Its been over a year since I’ve even looked at this blog! Life got away from me. But I will be back soon ❤ New posts are coming.
xoxo – August
Its been over a year since I’ve even looked at this blog! Life got away from me. But I will be back soon ❤ New posts are coming.
xoxo – August
Well its been about 8 months since my last post. I just turned 25 and so much has changed. My last post I reflected on how I needed to focus on myself this year. I wasn’t feeling happy in my relationship with K and a few months back his other woman accidentally texted me instead of him so… I kicked him out. I’ve been on my own for about 3 months now and it feels…. like relief. Like when you are scared to rip a bandaid off because you know its going to be painful, but then the moment finally comes when its gone and you let out a long sigh because the pain wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Then you’re just happy its gone and you move on. The weird thing is that I thought I would cry… I thought there would be hysterical sobbing that kept me up at night. But there wasn’t. I actually slept better that night than I had in almost a year. When someone does something to hurt you, you never look at them the same. Once you cross the line in a relationship its nearly impossible to go back. Especially in my circumstance where I was the only one making any effort. My post from January is still true though; I’m ready to be my own knight in shining armor. Being alone is so much easier than I thought it would be and the only person I have to worry about pleasing is myself. It’s been different to have to be alone yet good in so many ways.
K took Lola. This was probably the only part of the breakup that made me sad. But my dad and I got a beautiful new full breed Siberian Husky that we named Azula. (Yes this is from Avatar The Last Airbender, if you happened to be wondering.) I’ve been enjoying being alone although I have been hanging out with a boy… but we’re going slow and he’s super patient so for now I’m just having fun with it.
My mom… whom I thought was in Florida living her own life and staying out of mine (just the way I like it) showed up at my front door on Thursday. (My birthday none-the-less.) My jaw hit the floor, bounced off my feet, and slammed back into my body. She wanted to “talk.” About 20 minutes into the most excruciating dinner you could imagine… she said “I want to know if we can be a family again.” My response to this was, “I want to know if you are ready to stop denying all the abuse you put me through.” Well… in perfect Mother fashion she starts flipping her lid. “You’re delusional. None of that ever happened. You were a pathological liar as a child and I see nothing has changed. I was sober your entire childhood and I remember every detail. YOU’RE THE ONE WHO MADE YOUR LIFE DIFFICULT NOT ME.”
Well, I blew up… in front of a bunch of people at a clam shack; I let her have it. 25 years of name calling, abuse, and bullying all pent up inside me into this one epic culmination of screaming and swearing at her in front of all these people trying to enjoy their clam cakes. She stood there standing over me, squinting her eyes in disapproval and pursing those disgusting lips of hers and I fucking lost it. I stood up and shoved my food to the ground. I told her she couldn’t possibly remember the torture she put me through because she was black out drunk and how I felt sorry for her because she turned into the same monster her mother was. I let her know how I had no interest in having a mother in my life who is in denial of what happened and won’t even take the first steps to make amends. Then when she tried to but in I screamed over her “SHUT THE HELL UP” and just like that all eyes were on me. My cheeks singed with anger and embarrassment as my eyes started showing the pain I was trying to keep at bay. Now I was crying and screaming. I told her to get in her car and drive away and leave me at the clam shack because I would rather walk 4 miles home than ever be near her again. She had the gall to tell me that I had a bad mouth at 5 years old and that I deserved to be beaten for my mouth. I just kept screaming “LEAVE ME HERE” over and over until she left.
I had Krystal come pick me up, being the saint that she is and always rescuing me from my own sadness. She let me cry and bitch and then we went for a drive and did our favorite new hobby which is geocaching. My dad told me he was proud of me for standing up to her. He said she deserved every ounce of embarrassment and sadness she felt for what she had done to me. I love my dad for that. Any other father would lecture me about not screaming in public and how that wasn’t the time or place. Not my dad. He looked me in the eyes and said “That’s my girl.” I never felt such a weight leave my body. Granted at the time I was hysterically crying and pissed off and having flashbacks and wishing I could punch something breakable… but a few hours later I felt so calm. A little unsure of my self worth but otherwise calm. Sitting here now I feel calm, normally writing or talking about my mother leaves me in a hysterical lump on my bed, but I am able to sit here and write this with only a small tear. I’m not even sure if its from sadness or relief but its alone on my face and its comforting.
Even though I hadn’t spoken to her in over a year I still always felt a tiny pang of guilt. Like I should feel bad for not giving my own mother a second (maybe it was her tenth) chance. Well she showed up at my door and I went out to dinner with her and I gave her one last chance. She used this opportunity to bully my into submission once again and it backfired. I finally said all the things I’ve been holding inside and no longer feel any guilt. Not one single ounce of regret lingers in my body for her.
K moved out. My mother was denied her last opportunity to control me. I feel good. All thats left to focus on is me and what I want. I just need to figure out exactly what that means now.
My new years resolution at the beginning of January was a hefty task. I resolved to learn to love myself. To wake up each day and look in the mirror without judgment or hatred. I am normally full of such self loathing that I end up crying and beating myself up about every imperfection. So I vowed to be better to myself. I knew going into this that it was going to be an extremely hard and lengthy task. It is not a resolution I made on a whim, I had been doing a lot of thinking since before Christmas. If I can’t learn to treat myself right how can I expect anything else in my life to go right either? I can’t be my own worst enemy anymore. Nobody hurts me more than myself.
I’ve been struggling so hard lately with my depression and I’m too scared to go to therapy so I’ve taken it upon myself to be consciously aware of my actions. I’m allowing myself to indulge in the things I enjoy, forcing myself to in fact. Facial masks, nail paintings, pedicures, journaling, reading, candles, and relaxation. I can’t go on being all balled up and tense and angry all the time. It’s killing me. All I really want is to be happy and if I have to be my own knight in shining armor and ride off into the sunset alone then so be it.
I really want to dig deep and write something amazing but this is what’s going on with me right now and right now… its all I know.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before but I am currently not speaking to my mother. We haven’t spoken to one another since Mother’s Day. Honestly, since I’ve stopped speaking to her it’s taken so much misery and stress out of my life. I know what you’re thinking. “How can you not speak to your own mother!?” It’s easier than you’d think. She put me through hell as a child and my entire adulthood I put her through hell expecting an apology and remorse. The ugly truth is she wasn’t remorseful at all. She sent me this ridiculous email one day about how I’m a worthless child and I don’t appreciate anything she’s done for me and how I should be paying for her to retire by now (she’s only 48). She gave me an ultimatum. I could either change who I was and be “a better person” according to her, or I should stop talking to her.
Well… you know at first this email sent me spiraling into a hysterical fit. I cried for over an hour and probably reread that nasty email 20 times. Then it dawned on me. I spent my entire childhood crying over this woman. Crying when she hit me, when she harassed me and called me names, crying in fear that she would come upstairs when she got home from the bar that night instead of passing out in bed. In this moment, I decided I didn’t want to cry for her anymore. So I emailed her back a quite lengthy novel precisely depicting every single detail I could remember from my childhood. I told her I was sorry I wasn’t the “daughter she raised me to be.” Honestly, I don’t know if she even remembers raising me at all, she spent almost 80% of the time drunk off her ass anyway. I pointed this all out to her, spelled it out as if she was a child. I told her she doesn’t get the option to give me an ultimatum and then I gave her one of my own. She could either stop being the woman who raised me and start being a human being, or get out of my life forever and let me try to be normal.
I haven’t heard back since then.
At the start of December I started feeling annoyed for the coming “joy” of Christmas…. but as the day approaches I’m finding myself to be a little bit excited. I realized every Christmas I’ve ever had has been about my mother. How I didn’t get her a good enough gift even though I was 8. How she’d get so drunk that she’d take me yawning at 11:00pm as disrespect and slap me for it. If I didn’t stay up with her so she didn’t have to drink alone then I was a rude child. How if I wanted to open presents on Christmas morning after being beaten on Christmas Eve I was a fake bitch who didn’t care about her mother.
This year I don’t have to be ensnared in my mothers sick twisted Holiday games. I get to just breath. I can just have a Christmas with my family and enjoy the season. It’s snowing a little bit outside… a light dusting but for some reason this is the spark that ignited the excitement in me. Am I obligated to have contact with my mother my entire life? I honestly feel like getting her out of my life was like removing a tumor. My life isn’t perfect now but it has certainly improved.
I’m not usually a Holiday person but… this year I’m starting to be.
Have you ever just felt so dead inside because you’re trying to be something you’re not? Well… I am not happy. I’m depressed and miserable. Why do I waste so much time pretending I’m not? I know the answer to this and its honestly kind of sad. The reason I spend so much time pretending Im not depressed is because of the people around me. They will judge me or they won’t be able to handle it when the truth comes out and so for their sake, I pretend I’m fine.
I wake up, have a hot cup of coffee, and put on my “I’m ok” face for work. In reality I am not ok. What I am is hopeless, unmotivated, lazy, sad, worrisome, full of despair, dark, mean, angry, loathsome, and gloomy. I’m afraid for anyone to know how depressed I am… so afraid even that I’m too scared to get professional help. I don’t know where to begin looking for a therapist or even if I want to look at all. I would have to share my inner most demons with some stranger… how do you even begin that process? “Hi I’m August and my deepest darkest secret is…” And it’s not like writing a blog, I share my secrets with strangers every day, but this would be different. This would be face to face. I would be held accountable, out loud in real life, for what I was saying and doing and how I was acting. I would be ripped open and exposed and possibly even feel worse about myself. I’m just not ready for that yet.
Even though I know deep down inside that I need help, theres always this little hope in me that one day I’ll reach a glorious epiphany and all my troubles will wash away with the tides. There’s also a part of me that knows I mustn’t be the only one who thinks that. I can’t be the only one who needs help and doesn’t want to find it. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks they can solve their own problems, be their own knight in shining armor. If I am the only one who thinks this… well then I must be more fucked up than I realized. I just want to be there for myself. Love and support myself. But thats the problem in the first place isn’t it? I’m so full of self hatred and disgust that I can’t be happy. I can’t do those things that I need myself to do, and yet Im too cowardly to find someone who can. I keep telling everyone “I’m fine” when I’m not.
I love writing. I may not be very good at it sometimes but sitting down and getting all of that emotion out of me, no matter what emotion it is, always feels good. So why when I’m depressed do I run from writing like the plague? It’s actually pretty simple now that I’ve given it some thought.
I feel like I’m not good enough.
When I’m down and feeling particularly sorry for myself I can’t bring myself to write… in any medium. Not paper, not blogging… I hide from words like a scared child. At my best I am still probably my most harsh critic. I write and rewrite things a million times over. Even then, when I hit publish I don’t feel like it was good. Or I tear the pages out of my notebooks while crying and listening to Taylor Swift and throw them in the trash where they can hide in the bottom of the can. And this is when I’m not depressed. When I am, though, I won’t even let myself try. Im afraid of what will come out. I know no matter how “good” it is that it’ll just be bad. I won’t like it. I’ll hate it. I’ll throw it out. Plus being depressed takes all my energy I don’t know if I could manifest something half way decent even if I did try.
That’s why I disappear. The funny thing about depression is… you’ll never know how long it’ll last. Sometimes I feel better after a day or two… and sometimes like recently, it’s been weeks since I was able to breath. When I come out of a depressive low it’s like starting life all over again. I have to take baby steps back into reality or I might end up spiraling back down. I usually don’t rush into things head on when I’m finally coming up for air but writing helps me breath. When I am starting to feel better, it’s usually the first thing I do.
I grab my computer, catch up on all the beautifully written words I’ve missed, and start writing again.
When it happened it was like opening my eyes. Fluttery and dark at first, and then the light started to come into focus. My surroundings began to take their shapes. I could sense familiarity here. It was like recognizing someone you knew when you were little, but now they were grown up and looked entirely different yet somehow exactly the same. They’re eyes and smile are what you remember; now surrounded by a more grown up, mature, and developed face.
When I found her, her hair was different. It was shorter and lighter. Her smile though was the same, not quite filling up the whole of her face when displayed. Her eyes were the same dark emerald green they had always been, but now they sparkled a little less, didn’t shine quite as bright as before. She dressed differently too. More adult-like and relaxed, but with the same odd flares here and there. If you looked at the whole picture of her, you might say she was a different person all together. And that was partly true.
Life is what changed her. She lost so many things; Hope, faith, desire, inspiration, motivation, creativity, longing, love, and mostly… she lost herself. She lost all the things that make her who she is. But the good part about it is that when you lose yourself, you can likely find it again. Maybe it will take a while, years even. Perhaps you will only gain back some of what has gone, but you will find those things none the less. Maybe when you find them they are different or come in new, unexpected ways. Even so that’s a good thing. You don’t want to end up finding the selfsame person that caused you to lose yourself in the first place.
All these things that make up who you are- well thats just it! They are inside of you. They are part of your core. They bond with your being on a molecular level. So maybe I lost my true self, it was happening so slowly I didn’t notice. On the way I lost all the things that make up who I am. Still, on the bright side… the climb out has reveled a lot about what I think I used to know about who I was. You have to put in a lot of time exploring the nasty, dirty, ugly, disgusting parts of yourself… to find your way back to the light.
I may not have found the light yet, but I found the way I need to get there. I’ve been exploring all of the parts of me, good and bad. I had no choice, because I got lost. I thought that finding myself again would be quick. No problem right? I’m right here aren’t I? The outside me is here, and now I see that. But finding the inside me is what I really need to do. Forget the surface, forget the me I present to the world. What about the me I present to myself? Who am I really? That’s the person I lost. The girl I can’t seem to locate. She’s also the woman I am starting to find.
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