even if your hands are shakin’ and your faith is broken. even as the eyes are closin’ do it with a heart wide open. say what you need to say.

i've gone and fucked it all up...

I embody character traits of a cutter. Sex is my razorblade. Needing to be wanted. Craving that fleeting validation. Inevitably disappointed. I have managed to maintain a most genuine remission of this disease. Stronger against the pull of those demons. Able to speak truth through my inner, self-destructive monologue. But there are times when the build is too intense. When the weight of it all comes crashing down…When my sister got sick...When my grandmother died...When I almost killed my friends. and I cycle into my old behaviors. I punish myself. Unable to see any semblance of good. “This” is what I deserve. Remind myself that I am too much. Not enough. Crave it. Kill it. Take you down with me.

I promised myself, when I moved to telluride, that I wouldn’t do anything I would not tell my girls about. They know me. They love me. And despite my seemingly irrational decision to head out west, they have supported me. It’s good to have friends like that. I cannot imagine my life without them. It baffles me that it seems so rare to some. To others it is only an idea, a bond they have only read about. Have yet to experience. So it is with their love and support that I am able to step through others’ judgment and disappointment and share this unsightly tidbit about myself. I would feel like a hypocrite if I kept it inside. My frustrations with the secrecy of certain communities. Bright and shinny on the outside. Broken at the core. I don’t want to pretend that things didn’t happen. Gloss myself up for the world to see. Keep all the crap buried down deep. I’m not learning anything from that except how to feel guilty and fearful. How to look down on others and pass judgment that was never meant to be in my possession. Keeping things a secret doesn’t make them disappear. Those things have a way of festering and erupting. And I’m not doing anyone else a service by pretending. I’m an open book. I am broken. I am a mess.

I met a boy. He didn’t want me. So I slept with him.

I know. You’re disappointed. I told you so. it's ringing in my ears. I have been incapable of hearing anything else. always so concerned with what others think of me. The recent car accident has brought some things into perspective. Provided me with another point of view. We walked away unscathed. And my new family poured out to care for us. We could have died. But we didn’t. why? The big question. What does it mean? why am i here? purpose? meaning? The clincher that led me astray. I should have let it be. But i picked at the scab. The mending old wound. The feeling that I wasn’t good enough. Undeserving. I drowned in it. Sunk to the bottom when things settled down. Guests cleared out and life resumed. And I flailed for dry land but the current was too strong.

-------------------------------------------------

I met a guy a few months ago. Sweet and funny. The girls approved. I saw him out most weekends. We chatted and hugged. Greeted each other in the plaza during work. He would yell silly things to me across the flagstone, echoing off the stone buildings. It made me laugh. He was adorable and nice. Definitely not for me. I don’t do nice. It doesn’t make sense to me. Ignore me. Hurt me. That I can work with. That I know. Sincere interest and upheld promises start me running for the hills. It’s sick and it’s sad. And it is what I want to break free from. But I don’t know how to be okay with myself. Haven’t quite gotten the notion to stick. I get fleeting moments when everything aligns and I have a peace. A genuine comfort in myself. Knowing who I am and really enjoying that girl. The woman I am growing into. But it is too brief. Too unstable. And my goal is to know it. To be able to recite it like my social security number. Burned into my brain.

Sex wasn’t an issue. He made that clear from the beginning. I never had to bring it up. Never had to put my foot down. He said he couldn’t take advantage of me like that. It was too important and we’d known each other for too short a time. I was relieved. And hurt at the same time. Sick. I know. But somehow his consideration translated negatively. Something must be wrong with me if he doesn’t want me. But his interest in me continued even without the physical complications. Instead of dragging me to bed, we had long conversations. about everything. Relationships. Parents. Work. God. He asked me a million questions. Wanting to know more. Never tired of my answers. He made me feel sexy and smart. Interesting and understood. He picked out all the details. Recited them back to me. He noticed me. Paid close attention. And after years of feeling invisible I settled into this new light. Comfortable and excited. For two weeks we were disgustingly adorable. All my friends agreed. And then…he moved to Maryland. Offered a teaching job. An amazing opportunity. He is wonderful with kids. So we parted ways. Grateful to have met. To have learned from one another. Our conversations provided a lot of answers for me. Filled in some gaps along the way. And I said goodbye with the intention of writing, but never really knowing exactly what to say. Perhaps that was the end of our time. Purpose served. It is what it is. I can accept that.

The whirlwind had come to a sudden halt. The adventures with my charlotte visitor came to a close. My cute companion headed east to mold young minds. And as the season was winding down, I was left to tie up lose ends. Housing for next month. Insurance coverage for the car accident. Medical bills. Mounting tensions with my newest roommate. I didn’t feel safe in my house. Not sleeping well. I was exhausted. Trying to keep up with everything on my plate, but inevitably overwhelmed.

Know your triggers. That sounds like something every addict should know. Be able to identify what makes you reach for a bottle or blade or refrigerator door. I have spent the past week trying to figure out my kryptonite. What it is that gets me going or combination of events that seems to send me over the edge. I’m proud of myself for this one. I was able to settle in for a while. Breathe. Go with the flow. Everything would work itself out. But by the end of the week I was worn down. I had reached my quota of rejection for the month. My dad had failed to respond to my birthday email. and in a desperate plea for help I had requested his assistance with my mounting medical expenses. i needed to borrow money to cover insurance and xrays and ambulance rides. I hate asking him for anything. The idea itself was nauseating. And the resulting blow was equally sickening. He didn’t respond. not even to make sure I was all right. Didn’t care. enough.

That’s my trigger: rejection. Sends me reeling every time.

I held it together for the day. Made my way onto the mountain and skied with some of my favorite people. Headed to the corner house for six-dollar burgers. A Friday night ritual. Met up with friends. Pool and dancing with the girls. I spilt my attention between two boys. One is sweet and helpful. Sincerely interested in getting to know me. Has gone out of his way to do nice things for me. It scares the shit out of me. The other is sarcastic and adorable. Makes me laugh, but is hard to read. One minute he finds me interesting and intriguing, the next he could care less if I was in the room. Of course he is my favorite. He becomes my mission. Fight the rejection. If I can make him want me, I win.

------------------------------------

I wonder if our little game was as entertaining to outsiders. Or if it was just as sad and pathetic looking as it sounds to me now, as I type this. Convincing him to take me home took little more than a mention. This was easier than I had anticipated. My worth and value was on the up and up. And while our friends settled in to watch a movie he offered up his room. But I seduced him. I admit it. None of this would have started had I not been so persistent. But I wanted what I wanted, with little or no regard to how he felt. I picked him specifically. Not sure of the exact criteria. We were friends. I knew he liked me. thought i was fun and pretty. he told me so. on multiple occasions. But his wavering affections for me had fed my not good enough mentality and I was determined. Punish myself for not being enough. This is what I deserved. Forget everything I had just learned about myself. The insights I had been given in the recent weeks. I don’t deserve amazing things. I’m high maintenance and apparently tremendously easy to leave behind. So go back to being invisible. A burden. Ordinary. This is what I am used to. Use me up and throw me away. That I can navigate.

So I gave myself to him. It had been over two and a half years. He was polite and gentle and in the morning we chatted nonchalantly as he dressed for work. And when he left I lay in his bed, staring at the beach photos, waiting for the reality of the situation to wash over me. I waited for the disappointment. A little cut to numb the source. The release of it all. “Fuck the pain away.” I knew what I was doing. Knew from the beginning. It wasn’t healthy or intelligent. It was desperate and selfish. but I am grateful to be standing on this side of it with a little better understanding. Some clarity on the situation. I hate that I let myself slip. That I gave into the horrible lies I tell myself. That I drug someone else through the mire with me. But I have to stop and give thanks that I am able to recognize this all so quickly. What would have taken months for me to process in the past, has filled itself in with ease. Perhaps I am more in tune with my behaviors. Or perhaps my self destructive nature has become so apparent I don’t need the flashing neon lights. I know myself better these days. And while it is comforting at times, it is also sad and difficult to be my source of disappointment. To look in the mirror and be dissatisfied. I still don’t know how to just be.

The season ended and my friend moved away. A large part of the reason I think I picked him. I knew he wouldn’t be around. There was no possibility for a future. It was done before it began. No worries of screwing things up. no worries of being left. That was the plan from the get go. No surprises.

And so now I find myself back in town. Spending time with the one who was nice to me from the moment I met him. Who kept in touch while I was on the road. Who helped me sort out errands when I was too frightened to drive around town. He likes me. And he wants to stick around. But every time I see him I want to bolt. Something inside of me wants to run away. I am defensive and self-conscious. Overly sensitive. I’m waiting for him to hurt me. Waiting for him to be an ass. And he doesn’t deserve any of it. And I don’t know how to make it stop. And I’m tired of running away. But alone is easier. If not easier, at least more familiar. I’m strapping on my shoes. Tying up the laces. I’m seconds from the door. I’m so scared.
“I’m the mess that you don’t want to clean up.”