It’s Love I’m After
I’ve been sad for days, weeks, months, years it seems. I recently stopped taking the antidepressants that I had started taking in the midst of my last relationship when I felt like the combined stress of dealing with school and my exploding feelings of love might just kill me. When the relationship ended my doctor upped my anti-depressant and then when I just wouldn’t let go no matter how much of a mind fuck this whole situation was he upped them again and then when I wanted to kill myself, because I just couldn’t deal with how much pain I was in I started a second kind of anti-depressants and on and on it went for two plus years. And now, I’m no longer taking meds, but I also feel like a basket case, or you know, a very sad person.
I don’t know when it happened but somewhere along the line my self worth became intrinsically linked with what this one person thought of me or more to the point, how he treated me. He became the personification of the little voice in my head that constantly repeats “he doesn’t give a shit, he doesn’t give a shit, no one gives a shit, I’m a piece of shit”. And that’s precisely how I feel right now and have been feeling for quite some time to some extent or another.
I’m angry and I’m sad. I’m angry at him. Right now I hate his guts and would tell him so if it would change anything. But it doesn’t. I’m angry at him, but mostly, I’m angry at myself for letting all of this happen, for wanting him or that relationship or whatever so much that I thought it better to endure a certain amount of pain as a constant. As a compromise. I’m angry at myself for not caring about myself enough, for not having enough self-respect to stop any of this before it became what it has become today. I never should have let this relationship happen, especially when it was so clearly self-destructive.
And now, I’m sad. I haven’t even seen him in two years or talked to him in six months and it’s ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT on a bad day, and let me tell you there are more bad days than good ones as of late. It’s all I can think about and I’m ashamed to admit it. I’m ashamed to admit HOW MUCH this hurts me. It makes me feel weak, pathetic, and like a piece of shit.
Rationally I know time is a key factor in any healing process, and at first I was able to comfort myself with the idea of a possible future where things would be all right, where this wouldn’t hurt as much and I wouldn’t have to think about it as much. A future where gasp, I could love and be loved and not have it be some painful bullshit, but I don’t see it. I don’t have hope. I have no hope whatsoever that things will get better. I cannot foresee being able to rid myself of this sadness that inhabits me.
It’s a hard thing to admit. I’m a pretty rational person and it sucks balls to know something and yet feel another way. I’ve struggled with a variety of mental health issues in the past and one of them was chronic anxiety that went untreated and blossomed into obsessive compulsive disorder in the my early twenties. OCD is, beyond a doubt, one of the worst afflictions you could possibly live through. I will spare you the details, but the clincher, the thing that makes it so bad is that you’re aware of the irrationality and pointlessness of your actions. You know that it’s a disease that’s pushing you to do certain things, but no matter how much you want to stop, no matter how much you know that those thoughts are just in your head and that they have no basis in reality you just can’t help yourself.
I can’t think of a worse feeling than that of being trapped in your own mind, of being your own worst enemy. So, with all that being said, it’s hard for me to admit that this is how I am feeling. This thing, this relationship and the resulting feelings are very hard for me to talk about. My thoughts get muddled really quickly and there always seems too much of it to process properly. I will have thought about it, on repeat, all day and as soon as I try to express it to another person I completely loose what it is I wanted to say. I don’t think that any of my close friends can understand this, because from their perspective I probably talk about this a hell of a whole lot (a pov I totally understand, especially since I’m right there with them) and although the fact that I find it incredibly hard to talk about and the fact that I talk about it a lot might seem like a contradiction, it really isn’t. Both statements are true. Does anyone understand what it means to be stuck in the middle of that dynamic? It’s incredibly frustrating and unpleasant to say the least.
When I started this blog, and since then, I think I’ve avoided writing about it. Now, I wonder how I justified that. This blog was, if anything, a self journey of sorts. A DIY education in self-love. Why did I wait so long before addressing the major issue that affects my sense of self-worth? I don’t know. Ha! Maybe I thought it would go away by itself. Time is a tricky thing, you see, sometimes you convince yourself that it’s enough to just sit idly by and wait it out, but time isn’t a healing balm all in itself, it’s what you DO with that time that gets you somewhere, that heals.
A few pockets full of anti-depressants and a couple false starts with therapy later and I’m back at square one, if I ever left it at all. It’s one thing to preach love and acceptance, but at some point you have to lead the way. You can’t convince another person that you are lovable out of sheer will, and being loved by someone isn’t enough to make you feel loved. Where does it start? With the self. Ok, sure. But how?