My demons are out full force today. They are panicking because I am moving away from them, and they get extra-nasty when they’re mad. They know that this is their last-ditch effort to hold onto me, and so, they are doing their damnedest to reel me back in.
They whisper their sweet, seductive lies, and cleverly mix in a truth now and then to keep me off-balance.
“Your friends would hate you if they really knew you.”
“They don’t really love you.”
“You are still damaged goods.”
“You will die alone.”
“You are fat.”
“You are disgusting.”
“You are lazy.”
“You haven’t done jackshit.”
“You are nothing.”
“Nobody gives a shit about you.”
“You are alone.”
I know that 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12 are bullshit, and yet, they still have the power to hurt me. They are my oldest fears manifesting themselves once again.
5 and 7 are true. 4 may be true, but it’s not the worst thing in the world to die alone.
I can keep telling myself that the demons are spouting bullshit, but it’s wearing me down. I know most of it is false, and yet, a soupcon of their nonsense makes its way past my defenses.
My friends have faith in me. They have my back, and they support me in my endeavors. My friends have always believed in me more than I believe in myself, which humbles me, gratifies me, and occasionally bewilders me.
Kel commented in the last thread that I was going for more than survival now. She’s right. What I did for the last fifteen years was hunker down and survive. I got through each day, agonizing and despairing the whole way. I hated my life with a passion, or rather, with as much passion as I could muster. Those days were recent enough that I can’t get them out of my mind.
Here’s the problem: I am fucking afraid that I am going to slide down the slippery slope to hell now that I’m facing my past and looking toward my future (yeah, that sentence sucked. I don’t care). I have impulses to binge and purge, to burn myself with a cigarette, to bang my head against the wall until I can no longer think, and to retreat far into my shell once again. All the shit I used to do is calling to me, and it’s taking all my strength not to respond. I am panicking because I cannot be that person again. I will not. I look back at how I was, and I know that I would prefer death to being that empty shell of a person again.
So, the only option I have is to press forward, but I am so fucking tired. There are many things on my to-do list, and I feel as if I’m constantly failing because I’m not making much headway with it. Some of it is the practical shit like my writing work and my editing work. Some of it is personal like my fiction writing and getting back into theatre. Some is community-oriented, such as getting involved in politics at a local level. Some of it is another level of personal–dating, finding a sex buddy, etc.
My sleep has been fucked up in a different way lately. I am sleeping too much. I am getting seven hours of sleep, and it’s making me more tired than when I get four/five and catch a nap later in the afternoon. Since my sleep is even more erratic, my defenses are even lower, and it makes it that much easier for the demons to come on in and make themselves at home.
I feel as if I’ve hit a road-block once I had the flashback. It’s two steps forward, three steps back, and then another step or two forward, and one more back.
I made an observation to Kel that I don’t blame my parents for the suckiness of my life in the past fifteen years because I took over the role of abuser, and I inflicted as much if not more damage to myself than they ever did to me. I hate the fact that I set daily goals and don’t meet them. I want so desperately to just get through this shit already and be well on my way to planning my final tattoo. I am pissed off that just as I was beginning to make real headway with my issues, I am getting knocked on my nonexistent ass again with the childhood shit.
I need to be strong, and I am feeling pretty damn fragile right now. I don’t take for granted the new me because the old me isn’t completely gone. Wait, I didn’t say that right. I know the new me incorporates many parts of the old me–most of them good. However, I don’t truly believe that the new me won’t collapse like a paper tiger, leaving nothing but the shredded remains of the old me. In other words, my worst fear is not that I will return to be the old me, but that I will be even worse.
Going forward is the only option. I just wish I didn’t feel so damn afraid of failing.