Things Pile Up
I'm so depressed today. For so many reasons. I feel ugly and unlovable, for one. And then I had to tell Mike today that I can't attend the intensive this year, even though he offered me financial assistance - I can't even afford the plane trip out there. It's the first year I'm not going, and I benefitted so much last time. I cried when I wrote the email to him, that I couldn't go. What am I now? What's even the point of anything, of me?
Life seems so pointless. you work so hard for money and for those little, tiny pieces of happiness that come. But those pieces of happiness are like tricks - they're not real because they're not lasting. They're just a trick to make you think you can go on. Happiness is perhaps a survival mechanism. At least, maybe it just is for me. I know a lot of happy people, and yet, I feel like I'll never be okay. Music is the only thing I love so much that I practice still, and now it's becoming secondary to this money situation that isn't even stable.
I feel pointless.
And I realized today that I'm looking for a partner to protect me, still. I'm looking for someone who will take care of me and who would not have let those things happen to me. I once asked John what he would've done outside the door when Alex was beating me up - Danny just stood there, not helpful. John said he would've gotten in. So in my flashbacks, I kept inserting John, saving me, and it made me feel a little better. I've felt so weak and so shitty and so invalidated so much in life that I just want someone to unconditionally be there for me and try to understand me, that I don't have to convince that I'm a GOOD person who does what I think is fair and good and kind and compassionate at all times. I want someone to see me for me and to see who I am as being beautiful and then protect me like I'm precious. I want someone to think that of me.
But I don't think that'll ever happen. Life is suffering, I think, and I don't know what makes it better. The next person who questions that I've been attacked or if something REALLY happened, I will never see them again. I still have Henry in my head telling me that Michael didn't rape me, that I was flirting with him, so I was asking for it.
I'm tired with people and society and my mind, always trying to figure things out. I'm tired of feeling broke or fat or ugly or stupid or unlovable. Or out of control, or a target or lost.
I'm just tired.
Life seems so pointless. you work so hard for money and for those little, tiny pieces of happiness that come. But those pieces of happiness are like tricks - they're not real because they're not lasting. They're just a trick to make you think you can go on. Happiness is perhaps a survival mechanism. At least, maybe it just is for me. I know a lot of happy people, and yet, I feel like I'll never be okay. Music is the only thing I love so much that I practice still, and now it's becoming secondary to this money situation that isn't even stable.
I feel pointless.
And I realized today that I'm looking for a partner to protect me, still. I'm looking for someone who will take care of me and who would not have let those things happen to me. I once asked John what he would've done outside the door when Alex was beating me up - Danny just stood there, not helpful. John said he would've gotten in. So in my flashbacks, I kept inserting John, saving me, and it made me feel a little better. I've felt so weak and so shitty and so invalidated so much in life that I just want someone to unconditionally be there for me and try to understand me, that I don't have to convince that I'm a GOOD person who does what I think is fair and good and kind and compassionate at all times. I want someone to see me for me and to see who I am as being beautiful and then protect me like I'm precious. I want someone to think that of me.
But I don't think that'll ever happen. Life is suffering, I think, and I don't know what makes it better. The next person who questions that I've been attacked or if something REALLY happened, I will never see them again. I still have Henry in my head telling me that Michael didn't rape me, that I was flirting with him, so I was asking for it.
I'm tired with people and society and my mind, always trying to figure things out. I'm tired of feeling broke or fat or ugly or stupid or unlovable. Or out of control, or a target or lost.
I'm just tired.