – texted me yesterday morning out of the blue. It’s been months since she’s tried. She didn’t say anything for graduation or anything like that. She may have sent a birthday message, but I don’t think so. If so, I know I responded to that one, but other than that, I don’t talk to her. I don’t respond. I find it strange mom and her still talk. After everything. We lived with her for a while. She didn’t like being called “grandma” – called me a redneck and that it was improper or whatever. Lied about being from Britain for some reason, lied about ghosts being in the house and if I pissed her off they’d come to get me (I was young + gullible as shit don’t come for me), told me horror stories of a fictional childhood, kicked us out and made us live in a hotel over a petty dispute. Is just as big of a druggie as mom was. Told me it “wasn’t a big deal” when mom had cancer. That it’d be worse if she had it. She also apparently has many, many ails and illnesses. All worse than yours, I promise. In my humble opinion, she’s rather fucked up. Part of me feels like an ass, for just never responding to anything. To be fair though, it’s not like she reaches out very often. I remember she was always into having “visions” and stuff, and she told me if I moved back to where I’m from (where all the rednecks live, ahaha) that I’d be a nobody with no friends, and that I’d essentially be worthless. I remember when she got mad at mom she wouldn’t let me or anyone else eat the food in her house. Went hungry pretty often.
Music is my savior atm. A perfect mix of escapism and creativity at least for me. Lose a lot of time listening to music and pacing the floor for hours. Oddly comforting. I need constant sound anymore. Kinda sad, my brain would like some quiet but I can’t have it.
We barely ever have food in this apartment anymore. Hopefully it’ll be better soon. My sisters are coming up here for Christmas this year. I like Christmas. Not as crazy about it as some, but I enjoy it. I hung some lights on my TV and bookshelf. Ones my mom thought were “tacky” but there weren’t any others for me to use. I think it looks nice. I’m thinking about trying to fast again. My appetite has gone down anyway. I wouldn’t mind getting the extra fat off. Being hungry is better than being other things, anyhow. I always feel embarrassed when I eat.
I really need to try and sleep. My sleep schedule is fucked.
No mom, I’m not okay, but I’m trying really hard to be.
2 comments
Gramdma sound awful. It’s weird how spiteful and bitter relatives can be. After treating you and your mom like that, what does she even have to say to you?
I suggest not searching her up. It’s just going to make life harder for you. Even if you just want to know if she’s ok. I would have dreams about her sometimes, but they were always vague. Now I don’t see her in my dreams at all anymore. Just try to move past it. As hard as it is.
Life is scary. No matter how hard we want to salvage it and work through it, it always has a way of kicking you. Kicking and not stopping. The only advice I can give about all of it, being in limbo, growing up, finding purpose, is to just get through the day and worry about the next when it comes. Not great advice, but it’s all I really have.
Upshot, you’ve got awesome compartmentalization skills. It continues to amaze me how naturally compartmentalization comes up. It doesn’t come naturally to me, I had to spend years working on it. But I can still relate, sometimes the stuff you’ve walled off doesn’t want to stay walled off. cracks in the facade. The trick is knowing how to repackage and recompartmentalize when those cracks get too big.
my visualization is a room full of shelves, and all my compartmentalized stuff is in boxes on those shelves. Sometimes I use clear plastic boxes for stuff I don’t feel safe stopping looking at. Anyway, my visualization for resurfacing is the box falling off the shelf. I pick up the stuff, cry as necessary, and rebox. Eventually it either stays put or I process through it.