Monday, August 29th; 2017
I’ve been ready to die for awhile. I couldn’t tell you when it exactly started, but it’s plagued me for too long of a time. I’ve been so torn between the need to alleviate the sorrow and anguish constantly destroying my chance at a new start; and the need to know where that new start is, and if I will ever have it. (Curiosity kept the cat alive I guess? I’ve always had a sort of sick, poorly-timed sense of humor.) I haven’t thought about my childhood trauma in-depth as of recent, only because of the constant cranium-stabbing fear of what I’m going to do with myself as adulthood comes.
It’s funny; I always was a precocious girl that had this ‘grand ideation’ I was going to free myself and own a home young, and become this successful psychologist in due time. But now? Iv’e lost so much of my childhood and adolescence to abuse, mental illness, and isolation that I finally want to be young and free. I want to release all this pent up bitterness and just let myself make mistakes. I want to experience actual excitement; past the faux-fantasy life I dissociate to survive. I want to break this tyrannical mold of fear that’s kept me here and struggling silently for so long. I want my dad, my ‘friends’, everyone who has held high exceptions for me, to hate me. It’s not something I could explain. In fact, I think it gets harder to understand the more I try to explain it.
I know where I’m heading. How dangerous this party life is for someone like me. I’m the perfect combination of a severe predisposition to addiction and zero self worth or knowledge to cope. I’m so easily infatuated with the thought of letting someone just take me and fuel my dependency. The only thing that motivates me as of now, is being able to party whenever I want. To drown myself in sex and drugs and constant travel. To be in a constant daze of euphoria and unapologetic contentiousness. The worst part of all of this? I am 100% self aware with the consequences and moral ambiguity of the life I crave and the decisions I’m making. It’s like I’m a prisoner in my own body, watching the trainwreck shadow of the neglected child I’m making myself into. As dramatic as it sounds, its akin to slowly rotting away as you watch the world, unaware and callous to your body, slip by in dull color. It’s painful, and disappointing to myself and the person I wanted to be. But I’m too exhausted to change, too broken to care, too sick to feel. I’m stuck. I’m am my own worst enemy. I hate who I am.
The truth is: I don’t care about myself. The most disheartening personal dilemma I have that lays with me at night; is knowing I am so much like the mother I never wanted to be. I look so much like her, I act so much like her, and my selfish need to feel is just like her. With each substance I put in my body, I feel it. With every relationship I ruin, I feel it. Every late night I stay up, I feel it. I feel it; slowly like poison disintegrating my being, but I’m just….too weak to stop it. I don’t know how. I’m not even entirely sure I want too. I’m so sick; it’s almost like I’m truly in the backseat to myself, sitting a half step behind my body and consciousness. It’s sort of like always drowning, but never dying. Burning and suffocating and always on the edge: but that’s it. No relief, no release, no end: nothing. My existence is so horridly painful, even though I have so much too be grateful for. I’m a paradox.
Right now, I’ll probably continue to party. I just want to get a steady job. I’m even, for the very first time, wanting a relationship; which is odd for me considering my emotional disconnection and pretty much incapability to feel romance. (It’s kind of laughable even?) I think I just want to find someone as fucked up and broken as I am, so this loneliness isn’t so painful. I want understanding, not pity. I’m not sure. I guess I’ll let life take me where it plans, as always.