Sometimes I want to scream at you. Sometimes I wanna text you and tell you that I can't do this anymore. That I can't keep feeling like I don't fucking matter.
I want to tell you I give up. That I'm tired of feeling like I'm the last priority.
I get jealous when girls throw themselves at you. Especially knowing they could mean something, or mean anything. It's worse when I feel like I'm so goddamn insignificant.

Sometimes I just want to yell at you that this is all my fault. That I was stupid enough to fucking fall in love with you. Sometimes I want to call you a player. Sometimes I want to defend you against being called one.

I have no idea what I'm doing. I know what I want and it's so goddamn frustrating to not know how to achieve that. I just. I'm tired of feeling like I can't fucking breathe and like I'm the only one getting hurt.

I'd totally been thinking of different things to write about for the past few days that I was dwelling on, annnnndd in true fashion I forgot all of them.

So on Christmas day I decided I'd go back to therapy. I'm sort of regretting that decision now, but feel like I said I'd do it so I will. Which sort of makes me feel trapped even more than the idea of it.
Given my major you'd think I'd be more open to the idea, but I really just feel judged when I'm there.I always feel like someone is trying to dictate what I do with my life.

Granted, I have had a therapist who wasn't like that. Hell she knew I'd do whatever I wanted even when she was telling me that I was going down a really dangerous road with drinking all the time.

Anyway. I decided to go back because I really 100% feel like I fit the diagnosis of BPD. Which I dropped on Squish on Christmas Day. I have absolutely no idea how he took this since I have no idea how he takes most things lately. But that's a super different subject since I'm convinced he has some severe depression going.

I've always had problems that were evident since I was a kid, and things found from adults with BPD reported by parents included pretty much a ton of symptoms for me as well. And my teen years they often wondered if I was bipolar which is another glaringly obvious indicator apparently. And that's around where my self-injury, drinking, and enjoying attention started. Which since those are my fantastic coping mechanisms that work (sorry crochet is a hobby but no it does not 'fix' internal feelings), therapy makes me nervous. Or someone telling you that something is wrong with you and how you think. I know it, I acknowledge it. However other people saying so is difficult.

Last night Cass and I were talking, and that made me realize that the past leaves things in it even if they aren't a huge impact in your life.

Like as a kid all of the bullying/abuse we both suffered left different lasting impacts for us both. She handles things completely differently than I do. And while I don't have these huge issues there's tiny chips that you take away with you. Mine is not liking crowds, being surrounded/trapped, and hating small spaces. Which isn't this huge thing right? But it's there.

Or that every shitty relationship you have that leaves traces behind. Like I can't get phone calls from numbers I don't know without getting this sinking feeling. For one of two reasons
A) I'm always afraid it's some chick to bring me bad news about someone I have some sort of romantic interest in
or
B) It hits on some weird reminder that I dated someone who wouldn't call, and spent a year pretending to be someone they weren't. Well they spent more like 9 years pretending, but I only bought it for the first year I knew them.
Which is a pretty random thing to gain from relationships, most people get wrong number or telemarketer phone calls without feeling nauseous.

Or that I drink to fix things. Because if I can't fix it, I might as well not have to think about it. And on some twisted level I'm convinced that it will fix it. If I'm out of my head for a while and do shit I hate. Make myself hate me more, then maybe somehow I'll feel better on some level right? No? Well shit.

Part of me wonders if you're a control freak like me. If you can't breathe when the unexpected happens, and if you drink to struggle with the unexpected. I wonder if you stuff everything down because you're convinced it's easier to be silent than to say what's wrong and face someone who may not care.
The not so funny thing that happens with people who come from previously abusive in some form situations is that they're used to being silent. It's how they learned to deal with problems, it's how they learned that no one cares if they speak up, or they've told themselves so many times that no one does that they automatically assume it's true. I wonder if that mold fits you.

I wonder what you were like before you became broken, and what broke you. Broken isn't a bad term, we're all a little broken. I've determined if you're not fucked up in some way, there's a huge chance I won't even bond with you on even a friendship level.

I wonder if it was a she, or a friend or a parent. But I feel like it's a she. It's usually a chosen sex preference for cases like these. Sometimes I wish I could take a sledgehammer to your walls. Not a chisel and slowly dig away at them. Nope. A full blown sledgehammer. Bam. If I thought it'd help you, I'd tell you about my ex. I'd hope something would click in you and you'd see that I'm not going to fuck you over. Just like I promised I wouldn't that day in your bed. I'd tell you about the boy who taught me to apologize for everything because it's always my fault. About the boy who taught me that no matter what I do I'm not good enough. I'd tell you about the boy who made it so that songs make bile rise up into my throat and who reinforced that I can't be trapped or I'll freak out. If I thought it would help you I'd tell you about the monster who made me afraid to trust anyone again.

If I didn't think you'd bolt I'd sit on the kitchen counter and tell you "Welp. I won't trust anyone and you won't get close to anyone, so I guess it looks like we're going to have to help each other with those" but I'm convinced you'd run. If I knew what broke you I'd try to fix it, because that's what I do.

A long time ago I loved a boy who didn't love me back. He wasn't the same boy as the monster, but he made promises. Promises he couldn't keep. Promises he wouldn't keep. And sometimes that does as much damage as the monsters who only promise to hurt you. Did she promise you things and bail like he did? Did she convince you that you two had the world before she put the knife in your back? Because I know how that feels too. I know how it feels to put all of your time and energy into someone who considers you a consolation prize. The consolation prize you hit when you knock one bottle over at the carnival. The teddy bear you get for just trying. The one with the torn ear and the derpy face. I know how that makes you want to keep everyone away from you too. Because you cared so much and you're afraid you can't put the pieces back together again after they made sure some of the parts were mushy and bruised.

That's sort of the funny thing about me. I'm really good at understanding why people won't get close to people. I'm really good at loving people when they can't love themselves. I'm good at putting my all into things, and I'm good at getting hurt. I just wish you'd let me be those things for you.