letslinguivore

[letslinguivore]

An Apology Letter To Myself

I’m sorry not so many people took the time to understand you when you were small.

I’m sorry that you started to develop ways to keep people even further away, like dressing and acting in a way that your peers tended to avoid you. I’m sorry no one ever taught you the basics of anything, no one ever took you aside to talk with you candidly about the ways that the world works in ways that I continue to not understand. I’m sorry no one was around when your brain was grasping and reaching for connections that it never got to make the “right” way.

Who knows who you could be if you were nurtured the way that a child should be? To be given a chance to develop alongside a community with other children and not just mostly adults to give you an example. To not always feel like you’re way behind the adults and way more advanced than the children, to have your imagination fostered in a way that wasn’t just being sat in front of a TV. To be given interaction and love regularly so those synapses constantly firing beneath the surface had core memories to attach to. I’m sorry that when you think of your childhood you envision it alone in a room with your thoughts and your dolls. 

I’m sorry that as soon as you started to gain awareness of yourself you could only see the negative and the ways that could test the fragile connections of the humans around you, I’m sorry that because of that you never felt truly secure in your attachments. I’m sorry that you felt like you had to look and act a certain way to get love from your parenting figures because your mother would not accept or love you in your angry or sad moments. I’m sorry that when you opened up to her about your heartbreak or weakness you got little or nothing by way of support. You deserved that support. You needed it. You were the child and she was the adult but you were never tried as a minor. Anything less than perfect obedience was seen as an affront of her authority and would inevitably bring the punishments and screaming.

I’m sorry that I let those feelings of low self-worth fester into a body image issue that is such a hard spell to break. I’m sorry that when you look at yourself you only see your stomach, your tits, your jiggle, your chin. I’m so sorry I abused you, body - I’m so sorry I let you starve and tried to shrink you smaller and smaller curling into myself and wishing I could be so small I could disappear so I wouldn’t have to suffer through being known by a soul on this earth

I’m sorry that somewhere along the line you learned that you weren’t allowed the human right to make mistakes and let that feeling shape the way you moved in the world. Smaller, more agreeable, accommodating, providing for everyone but herself - you thought if you killed them with kindness that they would love you but instead your kindness time and time again almost killed you. The problem with leaving your heart open is that anyone can stay and anyone can go.

I’m sorry that I didn’t get you help when you needed it, I’m sorry I let you fester in your bad feelings alone. I’m sorry I chose the company I did and allowed myself to be let down, disappointed, and crying when they inevitably valued their wants more than my feelings, my being - I’m sorry that it took me so long to keep the people who were excited about me and loved me dearly close to me and tightly in my corner. I’m sorry I let you believe you didn’t deserve that.

I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you. I told you all the things you couldn’t do and forgot to not believe it. You are talented at what you put your mind to and whatever you decide to do you could take it to astounding heights if only you would let yourself choose to succeed. I’m sorry it took me so long to understand that and believe in my ability to change the way I experience the world around me. I can do good things just as much as I can do bad but both are necessary to be human so stop being afraid of being wrong and just live the life you’re meant to.

[letslinguivore]

Intrusive Thoughts Are Manifestations of Anxiety

Seems obvious enough but I’ve never had intense intrusive thoughts before. The last couple weeks every spare second I’ve been imagining with excruciating vividness what it would be like if I broke both my legs at the knee and I have not been able to shake that thought or feeling for the life of me. I tried redirection, I tried distraction, I tried meditation and it would work temporarily until my mind was idle again. Then right back to this horrible, intensified feeling of my knee grinding and/or snapping in half. I had a feeling this came from underlying guilt or fear but I had no idea where it was coming from until I talked to my therapist tonight.

First, we went the obvious route and explored whether or not these intrusive thoughts were residual trauma responses from my accident. I decided that it was possible and may even be part of it, but the reality is even though I’m sure there is still some part of me not over being hit by a car it’s not something that I still think about and if I do it’s in a very lighthearted or joking way like when we say that we’re going to tell that story at our wedding. I’m glad we kept digging because it turns out that it was much deeper than that.

I’ve been happy and I feel safe. I have a fantastic relationship and circle of friends, a great job, a cute dog, and hobbies. I see a therapist and a nutritionist and I’ve been making great strides to heal the destructive patterns and thoughts that keep me miserable and from living my best life. As I concluded when I kept having these intrusive thought about Nicholas when I was with Nathan, safety (ironically enough) is a trigger for me because whenever I thought my life was going well something drastically awful would happen to me and I would have to sweep up the wreckage and rebuild once again. I’ve never felt safe being happy. Especially saying out loud that I’m happy because it seems like as soon as I did whatever was making me happy got ripped from underneath me. Ever since I started taking my anti-depressants I don’t have the nagging internal monologue in my head telling me that I’m a piece of shit and don’t deserve to be happy but those feelings do come out and manifest in a general feeling of unrest.

This time my brain got real poetic and instead of the restlessness, depression, or repeatedly tearing myself down for not being thin enough or kind enough or intelligent enough or funny enough or creative enough for someone to find worth in me - I got stuck in this endless repeating cycle of imagining this violent bodily harm happening to me. Your knees are one of the most vulnerable parts of your body and I figured out with Suzette that translated to the vulnerability that I feel now as I’m looking around me, proud of the life I’ve built and how consciously or unconsciously I’m terrified of someone coming along and pulling out the wrong Jenga piece. Or worse, if I was the one that toppled the tower and I had no one to blame but myself. 

She asked me if this related to one of my overarching themes of my feelings of being unworthy of love or happiness and that hit me right in the sweet spot, tears poured from my eyes as I connected those dots. There’s still a mean, evil person that lives inside me that tells me I don’t deserve these things, that I’m faking it, that there’s something defective in me that everyone sees eventually and leaves. They’re quieter now that the anti-depressants have shushed the internal monologue but you don’t go from feeling this way your entire life to “I deserve this happiness I have” overnight - it takes work and constant redirection and reprogramming. This violent intrusive thought was simply my unaddressed anxiety about how well things are going and I think (and hope!) that knowing that will quiet those thoughts should they ever come again. If not, I’ll keep trying until it does.

[letslinguivore]

I Feel Cute

This evening when I got home I felt a something I haven’t felt in a real, real long time. I was in the shower high as a kite, dancing and feeling up and down my own body - I felt cute, and beautiful, and desirable, and that my life was a good one full of mutual love and support. I’ve found a good balance with my meds and I feel like the progress I’ve made in getting my shit together is going rather well. I’m still a kind, empathetic person I’ve just learned to set my boundaries a lot more firmly and with conviction. I can do anything I really put my mind to, including completely starting fresh in less than a week. My relationship is thriving as is our communication and connection, I feel closer to him with every second we spend together. I truly feel that with where I am currently and where we are together, once we are put in a post-Covid position to thrive I really think we’re gonna kill it. 

I feel close to my friends and my work environment is close to perfect. I’m well taken care of and can afford the best care. I’m investing in my future self and it is worth it because every day it gets less and less of a struggle because I am getting stronger all the time. Taking care of myself and my mental health is the best thing I’ve decided to do for myself.

I used to think I could “cure” my mental illness by finding the right routine, but really, it just gets easier and easier to manage as long as I have such great examples around me.

Feeling full of love and truly happy for the first time in ages.

[letslinguivore]

Holy Crap, He Was a Piece of Shit

And not just for cheating on me, in every other way too.

I read over the old Reddit post again and all these memories of how disrespectful he was to me came rushing back. A lot of that came from his depression, I’m sure, but the stark difference between how I remembered our relationship pre-job loss and cocaine addiction and how it actually was is alarming. How strange it is to idealize everything that led up to the break-up when according to this post we should have broke up in July, not January. Six months of being with someone who did not lift a finger to make me happy, maybe more because who knows how long I put up with it before I sought advice from the internet?

Who knows how long I would have put up with that mistreatment before I left? He was the first person that ever showed me basic kindness in a relationship and because of that I thought he was perfect. I couldn’t see the harsh reality in front of me that he was too depressed to be with me. He didn’t put any effort into himself let alone me and anything he did was usually for show rather than a genuine gesture of affection. I don’t believe in the universe conspiring to teach us lessons but in hindsight, had he not cheated on me with my best friend I would not have left. I would have continued to stay and let him mistreat me for the scraps of love he would give me occasionally. Maybe I’d still be with him, miserable.

I think from my mother’s relationship with my step-dad I got the idea that some level of exasperation, begging, and silent martyrism  was necessary in a relationship. I never saw my mom and dad together other than when they fought like cats and dogs when I was a child so I’m glad that I never subconsciously internalized that as love but when my mom was with Greg I watched her take the brunt of his alcoholic indifference daily.  Aloof doesn’t begin to cover it. But my mom gave up her home, her family, her political beliefs, and her relationship with me to make things work with Greg and for what? A man who would stand in the garage and drink beer like it was his job? Why was that worth the sacrifice? It wasn’t. But that’s what she felt like she had to give up just to have someone. She wanted to get married, not necessarily to Greg, she wanted the husband and kid that she never had and once she did she realized that it wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. I feel sorry for her and wish it had been different. I wish that she had found an opportunity to have romantic love that was kind and loving and not just one unmet need after another. And it sucks that was my example. Their relationship was more of a business arrangement than love. I saw them being affectionate fleetingly but obviously not enough to satisfy either of their needs and my mom always wanted more while Greg just wanted to be left alone.

Now I’m looking up the email exchange that I had been avoiding ever since I found the old Reddit post. I was avoiding it because I was sure that I said childish, immature things out of anger but rereading it and I was the picture of maturity aside from a snide comment about Becky being a cam girl.

Which is incredible. I almost feel like I was handling this better back then than I am now. Maybe it’s like when I got hit by the car and felt fine in the moment but only started to process it after weeks after the panic attack.

But it’s weird that I remember it so differently. Maybe it’s because so many things weren’t said and I was trying so hard to make it seem like I moved on and was doing amazingly. I even said that I forgave them which even now I struggle to say even disingenuously. 

“I am sorry for the names and the harsh words. I am disappointed in the way that things happened and I'm disappointed in the reactions of everyone involved, including myself. It was immature and I was acting out of pure emotion. It didn't even feel like I was in my own body, like I was watching a movie of myself doing all the horrible things out of retaliation. I forgive the both of you and I'm doing my best to let go of the resentment. “

Honestly, I should have gotten an Oscar for that performance, even being over email. I remember boiling over with rage and typing, backspacing, typing, backspacing, and carefully crafting every word and every sentence to paint me in the best light possible. How many times I typed something mean and awful with my finger hovering over the “Send” button. I’m really glad that’s the way I handled it now but if either of them contacted me would I have even a fraction of the grace I showed before?

It seemed like Becky’s remorse hinged on how I approached either of them. When I was angry, I was a fat bitch, when I came to them apologetic “she never meant to hurt me”

It’s just hard to know neither of them truly cared in any real capacity. I would have NEVER fucked my boyfriend’s best friend the day after a break-up no matter how angry I was at them. They were both toxic and weird and prey on people that are kind to them. But so what if they didn’t care about me? Why do I have to suffer years later because of their unresolved trauma manifesting in drug addiction and oversexualizing themselves for free on the internet? In being selfish and only caring about their own needs and what other people can do for them? Ian was so depressed he couldn’t put sheets on his bed half the time. Was that the prince charming I wanted to end up with?

I need to forgive myself, too. I showed incredible restraint in only destroying what I did when I could have burnt that whole house down in anger.I didn’t make an ass out of myself after I left and they had to witness the damage they did to me first hand. I hope it still haunts them. They would have to be soulless vacuums for that not to affect them.

Anyway, I think I’m getting to the point of rumination so I will do something to separate myself from that.

[letslinguivore]

Most Liked Person In The World

My therapist said I should give up my crusade to be the Most Liked Person In The World and that it’s “impossible” to be liked by everyone you come in contact with.

So that means I also have to give up my fantasies of reconnecting after years of silence with my enemies to reminisce about the Bad Old Times to profess that we were kids and didn’t mean what we said and that there’s no reason to have bad blood all these years later. Or that all the people I’ve helped to the point of over-extension to have an “Aha!” moment and realize I only had their best interests at heart and that they shouldn’t have been so selfish so they come crawling back to me to apologize just to be met with my warm, loving embrace.

Truly I do want the opportunity to extend grace and forgiveness. Truly I do. It feels good to forgive but the concept of forgiveness without an apology or reconciliation sounds empty to me. Like I’m forgiving the empty space or air for being silent. I was able to reconcile with Tim, with Lyndz, with Andre, with a handful of others because they approached me with remorse for how they acted. Of course, the authenticity of Lyndz’s apology remains to be seen but that’s neither here nor there. To forgive without knowing if there was remorse seems like another over-extension. I don’t know if they are kept up at night haunted by their version of the same memories. I don’t know if they still hold guilt in their hearts for what they said or did like I hold guilt in mine. It would be easier if I knew they did. If we could have one last human moment together where we looked into each other’s eyes and knew without words that we were both flawed and vulnerable creatures and our actions, the manifestation of that - then forgiveness would come as easily as the tears to my eyes as I’m writing this.

My therapist did bring up several excellent points today and it was one of those sessions I wish could go on all day until we really got the bottom of things. An hour really isn’t enough to cover all the complexities of something like this that goes down to my very core as a person. Why I’m a “people pleaser” and why I can’t necessarily separate those tendencies as being “me” or my coping mechanism for the feelings of inadequacy that have haunted me since self-reflection was possible. How I convinced myself early on liking me let alone loving me was impossible so I had  to make up for these shortcomings by helping and loving as hard as I could. If I’m honest, all these feelings that I’m referring to come from the dehumanization of fat people. I know that sounds off track but it’s true.

I saw my mother work herself to death and go above and beyond for scraps of love because of her weight. Because she was “undesirable” and the overcompensation and “compromise” that went into that. And of course by compromise I mean what she had to give up and change to meet the standards of who she wanted love from. Who she settled on love from. I felt my body growing and inflating at hyper speed compared to my peers and feared that I would meet the same fate which led me to shove my finger down my throat like I was bailing water from a sinking ship. Genetics got the best of me and I was saddled with two sandbags on my chest that made me look fat to my pubescent self regardless of reality. That’s when the anxiety and overcompensation started, the feelings of something being inherently wrong with me that I had to “make up” for. The weight was the flaw I was speaking of even when I didn’t realize it was. I think on some level I blamed my weight for everything - for failed relationships, for my lack of confidence, for the cruelty of my “friends.” I’m starting to realize I still have an eating disorder. I remember in the height of my emotional reaction to Ian cheating on me with Becky I blurted out “It’s because I’m fat, isn’t it?”

That explains everything. That explains the windfall of tears that poured from me when John told me he wasn’t as sexually attracted to me because of my body type. That explains why even now I’m thinking if I just lost 50 pounds I wouldn’t have these problems. My eating disorder has shaped my interactions with people in a way I can’t fathom. It’s my earliest trauma, it’s my biggest insecurity. It’s my ever-waging war. I say I’m recovered but am I really? If I still thinking about my weight and losing weight every day, every time I eat? Just because I’m not skin and bones or actively purging the disordered thoughts are there. And it’s not exactly something you can escape because you HAVE to eat for survival so the wound is reopened at least three times a day. I’ve been pretending that a wound that is still bleeding and open is healed and I think that’s where I need to shift my focus.

[letslinguivore]

Just... Come On Now

Feeling very frustrated and run down today. I was chastised for something small at work and I didn’t just lay down and take it which is great but now every time I stand up for myself I wonder if I’m going to be canned to make an example out of me like Rachel and Ronnie were. I wish I were allowed to have these thoughts out loud without wondering if that was the last straw and I’ll be considered too mouthy to keep on board.

I was happy I was going to get my scooter back but the guy didn’t leave it outside for me nor did he look into why it’s not going as fast as it’s supposed to so not only do I not have it, it’s also not fully fixed and this is the second time this has happened.

I’ve emailed my tattoo artist 3 times and sent her an instagram message and I’m getting no response back from her. I just want a tattoo and I don’t want to go anywhere else because I love her style but I also don’t want to patronize someone who can’t respond to a basic email. Three times over 3 weeks. I’ve been more than patient.

I know these are first world problems but all in all it feels like my needs and wants as a person are being ignored and pushed to the side. All I want is a peaceful work and home life, transportation, and adequate down time to get into my hobbies. Nathan has been an Angel through this as usual but I’m tired of constantly asking him for help, I want to be able to fend for myself but nothing is working the way it’s supposed to currently. I’m on my period so I’m sure that doesn’t help these frustrated and helpless feelings.

Just feels like my best is never good enough and that I’ll always be an encumberment to someone. I feel restless and like I wanna crawl out of my skin and into a hole until the pandemic is over. Why can’t I just get it together and hold it together like literally everyone else around me? I know mental illness is a bitch but I’m almost thirty and can’t keep myself together for a week.

I miss going to events. I miss seeing my friends out and about and being able to hug them and tell them I love them. I miss having more than one event to choose from and preparing an outfit and a plan of action. I miss cute dates. I love sitting around and watching Netflix with Nathan but how many more times can I do it without wanting to scream? We can’t even do anything outside because it’s so fucking hot out that I refuse. I wish fall would come and bring a Corona vaccine with it so we can all have our lives back.

I wish I wasn’t so tired and restless all the time. I wish I could just feel the way I did my first week on anti-depressants forever. It’s amazing that people are able to sustain that level of energy and motivation most of the time and I can hardly manage one good day without a buttload of stimulants.

Blah.

[letslinguivore]

Dear Ian,

I've finally gotten to the point where I'm not constantly thinking about what a piece of shit you and Becky are. It took me a couple years even after completely uprooting myself to put as much distance between me and you I possibly could. The damage you did was so extensive that I imagined you taking Becky to Cliff Bell's while I was holding hands with my boyfriend on the couch the other day and you are the reason I haven't felt fully safe with someone since.

When I brought this up to my therapist she said something about getting to a point where I wished you well and I laughed because the only thing I wish for you is that you find an active volcano and stumble in. I tell people I regret how I acted when I found out you had been cheating on me but the only thing I regret is that I didn't burn more of your things. If I could go back I would have left you with nothing just like you left me with nothing and left me to suffer alone. No matter how I acted I was going to be the crazy one to your gaslighting ass so I might as well have exceeded your expectations.

I gave you my trust and years of my life, you didn't have to lie to me and you didn't have to go behind my back. You turned all of our mutual friends against me and convinced them I had no reason to be angry so my reaction seemed even more out of line. It alienated me from them when I could have used a support system and made my move so much harder.

The only good thing that came from you destroying me mentally is that it brought me to New Orleans and I try to convince myself it was an "everything happens for a reason" moment but in reality you're a coward, liar, and a scared, stupid child and it just so happens that your cruelty drove me to my home.

I used to idealize our relationship and act like we never fought but I found an old Reddit post I made seeking advice about your incessant bullying and it made memories come flooding back of you being intentionally and needlessly cruel to me and I just took it because I didn't know any better and I thought that was just what we had to go through in relationships. I didn't know how much better it could be and I thought that just because we didn't fight that we were what everyone around us strived to be. Ironically, Becky even said she "wanted an Ian" but little did I know she my wanted the Ian I had.

It got to the point that even when I was still putting in 100% effort and you 0%,  I complimented you on something small to positively reinforce and you took it as me being sarcastic and snapped at me like I had done something wrong. That was the first night I spent away from you in a year and a half, I cried in Kelly's bed wondering what I had done to deserve you habitually neglecting me or any need I might have expressed to you. 

At the height of your drug addiction I remember saying that it was me or the coke and your dealer came over that night. It woke me up and I quietly walked into the living room and asked them to leave. You tried to talk to me but I shut the door behind me and locked you out because I didn't have words to express the hurt you had just put me through.

I wanted so bad for you to get better. I was invested in bringing you back from the coke. I thought I had just lost you to it and if you got better, we would get better and I would have my partner back. The one I fell in love with at a festival holding hands and talking about our favorite writers. I read to you underneath the tree in your backyard on one of our first dates and I thought that was it for me, that you were who I was meant to be with and that we would face life's hardships together with a smile. I have never known pain until I felt the life I had built around you crumble so violently and turn to ash.

The worst part is, I still believe that wasn't you. You were sick. No, that's not the worst part - the worst part is that you're not irredeemable like the other person I'm writing a letter to, you will get better - you just couldn't get better with me no matter how much I tried. That hurts. As someone who wants to fix people so bad, it hurts. It feels like I failed.

This is part one. I could write a book with what I want to say to you.

[letslinguivore]

Dear Nicholas,

You are one of the best and worst things to ever happen to me. One one hand the level of intimacy I shared with you was unmatched by anyone I've ever been with and on the other you were too busy looking at yourself to take any of it in. I've told you things I had trouble admitting to myself and you probably don't remember any of it or care because you've moved on to suck the life out of your next set of victims.

I really believed no one had malicious intentions in relationships and only found themselves on the side of the villain by accident or well-intentioned misstep but you flat-out lied to my face so many times that it felt like you were trying to hurt me but unfortunately for you, after the first blatant miscarriage of my trust I was only in it with you to fill the void until I found something better. Everyone thought I was waiting around for you to change but I was waiting until I was bored of you. If nothing else, keeping you around was entertaining.

It's a goddamn shame you were such a piece of shit though because the fireworks I felt with you were what I thought would happen with my soul mate and we fit together so well in the beginning I thought I was in a fairy tale. The only good thing I can say about you is that you showed me how toxic that toxic can actually get - the night you were wrapped around someone in front of me like you were the belt on her jeans and STILL tried to make me feel like the one in the wrong will forever infuriate and amuse me. I didn't even know those emotions could go together until I met you but you are such a pathetic waste of life that it pisses me off and makes me feel sorry for you simultaneously.

You'll never get better.

You'll keep going through life hurting people like a bull in a china shop haphazardly until you piss off the wrong person or end up in jail. You think you're going to be a famous comedian but your career is dead before it could take off since you laid hands on a woman and thought you could get away with it. I hope you end up old, alone, grasping to your memories of a once promising career in what you loved to do and I hope you are the only person in the world that is resistant to Viagra so you never know what it's like to have an erection again. Right after I found out you were lying the second time and all 4 of your girlfriends broke up with you at once Ashlee expressed concern that you were going to kill yourself and my heart fluttered at the possibility. No one should have to hear your monologuing about yourself in bed for 3 hours straight ever again. I should have ended things right when you dismissed me as I was opening up about my childhood trauma after listening to yours for literal hours.

You killed the people pleaser in me because I did not give a fuck about pleasing you towards the end and I have never in my life argued with someone as much as I argued with you because you would never let a single thing go. I told myself it was because you were passionate. In reality you probably have most if not all the pages in the DSM-5 and I got caught up in the hurricaine force that is your twisted, fucked up kind of trauma. Hope you choke, Bye

[letslinguivore]

What I Should Have Been Doing

My therapist and I have started on really working through the trauma I have related to my past relationships and we discussed how helpful it would be to have a tangible way to look back on ideas we’ve talked through and I think it would be a great idea to be able to track the progress to be able to look back and see how far I’ve come.

Last week she had me write letters to people that have hurt me the most in relationships and so I did. I’ll post those as separate entries.

What stuck out to me the most this session is that we discussed the idea of forgiving them and I laughed at first. I don’t want to forgive them, I don’t want to wish them well, the only thing that I currently wish for them is that they find an active volcano to stumble into or to for their genitals to stop working then discover they’re the only people in the world immune to Viagra so they will never know what it’s like to have an erection again.

She asked me why I’m so resistant to forgiving and letting this anger go and the best answer I could give is that the anger is more comfortable to hold onto than let it go and freefall into the idea that they are just flawed humans like me that make mistakes and hurt others without necessarily meaning to. It’s easier to picture them as monsters that took advantage, let me help them, then hit me where it hurt the most as some sort of sadistic power play, like they got off on emotionally destroying me. Accepting an explanation other than that means that I have to take responsibility for not knowing where to draw my boundaries or advocate for myself. Or for not knowing when to leave.

This started because I keep getting these intrusive thoughts of the fucked up things that they did to me while I’m doing something sweet with my current partner who is a literal Angel. A man who waited around for almost three years for me to finally see that there was no one else that I need in my life, someone who goes out of his way to help me in ways that show me love I’ve never experienced. Both our love languages are Acts of Service and it shows. He’s seen me completely undone and unable to stop crying from reasons as little as nothing and as big as a car crash and still loves me. This man has seen the soft pink underbelly of my psyche and did not try to take a bite, only softly caressed the scars of where I had been hurt before. I have never felt a love this deep before and I wince when the scars are touched but I do not recoil.

It’s scary and it hurts and my brain feels like it’s on fire when I face the feelings I tried so hard to bury and run away from. I moved 1600 miles away from the wreckage of my last life but I still smell the ash of it in the air, hovering over me to remind me that I haven’t gotten away from them yet.