Wish I could. Wish I could vomit all this out of me. The anger, the burning hate that threatens to consume my mind. I want to strike out, to hit, to hurt, to kill. Make ’em bleed ’cause they fucking deserve it. I am very wary of this feeling; I know it does nothing but breed more problems. But I feel like I could just punch something or someone and keep punching until my hand breaks.
The weather is not helping. High winds and hail storm against the window, echoing the warfare I feel inside. Noisy shit that just won’t leave me alone no matter how many times I decide to let it go. Keeps coming back like some rabid dog determined to fucking bite me.
Did well yesterday. Give me a gold star. Homework, gym, and held back on smoking too much. Still want to cut down further, but real progress.
…Meh. I recognize this is part of the process. Increased irritation and anger while going thru withdrawal. Doing my best to keep that in mind. It prevents me from killing anyone, but it doesn’t help me sleep.
Dentist tomorrow. Joy. Have to tell him about my teeth. Oh, gee. Yeah, they still hurt. Sometimes here, sometimes there. Sometimes not at all. I can’t figure it out, and I can’t stop it. And I’m fucking fed up with it. Please don’t fucking touch this one nor that one. And please don’t hurt me anymore.
Don’t want to go out there today. The winds and hail are scheduled to continue, and it just makes me want to hole up under my blanket. I could. I know what I need to do before the premiere and it’ll take one day if I’ve got my shit together. I have the time to skive off. Tempting. But staying home means tempting myself with smoking all day long. It’s so easy to light up and let my worries drift away. So I don’t know.
I also don’t know about my hair. My bro has officially given me funds to go to the salon and do whatever. Now that I have permission, I’m really wondering if I want to cut my long locks. Managed to sneak in that shower yesterday, and as usual when faced with this type of decision, the alternatives all make themselves attractive. I stepped out of the shower with my hair already hanging in soft ringlets – the type of hairstyle some women work hours to achieve. And I wondered…do I really want to chop all that off? Isn’t it pretty? Yes, it is pretty. That’s a plus on the long hair side. But it’s also a pain. It’s so long now I HAVE to blow dry it because air drying it takes more than 8 hours. I don’t like that. I don’t like the fact that when I sit with my head relaxed against the back of my chair, my hair gets caught behind my back. I don’t like the extra heat I feel in bed, either. It’s heavy, and hot. …That’s a lot more negatives than positives. Should be an easy decision.
Fucking dithering. I’m worrying about possible future regret. That’s a moot point. It doesn’t exist, it may never exist. Kudos to me for trying to think ahead and consider the full consequences of my actions – but stop getting caught in ONE scenario. Many possible futures exist. Pick one, and work towards it.
There’s my problem. I want conflicting things. I want, in essence, the impossible. Long hair without the hassle. Smoking without the detrimental health effects. Weight loss without the work. Everything is conditional. If you want that, you must put up with or do this.
Even love. Humans have this intellectual construct called unconditional love. I’m not saying it doesn’t exist; even the “impossible” exists on the e curve, but I believe it exists in flashes of temporary feeling rather than as a stable, common emotion. One cannot feel loved without expecting certain things. We feel loved if people listen to us. Are there for us. Share their lives with us. Laugh with us. Hug us. But that means we expect these things to create this feeling – we put those conditions on our feelings of love. Can you feel loved when someone spits at you? Hits you? Degrades who you are, what you believe or feel? And wouldn’t someone who could say yes, I feel loved when people treat me like shit, be viewed as mentally unfit? Out of the norm? Strange and unwell for feeling that? …I think “unconditional love” is just a misnomer. What we’re really saying is ‘understand me, forgive me for what I think are my sins’. Is that even possible? I wouldn’t know. My immediate family was the type that never forgot, and never really forgave. My sins were repeatedly brought up and thrown in my face, every time things went wrong. “You always”. “You never”.
The hypocrisy I can’t forgive them for is expecting me to forgive this behavior, while simultaneously never forgiving me.
Intellectually, I think I’m at the point where I realize I have to forgive to move beyond this point. That doesn’t mean letting them back in my life; protecting myself is still the most important thing, particularly while I’m feeling vulnerable. I get it. I know what I eventually have to do. I just don’t know how to get there. This is so deep in me, I feel it’s burned into my DNA. – Which is why most of posts degenerate into family gripes, like this one.
*sigh* Your future is out there.