I hate social media

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I hate social media. I have recently renewed my facebook account and started over. I was tired of seeing memories from years ago pop up in my feed. My page was not myself anymore. I am not all about family venues, friends, and adventure. I am all about anxiety, depression, binge-eating, and marital concerns.

I get depressed because of social media. I can mindlessly scroll for hours down my feed looking at what others have posted. For pretty much the duration of my relationship with Jacob, I have been absent from social media. I quit because it was too risky when I had an obsessively possessive new boyfriend. I had no privacy whatsoever; he looked through my phone and got paranoid at every notification, every ding. He smothered me and made me give up all my friends, and I did it because I was going through something in my life. I naturally went down a different path than my friends, choosing to fall into drugs and alcohol. My friends found other methods to cope with their problems, and bully for them.

I’ve been caught up in trying to forget my problems. I have been lazy and trying to get comfy living in my own hole of depression. When my depression is at its worst, I convince myself nothing is wrong and ignore everything fantastically.

Until I wake up one day months from now, and realize I’ve been on auto-pilot. I haven’t been paying attention. Weeks go by and you realize how little you care for yourself, how thinking of yourself and trying to tend to your needs is painful. It’s painful being aware of your shortcomings and trying to accept them. Better to be stoned and not bothered about it.

For a while.

There always comes the moments when you wake up. You look around and realize you don’t live the life you want to have. You realize you’re miserable and you were doing so well pretending otherwise. You didn’t realize you were such a good actor. Or worse, perhaps no one is paying attention.

Are you calling out for help? No, you’re too afraid to be yourself. How can you be vulnerable in front of people and admit you have hang-ups? Today was oddly strange. I worked the overnight shift & had a conversation I may not have otherwise. A girl at work confided in me her struggles getting therapy now and when she was younger. How candid I was admitting I had the same problem. How can you afford them? We talked about depression medication and the effect it had on us.  We talked about psychology. I would normally – never in a thousand years – admit to someone I don’t know well that I’ve dealt with depression before. There’s still such a stigma attached to mental illnesses, it’s daunting admitting that you have one.

No one wants to hear about my problems. I keep them to myself, and I drown in all the turmoil they cause me. My husband doesn’t like me to be honest with him. He would rather me keep things to myself. When I try to expose my deepest hurting to get some relief, he is incapable of providing the comfort I seek. He doesn’t relish me being such a deep feeling individual. His emotional intelligence is not quite on par with mine. He takes things the wrong way and gets defensive. We fight.

He resents my mental illness. He doesn’t understand. He takes my illness personally. He thinks we don’t have sex at long intervals because I’m withholding on purpose. I’m sorry but my libido along with my spirits are DOWN IN THE DUMPS & YOU’RE NOT HELPING.

I have a feeling that my anxiety, depression, and drug use are a question the likes of which came first, the chicken or the egg? Does my self medicating cause me depression, or am I depressed because I am self medicating? Does the weed cause or ease my anxiety? I know that when I quit smoking, I have to take more anxiety meds. My depression is much worse when I am detoxing. I become quite morose during sober periods. I take offense much easier. I am emotionally raw and sensitive to every little utterance. I require more attention, love, and support. I am a pain in the ass when I am sober. I hate myself when I’m sober.

I hate myself now, too, but it’s easier to convince myself I’m okay when I feel like this. I can ignore the self-loathing when I am like this.

About four years ago, my mother admitted to me that my dad wasn’t my biological father. This fact alone is jarring, especially when you have believed he was your crappy dad for the past two decades. A chance to receive your genetic material from someone else! You think it could be someone great, could be someone you would be lucky to know, maybe?!

You’re not that lucky. Imagine my dismay when my mother told me her alcoholic ex gang-banging Mexican lover was my biological dad? And she wants me to accept this, everyone in my family says it’s an opportunity for us to be a family together finally. My mother is over the moon in love and thinks I should welcome him with welcome arms.

When he finds out, he instantly wants to claim me. He suspected I was his all those years ago, but he wrote me off when my mother rejected him. He loves me and is thrilled at the thought of having such an accomplished daughter when he comes from nothing. He treats me like I am golden and stands up for me when my mom says unkind things.

He is surprisingly more like me than I want to admit. He is sympathetic and generous with his words- and who am I, but a fool that wants to listen to pretty words?

I’m starved for sentiments of love, out loud declarations of how great I am. No one tells me I am beautiful or amazing. No one appreciates me. No one wants to know the real me. But he does, and I hate him for it.

I would like to hate him, but really I ache for him. I want his sentiments to be true, for his actions to back up his words. But I have yet to feel it. I doubt it. I doubt him.

My father keeps invading my life. He sends me a message one day weeks ago and I still feel bad about it everyday. How to beg someone to leave you alone and spare their feelings?

Consumed by guilt and resentment. Want to forgive and move past things, but then I find myself taking one step forward and three steps back. I was willing to talk to him and have a relationship with him and now I am stingy with my time again.

Why should I make time and spend mental energy on you, what do I owe you? Why do you shit on my life and make me feel bad? You were absent for so many years, why don’t you just keep doing that?

I don’t want to expose myself- fuck you, you’ll only hurt me in the end. I know you’re not worth it. I know I will regret knowing you.

This is the stuff that is really on my mind. People think I am a cool customer, that I never get mad and just roll with the flow. I try to appear that way, but really I am eating myself up inside. I want to talk about my shitty marriage, depression, and dad issues but who wants to hear it? Who will be my friend when I am just so utterly down? It is my habit to turn away from depressed people, so I expect to be rejected.

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Birthday Reflections

My birthday has come and gone. 26 started as good year for me. It was the year I got married. I should have taken it as a good sign when I went one birthday without bawling my eyes out. 27 was not such a lucky start.

My 27th birthday began horribly. I had to spend it with my angry husband and alienated biological father. My husband and I got into a HUGE HORRENDOUS argument over the fact that my useless father doesn’t have a vehicle. He had a 2 o’clock curfew for the half way house with no ride home.

Jake would not allow us to give him a ride because of the contents of his pockets. He had good reason to deny the request seeing as we never know what he might be carrying- but Jake has been pulled over exactly ONCE in the almost 4 years I’ve known him.  I figured it would be safe enough, so I argued with my husband.

I had a mental breakdown first thing in the morning since we were arguing about it as soon as we woke up. He screamed bloody murder at me in the car and told me he didn’t care about me. On my birthday at some point he inevitably suggests we shouldn’t be together anymore. He has a specialty in fucking the day up, always needing to bring me to hysterical tears.

I was bawling in the walgreens we went to pick a father’s day card from. My birthday was 2 days before Father’s Day. I was already late to my meeting with Johnny. That was traumatic in and of itself, standing in the walgreen’s greeting card aisle tears streaming down my face as my husband disrespects me and cusses me as I frantically search through the cards.

So many wrong cards for Johnny; Best Dad Ever, You’re My Super Hero, Thank You For Always Being There For Me Dad, I Love You. It’s more like-

Dear Biological Father;

I wish my mother had never told me about you. She kept the secret from me for over 20 years, what was the rest of my life? I would have preferred she took her secret to the grave. I don’t want to know you or love you. I wish you were a long-forgotten lover of hers. I wish you had remained a distant memory from her past. I wish you had never reconnected, or ever showed me any love. I regret knowing about you, and wish I could forget she ever told me about you. 

Be Gone.

On the way out of Walgreens, Jake threatened to throw me out of the car and leave me. He screamed more at me, and I bawled uncontrollably because he’s always threatening me with divorce, making me feel like I’m not wanted.

When we got to my mother’s house where Johnny was waiting, Jake went so far as to threaten to leave me alone. He got in the car and started it up. I stayed standing on the porch in front of the front door with my heart in my throat from my nervous breakdown and the stress of seeing my father for the first time in two years, before I collapsed into tears out of sight of the front window and by my mother’s front yard fence.

There were so many feelings mixed with Jake’s hurt he inflicted. I hadn’t seen my dad in two years on purpose. We hadn’t spoken, and I felt wretchedly guilty about shutting him out of my life. I felt ashamed of myself. I was scared to look him in the eyes. I was afraid he’d look at me with an angry or injured expression, and I felt like I couldn’t escape.

Instead he held me non-judgmentally while Jake was making me cry. His embrace was so warm and sincere I definitely felt comforted from my earlier breakdown. I cried in his arms, but I think he thought I was emotionally charged from seeing him again, which I was partly. It felt good to be forgiven without having to ask.

I hate him for loving me the way I want to be loved. No one has loved me like him since my ex Elizabeth and my Grandma. He doesn’t believe I can do anything wrong. I am golden to him, and it’s a fucking crying shame to be so revered by someone you cannot even bare to speak with.

It feels wretched to me, to crave his perception of me and his love, but to not be able to welcome him into my life. I feel like me and my parents are standing on two different sides of a canyon, I can’t love them even when I try.

If I want Johnny’s good, I have to accept his bad, and I won’t. I can’t. So if I can’t stomach his bad, I don’t deserve his good. You can’t pick and choose what you want from a person, you get all of them or nothing. And with Johnny, I find myself wondering how safe nothing is.

Is it worth this empty feeling inside?

 

Addictions and What Like

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Jake and I have been watching the show Shameless on Netflix lately. At first, I found the show to be entertaining- somehow making light of alcoholism and the myriad of other dysfunctions that are going on in the show. It made it seem funny somehow, when really it is just so fucking overwhelming.

The last episode that we watched together, I found my anxiety spiking. When I talked to my friend Latta about the show he told me the show actually stressed him out to watch and suddenly I felt the same way. The episode hit a little too close to home.

Frank the protagonist’s mother gets out of jail. She has been serving a 12 year stretch for meth and drug charges, been released on medical leave an old mean woman. Frank hates her as much as she bullies him and makes him take care of her personal hygiene and the like when she gets out. She’s old and decrepit and it is stated that she should be in a hospice.

She comes into some money that she exhorts out of her old business partner. Having been missing from her grandchildren’s lives growing up, she starts buying them gifts which wins her their affections. The two youngest children get spoiled and love her for it. She takes the youngest kid Carl and decides “let’s teach you a skill.”

In which she meant she was going to teach him how to make a meth lab. -___- In their attempts to get things started, the lab blows up and Fiona the oldest daughter and caregiver of the family banishes Frank’s mother from their home.

Frank’s mother is dying of pancreatic cancer. Frank responds to this by stealing her pain medication and disappearing. He leaves his mother with his girlfriend, Sheila. Sheila has publicly gone on record stating how much she hates this woman, yet in the face of her disease she starts to soften towards the older lady. With the help of her daughter’s ex, she takes care of Frank’s mom until she expressed the desire to kill herself.

Fiona the caregiver had out Frank’s mother in time out, she said. The kids weren’t allowed to go and see her. The grandma is mad that the children don’t come to see her. It seems like she is shameless like the show suggests because she doesn’t seem to think anything of her behavior; i.e. nearly getting a 10 year old killed in a meth lab explosion.

She doesn’t have any reason to live, no one wants her. Her son (Frank) hates her and doesn’t want to take care of her. Her grandchildren aren’t allowed to see her. She is already in a lot of pain. She asks Sheila to help her end her life, and Sheila obliges.

I had to change to something else to watch after that episode. The way the Grandma felt and the pity I felt for her unsettled me so much. It made me think about my own mother, a guilty feeling curling in my gut.

I never see my mother if I can help it. Her addiction and the people she spends time with make me stay away. I don’t feel safe when I go to her house, my childhood home. She must feel as lonely as the Grandma did, and it hurts me to think. She makes me stay away, she could be different, but she won’t be. I hate having to draw the line and never see her. Our family was never like that, and yet here I am. Alienating myself from her, because it’s easier than watching her suffer.

She suffers and there’s nothing I can do to change her behavior. She has to make the decision, but she hasn’t. She makes me stay away. She doesn’t want me around, or she would change. I know it’s impossible… I couldn’t do anything for Joshua either. They have to make these decisions on their own, and mom isn’t ready to. I can’t make her get a job, I can’t make her stop.

I want to be around her. I want not to be stressed out every time she calls asking for something. I want to be able to talk to her without feeling upset. She makes me feel so guilty, like if I could love her harder it would make a difference. But it wouldn’t, and it’s a hard pill for me to swallow. She keeps me away. I hate her for it. But they do say hate is love twisted, it’s that depth of feeling I can’t escape. I wouldn’t want to escape, I just wish she could make things easier. I wish loving her wasn’t so hard.

Loving my father is complicated, too. I value his love, but I hate his lifestyle. I can’t be around or even talk to him. He’s been living in a half way house and he and my mother have reconnected again. She gets to spend a few hours a day with him. And are they looking for a job for him to maintain his status at the half way house? No sireebob. (Who was surprised by that?)

As much as I dislike my father, I’m happy my mom is happy. They are a stupid couple that makes no sense. They both have too much pride to be together. They’re both too head strong. For their relationship to work properly, they’d both have to be different people. I don’t know how, but they somehow make it work even though they’re fighting all the time. They have a very on-again-off-again kind of relationship. It’s hard for me to keep up.

I am dreading December. My dad will get out of the half way house around then, and come back to live with my mom. They are talking about getting married. I would be thrilled if my mother got married, as much as I don’t like him. He loves me, maybe he’ll grow on me. Then she would be his problem. I never know what to do about them, besides hold them at arm’s length.