I’ve locked everything in a box inside of me. All my happiness and love is locked up so no one can touch it. No one can get to me. All one can see and touch is the anger and hurt.
I don’t know what to answer any more when friends ask me to join them. I have been outside with them once or twice, but I can’t handle being outside. The loud noises scare me. The cars passing by or the people walking pass me depresses me because it seems like they’re going somewhere and I’m clearly not. Last time I was out with my friends was two days ago. I drank a bottle of Baileys before I met them and drank some beers. Long story short, I got wasted and pretty rude. They could all see I was hurting and so they politely asked me if everything was okay between my girlfriend and I. I said, «No, I think it’s over. I simply don’t know.» They seemed surprised which surprised me and of course they wanted more details. «I don’t want to talk about it,» I said and kept on drinking. It’s not the first time I block them out, but it hurt doing so more than ever.
I usually don’t talk about my feelings, but if I do I always make it seem like it’s less than it actually is. I’ve never liked bothering people with my intimate thoughts and feelings, simply because I’m the one who always listens and advise them. I will admit that I would love to talk to someone about everything, but it’s harder than one would think. Every time I try to talk about it, the question pops up: «Where are you even going to start?» Most people often say «anywhere», but that sort of thinking isn’t for me. I always need to start at the beginning, but the problem is that I don’t remember the beginning. Not only the beginning here, but the beginning of all “the evil” as I call it.
I think it started when I was a child as a defense mechanism to all the horrible things I experienced before I moved to where I currently live. I guess I was traumatized and just found a way to forget it. Sometimes I want to open that big box of secrets, but I honestly don’t know if any good would come out of it. I have been doing this so long that I simply don’t know how to stop. I remember fragments if I concentrate. I often remember what happened and how I felt, but at the same time is vague. I explained this to one of my closest friend who shares somewhat similar problems and she said: Your mind denies it, but your body remembers it. No one has ever told me something so true before. My body remembers the situation even though my mind is in denial or even shielding me from the truth. It makes it hard to know what’s real and what’s a cover, because I’m pretty sure my mind often makes up a cover story to fill in the loopholes.
If we take these last three years as an example; I can already admit that I remember very little. It’s not just the bad stuff that have been locked way, but also most of the good; perhaps to spare me since I often compare the two. I don’t know why I am the way I am and I truly want to know the reason, but I’m scared. I’m scared that if I jump down in that rabbit hole I will never see daylight again. I’m afraid I’ll be lost in my own mind and end up in a limbo, (you’ll understand if you’ve seen Inception.) My thoughts and memories are like scrambled eggs, used to be whole. I guess I will never truly know myself since I’m too afraid to “meet” myself. It’s hard to accept that, especially since I don’t know if I will ever find happiness in this state. I guess we all have to take a chance now and then.
I have to admit something which quite embarrassing. I constantly envy other couples. I have always envied others for the love they have to each other. I rarely feel I deserve any love, mostly because I grew up “unloved.” It’s probably not the right term, but no other fits as well as unloved. My parents loved and still love me in their own way, but they have never showed it. This is one of the reasons most of my friends also have divorced parents. My ex-boyfriend hadn’t met his father in ten years and when he finally did I was jealous. After all I rarely talk to mine and he lives in another country. I have my stepdad who’s a very complex man who I often disagree with. That relationship is a story of itself which I prefer not discuss with others.
Anyway, back to couples. When I see a couples declaring their love for each other with words or physical gestures I get sick. I can’t stand them and I often feel hate, which I translate into jealousy. A picture of two people in love can bring me to tears if no one is around me; simply because I want that too. I had that a year or two back, but I destroyed it. I felt I didn’t deserve it which it quite normal for me since I rarely feel I deserve things. I want to be loved, but I want someone to fight for my love. It might sound crazy, but if you have read anything I’ve written you already know I’m crazy, but I actually feel that my love is worth fighting for. My love is not at all something to take granted as so many people have done before and might I add: still do. I don’t love people easily, not without them fighting and truly showing me they deserve and want it.
My love is abnormal and if you have earned my love than you have earned it for life. Having my love is like having a pulse, because without it you won’t survive, but neither do I. Whenever I feel my love is being taken for granted I feel devastated. My fingers find their way to my face and I try to scratch the pain and desperation away, but it feels like it’s carved inside of me which makes me even more desperate and leads to self-harming. I try to cut it out or perhaps I try to carve something on top of it so “it’s not there anymore.” I truly don’t know. I think I tried to carve some of the pain in so I wouldn’t forget how this feels. I made a vertical cut on my chest, as if I had run away from a heart surgery. It still stings. It’s not like I have ever felt. I feel shaken, but with some sort of calm. The first thing that popped up in my head now was: “You should have made it deeper,” but I didn’t. I didn’t want to risk getting it too deep. I didn’t want to risk hitting something or not being able to stop. I learned something: I don’t want to die.
At least not now, I don’t want to die right now. Why? I don’t know. I can still feel the blade touching my lips before I used it to mark my chest. There’s something sensual to kissing the blade of the knife before you use it. I guess it’s my way of showing respect even though there’s nothing respectful about self-harming. How else am I going to make it when my girlfriend or ex-girlfriend says; Find someone who makes you happy. That’s throwing everything I’ve been through in my face. It hurts because I hate failing. I failed again, not only with her, but with everything else in my life. People think it’s easy to start again, but it’s not, especially when you have a past like mine. I’m not sure what my next move is. Hopefully I will find the lust for life again, but I’m not sure I can this time. I have never been closer to writing the book of life and in a strange way I’m sort of okay with that. I was born to die.