I AM UNDONE

Happy New Day

Nothing will be the same in a year.

cgcpoems:

I’m not exactly sure which wound is the one I belong to.

Hanif Abdurraqib, The Crown Ain’t Worth Much

(via arthuriannas)

I tried to be perfect

But nothing was worth it

I don’t believe it makes me real

I thought it’d be easy

But no one believes me

I meant all the things I said

This place is so empty

My thoughts are so tempting

I don’t know how it got so bad

Sometimes, it’s so crazy

That nothing can save me

But it’s the only thing that I have

I tried to be perfect

It just wasn’t worth it

Nothing could ever be so wrong

It’s hard to believe me

It never gets easy

I guess I knew that all along

If you believe it’s in my soul

I’d say all the words that I know

Just to see if it would show

That I’m trying to let you know

That I’m better off on my own

darkartfinds:

“By your side…” by Junaid Mortimer

(via wilwheaton)

I thought I was done but I’m in pieces.

Why do I always make everything out of nothing?

I guess I’d just rather be anything than something.

Happy New Day

Nothing will be the same in a year.

Written November 2020, Posted December 2022

Nothing has changed.

I feel most real when I’m driving in my car. I’m alone but strong. Sad but comfortable. Being soothed by the playlist that matches my day. My mood. My self. My life.

I question a lot of things, like anyone with anxiety does. My future, my past, my commitments, my choices, the things that I want, and the things that I should not want.

I accept a lot of things, like anyone with depression does. To be honest, I think it makes me stronger. Anxiety is terrible for getting things done. I’m just always so afraid. I can’t even start. Depression makes it easier for me to function in real life. I can too easily detach myself from my feelings to push through no matter the harm or cost.

As I live I search for truths, but no longer the ones that I’ve used to destroy people’s lives. They are so hard to find because I never know how to feel. I know it seems like it should be obvious, but I think the only constant in my life that has been so unwavering and true is that I have been shaped by my childhood traumas.

As I get older I realize it more and more, even though I become further detached from that time as I age. I don’t think years of therapy have or ever can change who I am, or more realistically, change how I feel about myself. What a dangerous thing to experience the world with people who are supposed to keep you safe but can not.

I can’t really blame them, because I know they suffered in childhood themselves. I’ve been told that shouldn’t be an excuse but it’s so much more complex than that. I think the worst part of it is that it continues. I’ve escaped that life and am far away, but am still expected to play the part and deliver forgiveness when no apology was ever issued. Just more blame, which children accept as easily as sweets.

I wish they wouldn’t expect anything from me, as I’ve never expected anything from them. Hurt me, abuse me, swear at me, guilt trip me, blame me, gaslight me. You do you. Just DON’T expect me to love you let alone have any positive feelings towards you whatsoever. The closest I will ever come to even liking you is the guilt I feel for my role in your life and the empathy I feel for how broken you are.

To be honest, I don’t know if I will ever really love anyone, so how can you ask that of me. How can you forget years of nightmares. Are you so frightening that you never realized what you did to us? Actually, that’s probably exactly the case! Why would your mind allow you to believe you were ever wrong? If that were so, you couldn’t live with yourself.

So you have to keep lying. Or you’ve involuntarily locked these memories away, as I have too with the few things I really couldn’t handle. The brain is so amazing. I try to retrieve moments I know that are there but I can’t. I see your angry face, I see you raise your hand, but all that comes next is me laying alone in my room wondering if anyone will bother talking to me about what you did to me. Spoiler alert, no one cared.

Anyways, I digress. I’m afraid to have children someday because I don’t want to shape their lives like you did. I see all too clearly the outcome of a failed marriage of abusive parents racked with mental illnesses. The scariest part about this all is I don’t think I would have wanted you to raise me any different. It’s not like you set out to be terrible parents who hurt their children, no one does.

I just think that you broke things in me that make me who I am. Am I recovering? I suppose. I can defend myself now and I do less dangerous things to cope than before. But I am who you made me. I think too many bad things. I have too many dark thoughts. I live in fantasy worlds of pain and violence.

The things about abusers though is they’ve made me strong. It is second nature to pretend like none of this ever happened. To make people like you. To never let anyone know something’s wrong. Those are the biggest lessons we learned. Whether you spoke aloud about not telling anyone what our family was really like or the survival instincts of a child learning quickly how to not draw attention and become invisible.

This is how you made me and I can accept my self and turn your failures into my successes but do not ever think I owe you anything.

Sadly though, I always will.