I’m trying to force myself to write again. It seems like when I think I have nothing to say, that’s actually when I have the most to say, I just don’t know it. When I know what to say, it’s never as interesting as I thought it would be. Strange… but true.
I’m starting to wonder who I am anymore. I like to think I’m the same old me but I’m definitely not. The old me would not have pushed her friends away for a stupid mother fucker like I did. The old me would absolutely not have a. stayed with this stupid fuck and b. never let him treat her this way and beat her down like he does. So, obviously, the me that I THOUGHT I was and the me that ACTUALLY is are two very different people.
I’d really like to be happy with life and content for once. For some reason, I can’t. I’m not happy, and I can’t think of anything that would actually make me happy. I complain about what I have but I don’t want to lose the benefits of it. Ugh!! I frustrate me. I’m depressed, I sleep a lot, I can’t find anything funny anymore and I never have the physical energy to do anything that needs to be done. I don’t even have the energy to do something I want. I get headaches like crazy and can hardly remember my name, so I sit inside and waste away with this guy that, says he cares. I call bull shit.
Then I look in the mirror and I ask…Why? I know I’m strong, I know I’m stubborn, I know I’m smart, and I know I could do this alone and I don’t need help from anyone. Yet here I am….
I’ve faded into a different person. The outside is still here, but the inside is gone. Even that’s not true. The inside is still there, just too afraid to come out. Every time I think about it, I “decide” that I’m going to stop being a push over, and I’m going to start living for me and being happy…then, here I am.
I wish I could cry.
But I can’t. I’ve never been able to just cry because I’m depressed or sad or stressed and to this day, that hasn’t changed. There are no tears, just hidden emotions that I don’t share with anyone. I put on a smile and I look pretty and I play the sweet girl that everyone loves because I’m too proud to tell the truth. I’m too proud to say that I’ve let life take the upper hand, I’m too proud to say that I was wrong. So I’ll deny it. I won’t ask for help because I can do it on my own.
At least I’m not using. My sobriety comes first and that’s not a joke. At least I’m sticking by that. The demons whisper to me in the dark times. They beg me to come and play as they remind me of the good times that I had with them and dance around me like children pulling me towards a beautiful light. Then, Just as I’m about to give in to their teasing and luring me with tales of beautiful and happy days, an angel (whom I have yet to learn the name) flips on the light switch and shows my memories for what they really are.
Snippets of memory that fill a whole .5% of all the time that I spent in hell. An even darker hole that I slipped into and made myself believe that I was actually happier there. Oh no, I wasn’t happier, it was worse. Its still scary that hell is pulling and coursing me to come back and I’m actually contemplating compliance.
Something has got to change.
…..Soon
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