I think I can now relate to how a druggy feel when craving a new fix. I need to hear your voice. To see you. To understand that we were once real, and that reality now is, that we are not. I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare and I can’t wake up. My brain is reasoning this must be a nightmare, because even I can’t be stupid enough to give up on us. On you. On myself. We weren’t picture perfect, but the perfect picture. Why did I let us go? And why didn’t you fight me? I thought we were more.
I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have left him. I knew it when I did and I still know it now. Why did I then? Well to release him, of the burden of me. Because I know, I am not good enough for him, and I never would be. I am damaged, broken. But I wasn’t shattered, I wasn’t completely unglued until I left him. Now I am nothing. Small tiny fragments that will never stick together. Now I am sorrow. I am remorse. I am guilt. I am embarrassed.
I should have put as much faith into us, as I did in you.
It’s been a while. As I mentioned in the last journal entry, I was grieving. And I still am. I’ve been reflecting a lot about our break up, and if I’m being completely honest, I think it was always meant as a test. I know, I know, no healthy relationships tests their partners, but I honestly believe that was what I was doing when I wanted to break up. You have to understand, I was unhealthy in my dependency of him. I knew it. Everyone knew it. He literally saved my life in my dark periods, and his mere presence diminished the dark periods. But at one point I just wanted him to fight for us, not me – because he did a lot of that all the time – but fight for our relationship. I wanted him to show me, that he was with me, because he wanted to – because I was as important for his sanity and life as he was for me. I wanted him to prove that he wasn’t just with me, because he felt guilty about leaving me, that it wasn’t just because I have suicidal tendencies. But he let me go, so I guess that backfired, huh? And damn that hurts.
I’m mourning. We were supposed to get married next week. That was the deal we made, the plan we’d been working towards from 6 months into our relationship until it all collapsed around us. Our fifth year anniversary as a couple was supposed to be spend making it legal. We were supposed to be trying for a baby. Instead I’m spending the week packing my stuff, relocating and unpacking a new chapter of my life. And eventhough it was my idea to break up, eventhough I’ve had 8 months worth of time to get used to the idea of leaving I’m mourning. I’m crying and I can’t seem to find the point in all of this.
I’ve never shied away from my feelings, and I thouroughly believe that if you are going to be doing something you need to put your all in it. I don’t halfass important things. So when I love I love with all my heart, and I loved him. I do still. And I know I’m not madly, deeply and irrevocably in love with him anymore, but he is my best friend, and he has been my whole support system for the past 5 years. So I still mourn. I mourn the love we lost, the love that turned into a friendship I appreciate with all my heart, I mourn the kids we would have had, the future we talked about and conjured for ourselves through countless of talks over the years. I mourn for the unconditional support I’ve lost with him and our relationship.
I also fear. I fear the unknown. I’m afraid of the uncertainty my future suddenly holds. I’m afraid of being alone. I’m afraid of ending up alone, because if I couldn’t make it work with him, my best friend, then I don’t see it happening with anyone else. I’m afraid that I never get to experience being a mom. That I never get to be a bride. I’m absolutely irrevocably terrified that I’ll never experience being happy.
The past two days has been spend with some of the most amazing friends in the world. And on shopping. So ultimately some really nice things. Yesterday we lazied in the sun, shopped for summer goodies in Sephora and played catch-up. Today we went out for lunch, spent a couple of hours book shopping (one of my favourite things to do), had dinner and played board games and everything just feels amazing.
I bought two books, even though I swear I could have bought a 100 and still find more books I need (yes not want but need), and I can’t wait to read them. If they are worth the effort of writing a recommendation I will be writing them.
So as you can probably deduct I’m in a YA phase. Now, as I’ve mentioned before I read quite a lot of books (close to one a day on average), so I don’t buy every book I read as I’m not a millionaire. My decision-making-process for whether or not I’m going to invest money in buying a physical copy of a book goes sort of like this: 1) Do I want to read it? 2) Would I be embarrassed if people saw the title? 3) Is the bookcover pretty? Now, I realize this might make me sound a bit superficial, but I might as well be honest about it. Packaging and design means everything as to whether or not I buy something. If I’m going to be looking at it, I want it to look nice. Am I really the only one, who feels like this? A lot of my friends consider it fake, but I mean, I completely acknowledge than this is what I do, and I’m not shy about admitting that I only display the books I feel depict a flattering picture of me.
I’ll create a different post with my Sephora goodies, as well as my two-cents about the products soon.
A couple of weeks ago I went to the doctor for a check up on how I’m handling the medicine, whether the dosis was correct and similar.. And it went well, I mean for the most part my medicine is dulling the hard feelings, which in turn makes it easier to discuss some of the things I have had a hard time sharing with other people. I shared the attempted assault with the doctor. It was the first time I admitted it out loud to someone I don’t know. I wasn’t prepared for nightmares to resurface during the night though. It’s been years since I was plagued by it. I’ve never really discussed it with friends or family, not because I’m ashamed as most people might think (not because I should be, but because assault victims often are) but because I’d rather not think about it. If I don’t think about it, it’s like it didn’t happen. And well.. If I’m being completely honest a part of me have probably always felt like it was partially my fault. The fact that it was recorded and shared for amusement, didn’t really help to entice me to speak about it either.
I guess I should have seen it coming right? Obviously if you’re going to speak to someone about something you’ve tried to burry in your mind for the past 10 years, it’s going to come back and haunt you. And with the medication I guess it makes sense, it wouldn’t show up until my subconscious was at it’s strongest. It’s difficult, because I honestly don’t remember everything. I was drunk of my ass that night, so drunk I couldn’t move.. I remember mumbling for him to move, I remember the pressure of his body on mine, and I remember being frighten but in the end resigning, and letting blackness engulf me. The next thing that I remember is waking up the next morning.The last thing I remember seeing before the blackness engulfed me was my best friend walking past the room looking in and leaving. And that is the hardest part. Knowing she saw, and she did nothing. We haven’t discussed it afterwards, but if I’m being completely honest with myself, I think I know, that if I really want to heal, I’ll either have to leave that friendship behind or forgive her, and I’m not sure I can actually do any of those things.
First step of recovering is said to be sharing and accepting what happened. First step done I guess. Someone tried to rape me, recorded it and shared it with his friends. My best friend saw what happened and ignored it and I have never forgiven her.
As I’ve previously mentioned I’m currently really wrapped up in finishing my bachelor thesis. Therefore the lack of posts here these days.
I’m happy-ish though, which is the best I’ve been for years. So that’s good. But I guess it is true what they say. Imagination and creation strives on pain and struggle. I’m having a hard time stringing two words together these days, and when I finally do it is much much darker than what I have previously created. It seems that whenever I put my mind to writing what I know, my innermost secrets and darkest thoughts are what fills the paper, and while these reflections are important for me, I’m not sure, they are appropriate for this place.
Lately I’ve been struggling with memories of the attempted assault – and I am currently working on a blog-post related to this, I just need to be sure I’m ready to share it.
I left with my project group for the weekend to get away from distraction and focus on writing the Bachelor thesis, but to be completely fair, I think I’m even more distracted here, than I would have been back home. Don’t get me wrong, I love my group, they are amazing. I am however, the only girl in a sea of guys, and while that might sound like a dream it’s really not. Somewhere along the line over the past three years, I’ve gone from being a female to one of the guys, and I relish this position most of the time, but to be honest, it can get pretty frustrating.
I have to listen to a lot of farts, a lot of inappropriate jokes and even more guy-talk ranging from talk of another girls looks to football. Needless to say, I sometimes need a little girl time. Most of my girl friends are however not in the same city (they are actually not even in the same country region) so I’ve noticed these small changes in my personality over the past couple of months (okay, let’s be fair – years) and I am honestly scared I’m turning in to a guy.
Please tell me it’s reversible? I really love being a girl..
P.s. the guys are actually really hilarious most of the times, I’ll try to write down some of the better stories and share them with you in the future 😉
Long time no see. I’ve been dealing with a lot of pressure, as I’m finishing up my bachelor project these weeks.. And I’m a bit of an overachiever. So I guess the pressure is somewhat selfmade. I had one entry almost ready, but it’s a little personal and a lot dark, so I’m not really sure I’m ready to share it yet. Some day though.
I’ve really been obsessed with the Jimmy Eat World song Hear You Me lately. I shared it as one of the songs of the day previously. The lyrics and the emotion in the song is just so real and raw, while still maintaining a sort of polished sound – I’m not even sure it makes sense, but it has really imprinted into me. I read somewhere the song was written about a couple of sisters who ran the Weezers fan club and tragically died in a car accident on the way back from a Weezer concert, the phrase ‘Hear You Me’ refers to something the girls would always say to each other. Obviously this is an emotional and very beautiful story, for me though.. the truth of the song is different. I lost my Grandmother four years ago. She was old, suffered from dementia, and everyone keeps telling me, it was for the best, but I still feel the loss everyday and I can still cry about it, guess that makes me a bit of a wuss, huh?
The thing is my Gran was my world. I didn’t always connect with people easy, and I’ve always had trouble creating emotional attachments with people, because I am so so SO scared of disappointing, but to my grandma I was the most precious and perfect thing to ever grace this world. She made me believe in myself and she made me feel loved, something I have a really hard time doing. One of the hardest things about losing her was constantly being confronted with other peoples opinion of her. To me she was amazing, but lets just say, that I was the exception for the rule. Constantly having to contemplate if the image I had of her was a lie, well it sucked.
The reason this song makes me think of my grandma, is the phrases:
“So what would you think of me now/So lucky, so strong, so proud?/I never said thank you for that/now I’ll never have a chance”
“And if you were with me tonight/I’d sing to you just one more time/A song for a heart so big/God wouldn’t let it live”
I guess it’s pretty self explanatory why those things would remind me of her, huh? I still want to make her proud, and I think about whether or not I do every single day and with every decision I make. The other part of the lyrics is actually two fold, we used to sing together – I actually once promised I’d sing at her funeral, but I couldn’t. I still feel guilty for that. And her heart was big when it came to me.. While I know that part of the lyrics should probably be understood as a reference to the fact that the girls were young when they died, and my Grandma was everything but young when she died, I still needed her and her heart, so I have to believe God took it for a reason.
So, I guess you know my song truth for ‘Hear You Me’ now.
About reality. It’s a concept I’ve struggled a lot with in the past, and I guess I still do today. It’s probably not been made easier by my issues, but I’m not sure that’s what caused it. I mean.. How is reality constructed? I know some distinguishes reality from imagining – or lies from truth. But what happens, when a lie has been told so many times you can’t remember what the truth is?
I lied a lot growing up. First I lied so my parents didn’t know I was picked on, then I lied to fit in, then I started lying so people wouldn’t know how bad things were. And somewhere along the way I lost track of what was lies and what was reality, and it can still mess with my head. I can think back to a situation and be certain I was there, that it was reality, and later find out it never happened. I can wake up from a night out and not be able to distinguish between what I dreamt, and what is alcohol induced haze. I can read a book and get so submerged in it, that I actually feel loss when its over – feel like I know the people in real life, and find myself sharing anecdotes, just to remember they never actually happened but were fictive events in a book or movie. And to be completely honest with you, it scare the shit out of me – because if I don’t even know what’s real and not inside my head, how can I ever find peace?
Lately I’ve found myself getting frustrated with myself. Annoyed that I overthink everything, that my brain never slows down but always goes a mile a minute speeding through ridiculous questions and debates that serve no purpose other than distress me. I’m really hoping some of these ramblings will limit the ramblings inside my head. I try to limit the more crazy ones from appearing here, but if I slip up a little, feel free to tell me.