3 a.m. Up for an hour, tossing and turning in bed. Why is my bed the last place I want to sleep?
Fuck it. Get up. On with the lights, on with the tv. Distract myself until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.
…Truth is, I got another blast from the past yesterday on FB. Someone out my past found me and commented on a post I made. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. That’s bugging me enough. Add onto that his niggling comment: Is that why you left us, K? Whoa. Who’s “us”? And who are you, man who rings a bell in my head but whom I can’t place, to suddenly show up in my life and ask why I left anyone or anything?
Have this horrible feeling I might have fucked him. Or done a lot of drugs with him. Or both. Are there men in my past who I’ve forgotten? Sure. I was wasted thru most of my 20s. Desperate for attention, really low self esteem…you know the pattern. I was it. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I’m not so ashamed of it I can’t talk about it. I find it sad above anything else. Sad that the people around cared so little they sat back, watched me try to destroy myself, and did nothing but heap shame, guilt, and blame on me for doing it. But I surely don’t expect random men from my past to pop up in my life 30 years down the road and throw some bullshit comment my way. It took two, asshole.
The name he used when referencing me gives away a certain time period or obvious family connections. That’s one plus on changing my nickname so bleeding often. My given name is one that has a minimum of four diminutives, and I’ve spent certain periods of my life using each and every one of them – each very distinctive. So either this guy knows my oldest brother, who’s always used that version of my name, or he met me when I was at Uni the second time ’round. Could not find a connection between my oldest brother and him, so I’m guessing it’s during Uni. That puts it between ’92 and ’96.
T, my adoptive brother I live with, was not happy when I told him about the comment. He’s on alert right away. My life before I reconnected with T was…chaotic. Unhealthy to the extreme. Got mixed up with a lot of users and abusers. T knows that. He helped me out of it. Gave me a safe place. Talked to me in the middle of the night when I woke up from nightmares. Told me it was okay. Honestly, he saved my life. I had no one else.
…This is a mystery I’m not willing to solve. I’m not willing to open up a conversation with this dude to find out where I know him from. I’m not willing to relive those memories. They are there, and I don’t deny them. But many have nightmarish qualities I’d rather not revisit. Things were bad. For all I bitch and moan about my head now, it was worse then. And the reality I surrounded myself with was degrading. I degraded myself. No denying it. Again, I find that sad more than anything else.
*sigh* Either leave it, or delete it. And you know which one you should do: delete. Block, if necessary. You know how those klingons keep clinging on.
Right. *yawn* Guess that was it, since now I’m feeling tired.
One more 3 a.m. crisis handled.