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PREFACE (written after the entry): I realize that entries like this tend to be seen as pleas for attention, sympathy, reassurance, etc. In this case, it's meant to serve as two things: first, an explanation to someone (or two someones, perhaps), and second, an attempt to sort out of my thoughts and feelings, because there was no way I could keep up with this in my paper journal. My hand was cramping up big-time. So please don't assume I'm looking for anything -- comment or don't, I won't be offended or hurt or whatever. Promise. You have no idea how ironic it is to me that my name means "loveable/worthy of love"... because that's the one thing that I've struggled to believe my entire life. And because of it, I hurt other people. I tell myself I'm trying to "protect them" from me... but how much worse could it be if I let them continue to be a friend to me than it is to keep them from being my friend?? It's not like I don't let them in at all; that would be forgiveable. Oh no, I wait until they're close to me, care about me, and are confusing the CRAP outta me by loving me in spite of my stupidity/ugliness/worthlessness/the myriad other reasons I'm "unlovable" -- and then I push them away. Because they're obviously confused to think I'm worth having as a friend... See how that works? Yeah, me neither. The worst part of it is, I can never predict exactly when this is going to happen. I thought I was getting better; I really did. A couple of my very closest friends (three, to be exact) have weathered some of the worst Mandie-storms and are still here. And I thought I was beginning to be okay with that. I thought I was comfortable being loved, for once. And I thought I was coming closer to being capable of loving unselfishly, openly, and in a way that might actually be recognizable as love to someone other than myself. But all it took was one week of reminder after reminder of the times that people have told me I'm worthless, the times that I've done things that seem to have PROVEN to me how worthless I am (again ironically, all of the times that I've done this to people in the past are a large portion of that list), and I'm back to Selfish Narcissistic Girl Savior-of-the-World, Martyr, Victim, All-Powerful Determiner of What is Best For Others Girl. It's all about me; don't you know that? Even when I've hurt you, it's never about what you're going through -- even THEN it's still all about me, and why I've hurt you, and how unfixable I am, how beyond saving I've proven myself to be, etc. And then I hate myself some more when I realize that. It's a vicious cycle. But like I mentioned before, I had been doing so much better. I was even coming to like myself in addition to tolerating myself. I sometimes actually felt pretty! Not just physically, although that in itself is a huuuuge deal. I kinda sorta was starting to like my spirit. I've had moments like that in my life, or I never would've made it this far. Suicide would've been my escape a looong time ago. Instead, I had enough Moments of Self-Like to get me through, with only the minimal damage of eating disorders, sabotaged relationships, body damage, self-inflicted loneliness, and the occasional breakdown to show for the bad times. I've cut off more relationships than I can count before they've ever had a chance to begin. If I let it get to the point that you think you love me, you're going to wake up one day, realize your mistake, and ditch me. That's just how it goes. It's how it always was (with the exception of family, whom I'd always assumed stuck around simply because they had to), so why should I expect things to change now that I'm older? Forget the fact that I've changed. Disregard the strides I've made in becoming less manipulative, more mature, a little better of a person. Small strides, maybe not even worthy of being called strides, but steps in the right direction nonetheless. None of those things matter; I'm still the same unlovable me. See, I am so freaking confused by the stuff I'm writing, because when I'm feeling that way, it seems that I've ALWAYS felt that way. It feels like the good times when I've recognized my self-worth have been so few and far between that they're almost completely insignificant. But when I'm feeling good, realizing and remembering that I'm loved more than I could ever comprehend, and moving closer toward liking myself, it feels like those other moments have been so rare. The person who told me I was a complete dichotomy was entirely right. Right now, if you're wondering where I'm standing, it's in between. Right smack dab on the line. I've spent the night berating myself for falling prey to my old vice of relationship damage, trying to understand why it's an indulgence for me to create the misery that's so familiar by forcing aloneness (the one thing I truly DON'T want!), and yet also realizing that it's not the end. I'm still alive, so I can still change. Where things will go with certain people, I really don't know, and it hurts that I've taken my own pain out on the people I love once again. But if by some incredible chance they're willing to stick with me and go it another round, I am so so incredibly determined to make it up to them. I might not've seen this coming, but I did realize I was headed down a familiar path, with Waldo and Jason (M.M.), and it freaked me out. Not even very far down the path, and it wasn't the phone sex path, if that's what you're thinking. But a path I didn't want to take, and path is a really weird word. Okay, it's like an hour later, and I cried a lot, and surfed MySpace trying to find somebody's name, and I'm too pooped to write anymore. Which is probably a good thing, because the more I say, the worse things get. You'd think after 20-odd years of being told I should just keep my mouth shut, I would've learned to just KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT. But no. I only manage to do that for awhile, and then it all comes tumbling out in a gigantuous mess. This isn't even the tip of the iceberg, and it's done a lot more damage than I could've foreseen. I'm going to bed. If you hate me, I'm sorry. If you love me still... I'm even sorrier. Because that means there's a chance you'll still be around to suffer the next time I go crazy. This therapist I'm seeing gets back into town on the 12th, though, and I get to see her on the 14th. I just figured out some stuff writing this entry. More about who "raped" me (in quotations because it was what they've termed emotional rape, not physical), and how it's still affecting me, as well as some more reasons I think I'll never deserve anyone's love. The retardedest thing about ALL of this is that I know it's all bullcrap. All. Bull. Crap. And yet my brain is determined to hang onto some of it. I'd been planning on posting pictures earlier, and I guess seeing as how I'm feeling entirely neutral on myself, looks and otherwise, I might as well do it now in a separate entry. Compliment me, insult me, say whatever you like while I'm numb. They're from Halloween, mostly -- before going out, though, so I wasn't in costume. And if you ask me what I went as, I might tell you, but I might not. It depends on how I'm feeling. In my own screwy, convoluted way... I really do love you guys. I hope you can believe that even if my actions say otherwise sometimes. Post a comment in response: |
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