It’s the one year anniversary. I guess Hallmark doesn’t make a card for this sort of occasion. Congrats on not being crazy anymore; at least not as crazy. Well done for living in the real world instead of in a psychiatric bubble. I thought I’d make it the whole year without cutting again though. And I didn’t. It was only two or three slips but they still happened. Actually maybe I didn’t ever believe that. I found something I wrote just after it happened the other day. That deep down I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I had a so-called ‘crisis’ and that I knew my relationship with insanity wasn’t done. And it isn’t. I’m about to take the year off to go work on this. To understand and figure out quite why I’m not a whole person. Why there’s still something disjointed and fractured inside of me.
More than anything I don’t understand the downwards spiral on which I always seem to fall. I remember secondary school and being pulled apart by two opposing desires. Being the golden child, straight A student, one of the best. But also being the goth, drawn to the darkness, drinking and fucking to access. Wanting it all, trying to have it all, doing it all until finally I cracked and broke under the pressure. The sides have taken on a different form now, but still I’m broken down the middle.
I’m split between male and female, which fit together perfectly but only when you’re not trying to fit them together inside of you. The image I have of females as being weak, needy, dependent, pathetic. I despise it. I’ve seen what its like to have men ruin you, to make you so afraid and scared that you’ll do anything to placate them. You bend and serve, and break and give and never demand anything back. You don’t expect anything because you don’t feel like you deserve it. And if you ever did ask or demand, well who knows what would happen. He might raise his voice, his hand, his fist, or just leave. But I am a woman, who craves love and affection and attention and his arms around me, to hold me and protect me.
But since I still seem to end up hurting I behave like a man myself. I drink like one, I fuck freely like one, pretending I don’t get attached and that I don’t care. Say that I don’t want a relationship, that I want sex and only sex. That my drinking isn’t a problem, I can do it just like they can. Isolate myself so I can kid myself that I don’t need anyone.
I do though. And the behaviors that I engage in and repeat so they become habit hurt my inner core. They go against everything my soul cries out for. Which is love and nurturance and acceptance. Things you don’t get when you’re a women who acts like a man. I guess I just like to hurt myself. If I’m the one doing the hurting then what room is there for anyone else to do it?
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