Yeah, another day down. I can't even keep track of the days lately. They all string together. Luckily, nothing is outstandingly horrible that makes each day a living hell. So that is an improvement. But there are only smart parts of each day that are actually enjoyable.
Last night I played the nostalgia card.& Luckily I didn't lose my hand with that move. I actually won, or played well at least. I decided to read a bit of a journal I kept last year. Unlike this blog, I didn't really keep up with it, so there isn't much in it. But it did reveal just how far I've come. How much progress I've made. & it truly is evident.
The first few entries were from a long time ago. Before I even began to open up to Shelly. When I was in complete denial. Entirely. I questioned why I was so upset. Thinking I had absolutely no reason for my depression. Wondering why I had been depressed all of my life. I actually wrote: "Some might say it is good to escape reality from time to time as I do. But I am not sure what I am trying to escape. I should be happy. Always. Everything & anything I want, I can most likely get. My future looks bright & filled with opportunity. Yet I don't even know if I want to have one. Honestly. I am not content. I am not happy. It's not that I'm only unhappy some of the time, but it seems like every moment. I have never been consumed by joy.. I've mastered the creation of a facade. Most, if not all, of those around me falsely believe that I am completely happy. But I feel broken. A shell of myself. Sometimes completely numb. I function, walk, speak, eat without feeling anything. I don't understand my despair. I couldn't tell you where it stems from. Why I'm unhappy. I think it comes from a dislike of myself. But nothing else is really wrong with me life."
Where the fuck was I? I remember the night I spoke with Shelly, at a real low, & opening up about the abuse. I honestly didn't realize that it was something wrong. That is was abnormal. Wasn't a part of everyday life behind every other closed door. It took a lot of "yeah, it's bad. It's abuse" from Shelly before the idea that it wasn't right even began to sink in. So much denial. I could feel how deeply upset I was. How depressed I was, well still am, but I honestly didn't know why.
But I know why now. I know who to blame. & I feel like a bit of blame can be scattered to everyone in my life. Obviously my parents carry a heavy load of responsibility, but everyone else gets there share too. ow about everyone who still hurts me. All the time, I find new bruises (not just the real ones) upon my heart. I don't know if it's a mistake that I have suddenly relocated it to my sleeve. How about a bit for every fucking person in my life who has no fucking idea. They can't go by without a bit of responsibility.
But I can't escape it either. I am a big factor as to why I'm so fucked up. Well I'm changing. I'm realizing what I do & don't deserve. But that doesn't mean anything, when you can only play the hand that's dealt.
Farewell all, another will be coming shortly.
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