We were on the phone, and you were imitating me, though not in my voice, about the phone cutting out: “What? What did you say? S, I only said hi” and just, your name sounded so unfamiliar. It was coming from your own voice so I don’t know why it did. It just does.
Our phone call was so weird, we talked about normal things but there was a sense of emptiness in it. It was how our conversations always went but there was a shift. I don’t know if he felt it but I did. Maybe the shift is because of my current mood because i am grieving over my sister. Maybe I am just moving away from him mentally.
All I know is that we aren’t ever going to get back together.
I was thinking of his face earlier - not from memories but just facebook photographs because my memory can pull those up so much easier. How handsome you are - all of your expressions. How handsome I thought you were when we first started talking, and how flattered I felt.
But then I started thinking of those angry faces, or annoyed faces - blurred because they are from memory and not static photos, and the smile left my face. I need to remember those blurred faces just as much as the strong ones.
You asked if I will visit when you get back from your trip on the 20th. I said I didn’t know my work schedule yet, and you said I could request a few days off. I could, and maybe I will, probably I will. And I will go up there and pretend like it is all okay, like I want us to get back together. That’s a month from now - will there be more of a shift? Will he be able to feel it between us?
This death has left a gaping hole in me that it seems like mental change is going to fill and I am going to become a different person than I was, and I think for the better. I knew so little of my sister, but maybe she can fill this hole with what she left behind - friends, memories, and the fact that she never rolled over for any person at all. I need to stand my ground and not take any shit, and I’ve taken too much shit from you.
No more. 95 days and I’m out of here.
I am glad I don’t have to apologise for super long posts or put it under a read more tag. This blog is for me. And only me.
I somehow have two followers which is odd considering the time I have had this open and I have told no one about it. But I guess my tags led them here. If people want to read what I write out,
I am totally 100 percent fine with it. As long as I don’t know you and you don’t know who I am. Sometimes, even though I obscure names, I feel like I give too much away with location names and things like that, though I try to be vague.
Oh well, it will stay hidden for as long as possible from those I know, and maybe even forever.
To my two followers, and any future:
We are cool.
I left S for real on Sunday when he was at the hospital and I was packing up my things with my parents. My dad of course, was the unsympathetic screaming asshole you would expect him to be.
Since then I have felt absolutely sick, a whirlwind of emotions that I don’t know how to suppress and become numb.
I have talked to him on the phone for the past three nights while he is inpatient and the first two he was so understanding and forgiving and he said he didn’t blame me and he knew it was going to take a long time to fix himself and he wanted me to be happy even if it wasn’t with him.
Then last night we had a normal conversation but at the end he was asking me to renew my lease for just a little longer, so he isn’t homeless. He said “how am I supposed to get better if I am homeless”? It’s classic manipulation but it works because it is logical and he knows how to appeal to the logic in me. It’s going to be hard if not impossible for him to find a place in like the five days he will have when he gets out.
But when I said I wasn’t sure he got all grumpy and said that I want to him to he homeless - when I reiterated that he made his bed and now has to lie in it and he is not my responsibility anymore, he kept trying to heap the guilt of him living in his car on my shoulders. He hung up early on me because of him expecting that I should do this for him. It feels like the old him.
So I messaged the landlord and asked if I can extend it to three months, and he said I have to backpay the 970 I owe for this month (rent plus late fee) ASAP and then they can sign a three month lease and normally it’s $150 a month extra for a short term lease but on “good faith” the LL is going to do it for. I really don’t know where he is getting the good faith on, considering I can’t remember the last time I was on time with rent.
I want to call S now and tell him the terms, because he said he would pay the rent (he has the means, he got promoted and is working full time), and if he can swing $920 a month I will probably give in. I know I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t give him a damn thing, and again, it is me assuming all of the risk and him assuming none.
But I don’t want to call him now because it is 2:44pm and it is probably prime doctor/group/therapy time and I don’t want to disturb whatever progress is made by putting that in his head. So I’ll call tonight.
Every morning I wake up and my first thought it “I want to talk to S”, and I want to call. For the reasons listed above and also just because I need to suppress those thoughts until they go away. He might be there Friday, he might not, and I have to go up there to go to a doctor’s appointment. If he is there, I am going to visit him and then I will go back to our old apartment, take a shower using his shower stuff, and take a nap probably before I go back down. Maybe I’ll go see a movie by myself - I still have the free four movie tickets that will only work with that cinema company up there.
If he is released, then idk what will happen. It will be very nerve-wracking and emotionally unsafe and probably a tiny bit physically unsafe too but honestly I am not too worried about that. He wouldn’t put his chance in jeopardy so soon. For as unpredictable as he is, and as much as he knows how to appeal to me, I know, for the most part, what he will do and what he won’t based on the risks for him. And he is very aware of those risks.
When the phone call last night brought back that feeling of the old him, I need to hold onto that. The frustration, the anger, that he isn’t understanding and just expects things from me. I need to keep remembering that and not let myself listen to the tearful voicemail where he tells me he loves me and wants me to be happy. I need to move on and to do that I need to see him as a whole, not the piece I have carved out for myself over the last 530 days.
The day before valentines day was the last day we slept together, because I was so upset on valentine’s day that I slept on the couch. I rarely did that. And I wish I hindsight I didn’t because I never will get to sleep with him again. As long as I stay strong. Which I need to. For both of our sakes. Even now I am considering him when I really shouldn’t.
I assume when he gets out and can fb message me and text me that he can’t hide the nasty pointed comments all the time, and I need to really focus on them.
I was washing my hands today and my parent’s sink is either frigid or it burns your skin off so I was washing my hands in the cold and I was like “I don’t care - it’s cold like my heart” all cliché and emo-like. But that’s not true. My heart is red hot, pumping blood like crazy. I am suffering the same symptoms as heat stroke - nausea, dizziness, general unwell feeling, and disorientation. Except I don’t know how to get out of this sunlight that seems to penetrate through all of my cores.
I need to get out of here. I cannot heal at my parent’s at all. They are not allowing me to grieve and that isn’t okay because it makes me just store it all up in me and that’s not healthy at all. Screw my mom for telling me that laying in bed all day in unhealthy - not giving me privacy and the ability to heal is extremely unhealthy. I don’t want to talk to a fucking therapist. There is way too much dirty laundry of my life to go through, and I usually end up massively downplaying it anyway.
I need to get to FL. I have been blessed with a lovely friend halfway around the world with a family who will help me out because someone helped him out in a really bad time once, and he is trying to pay it forward. I don’t know the details, but I don’t push. He can tell me if he wants to.
He said it will take a few weeks/month or two to get enough money for a security deposit, first and months last rent, and the expense of a uhaul.
My mom said she will not help me with one cent if I move out before six months. If he can help me with this, I don’t need a cent. Just let me be. You’re not a terrible parent mom, you are a wonderful one, but I need my space and I just do not have an inch of it here.
Then I have to find a place. Which is easier said than done. Lots of phone calls, which I hate. “Proof of income” - I don’t have a job right now but even if I get one for a month it shows I can hold down one. And once all the money is in my account I can print a bank statement and send it to them. Hopefully that will be acceptable.
I obviously care about super high crime areas but I’ve lived in Albany and as long as I am not in the slums of Miami I’ll be fine. A huge ratio of Hispanics to Caucasians in Miami (like 19 percent white as opposed to 81 percent Hispanic) doesn’t really bother me at at other than like, language barriers. But I never speak to my neighbors anyway, so….
Not that I’ll be def living in Miami. But for the rent I am looking for ($600 or less), there are a lot of options there. I am mostly looking at east coast Florida, not too far from Delray (where my parents have their condo) or Fort Lauderdale because there is a lot of job opportunities there. I think I’ve looked as far down as Miami and as high up as Cape Canaveral. The west coast doesn’t reallllly bother me, but I want the Atlantic and I need (I stress need) to be close to the ocean. So living in like Orlando wouldn’t work. Also the west coast is less familiar to me (even though I have very little familiarity at all with any of it), and I don’t really know crime rates or anything like that. Fort Myers?? I think is one I’ve been looking at but that is sort of a last choice since it is over two hours away from where I really want to be. But I am trying to be realistic obviously.
I just need everything to work out, please. I need this clean break and my attempt at it did not result it anything clean, nor anything near a break.
I need to get far, far away from here. Meet new people. Get a new job. Not necessarily date, but just have a social group. Establish new doctors. Have a whole new life not dependent on S or my parents or anyone except me, and maybe the beautiful occasional and not expected help from my friends.
Just me and my cat, H. Two girls in a nice, warm, new,
city with the AC blasting. That’s what I need.
When S was driving on 787 back to our apartment, eating the single piece left of my roasted kangaroo, I felt lackluster. It was valentine’s day, we just got engaged, and yet I felt “eh”.
I tried to figure out why. Was it because I had basically planned it - the restaurant, the date, even picked out the ring? Was it because the ring was charged to a card under my name? Was it because I knew it was the wrong man somewhere deep in my heart? Or was it just because my expectations of the night were too high? Unattainable?
I always do that with expectations. I set the bar way too high without even trying. I’ve always been a hopeful person. Things always work out the best if I don’t expect them to be good, or that great, or I don’t expect them to be anything at all. Then I find myself pleasantly surprised. However, I can rarely do this.
In a few days it will be valentine’s day again - the anniversary of our engagement. And right now, I am hating him. I want to move far, far, away and I will within the year - he just doesn’t know yet.
I’m not going to tell him he has to get out or that I am moving until he hurts me again. That’s pretty much guaranteed. Then I’ll have an “excuse” to kick him out.
But I don’t even know how that will go. S is notorious for being unmotivated - he isn’t going to look for an apartment even if I set a limit. He’s also spiteful as all hell. I can’t just be like, “oh you can stay until the end of the lease in september even though we are broken up and I have to sleep on the couch because the bed is yours”. I mean I can, but that’s just dumb. It will fuck with my mind too much and my steadfast determination.
But right now, I just want to be in love with him again until then. Or at least this week. Let me be happy to make the valentine cupcakes for him. Let me be smitten during our anniversary dinner. Smile when I think about him, want to curl up next to him. Right now I keep spitting out things he has done wrong every time I talk to him. There is a laundry list.
I don’t want anything to do with him or this place anymore. Please somehow let me get down to Florida. Please Please Please.
I guess when someone dies I feel like I’m not allowed to laugh at anything, or be happy for some undetermined amount of time. Like smiling at a joke or being amused by a tv show is some sort of disrespect for the recently passed and I need to be in constant somber mourning 24/7.
I know this isn’t true, and even at wakes I’ve laughed with my cousins and stuff but it always nags me - no one ever taught me how to mourn, but I guess it’s not really something you’re ever taught.
I don’t know if everyone grapples with this conflictation on how to properly grieve, or if it just a me thing. You can’t really ask, you’ll just get some generic answer of “oh, they wouldn’t want you to be sad! They would want you to be happy! They’re in peace now!” But that’s just some oft-repeated words that really don’t make any sense. And it’s no fault of the speaker - that is just what we have been programmed to say when we are mourning.
I guess we just have to follow our emotions - cry when we need to cry, smile when we need to smile, and grasp each other closely when we need that comfort.
But why do I notice everything? She thought. Why must I think? She did not want to think. She wanted to force her mind to become a blank and lie back, and accept quietly, tolerantly, whatever came."
Sometimes I wonder if how I feel is due to my depression problems and my probable-but-not-yet-diagnosed bipolar disorder. Or if my feelings are justified and this is how I am supposed to feel, due to my situations.
I don’t think I will ever know.
Two days ago, S came home from work angry. My grandfather is on his deathbed and S though that I was just going on a vacation to Florida in a few days. Thanks, time delays on text messages.
Anyway, it escalated on the kitchen floor where several things happened - had the soft blue blanket that my cat loves to knead shoved into my throat while my nose was held shut - got spit on - got the tip of my nose bruised (i wasn’t aware this could even happen) when he shoved my head down to the floor with just his palm. The worst was when he was straddled over me with one of the shitty, duller knives we have that he always uses and I don’t know why - we have better ones.
I was obviously thrashing and attempting to scream as he snarls out barrages of insults that I don’t even pay attention to anymore (I don’t know if they are lies or not, but he always says they aren’t true after the fact) but then he says that because I am so frightened, that I don’t want to die, that I make up my suicidal ideations just to relate to him
What he doesn’t realize is that I put a pound bag of pure sodium nitrite on my amazon wishlist, hoping someone will randomly (not knowing why) buy it for me, or that I get the guts to - it’s only 15 hours and I just need to down a few grams in a glass of water. Who cares about seizures and turning blue when you’re unconscious, right?
But at that time, with the knife above me, of course I was terrified. It’s basic, natural, instinct. Humans try to hold on to life as hard as they can. I’ve read things where when people try to kill themselves in their car by crashing into something at high speeds - there is more often than not skidmarks where they tried to suddenly break or turn at the last second. It’s not something we can control - it’s ingrained in every cell we have, the urge to live and survive.
Besides, that knife would hurt like a motherfucker. I don’t want the pain, I really, really, don’t. And stabbing me with a dull knife would have to be done multiple times. Cause of death would most likely be blood loss. Sounds super shitty. Stab me from behind - catch me by surprise, I don’t care.
I wonder if I stay with S truly out of love and the need to be with someone as screwed up as me (albeit in radically different ways), or if I know someday he is going to fuck up and kill me and that will absolve me of all responsibility and obligation to do it myself.
He wants to buy a gun - he’s on this “wildness survival” kick right now, and at the bottom of my stomach I don’t want him to, and I have expressed this sentiment. I don’t like guns. I don’t like the feel of them in my hand or anyone else’s. I feel like I just have to touch an unloaded gun and it will just go off, killing my cat or something like that.
But I just wrote him a note, on a red piece of paper, saying, “I changed my mind. I don’t care if you buy a gun. In fact, I want you to”.
I don’t know if he will get the obvious allusions there or just think I am giving my permission. He is certainly smart enough to realize that when he gets in his rage, it is a hell lot easier to just aim that gun at me and pull the trigger - and then regret it a second too late. But he might just ignore that nagging thought and think he is perceiving it wrong, and think I just changed my mind.
I won’t know until tomorrow, anyway. Or at all - he never really says anything about my serious notes, even though I know he reads them.
Earlier tonight I said I was going to sleep on the couch for a few days. I want to - it is comfy enough, and I have that stubbornness that will make me do anything to prove a point. But most likely he won’t get the point, and I will just be sleeping on a couch in an uncomfortable position while he gets the whole bed. And my body hurts completely 100% due to him. I deserve to be sleeping in that bed. And I will. Does that make me a pushover or a hypocrite? I don’t know. I don’t care. I just want a good night’s sleep. Once I am sleeping nothing can go wrong in my dreams. It is so rare I have nightmares, which may sound surprising but isn’t to me. My dreams are my only escape from reality (cue melodrama).
So that brings us full circle. Am I justified in wanting to sulk on the couch for a few nights, due to these twisted emotions of him saying he loves me but then also being so high on suboxone all the time? All of my other attempts at getting through to him have never worked.
Or am I just being petty, and should just forget the battle for tonight, go in the bedroom, get naked like normal, and curl up against him, like nothing is wrong and our love is pristine and pure and untouched by sinful hands?
I don’t know. I’ll compromise with myself - I’ll go sleep in bed, but if he comes near me he can fuck right off. I don’t care if I wake him.