Quick Note

Hello, world.

I’ve been working crazy hours lately, leaving very little time to write posts, but I wanted to say a quick word about the ask me box.

Some of you have left notes or stories of your own for me, which are always welcome. I’d like to share these on this blog, but my first priority is to protect your privacy and not reveal anything you don’t want revealed.

So in the future, if you want your personal story kept private, simply say so. I will, of course, oblige. I would, however, like to encourage you to share. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from keeping this blog, it’s that people really seem to find comfort in discovering other people have similar stories. And that sharing your story, even anonymously, can be a great relief.

Yes, that was two things. Oh well.

I have two or three ideas for posts floating around in my head. Hopefully work will calm down by next week and I can actually type them up.

Thanks for your patience :)

Fifteen - Part 4

Hello, world.

This is the last post about everything that happened when I was fifteen. Sorry it’s been so late in coming. The next story post will be about my coping strategies back then - or lack thereof - and then that will bring us to the relapse story. Yay…

And yet, as much as I don’t want to talk or write or think about it, straightening out all my thoughts and writing them down does help. I’ve never been this open or this honest with anyone. Bleed the poison?

Everything was different when I was sick. But when my body finally started functioning mostly normally again, nothing went back to normal.

We’d had a strict mum’s house/dad’s house schedule for ten years. Deviations from this schedule were few and far between, and mostly occurred when we were on vacations. Now we weren’t even allowed to be at dad’s house if she was there - which meant ever, because she wasn’t going to just leave.

We went out to lunch or dinner with him three times a week - on the weekends and once during the week. That was the new compromise. My sister and I switched off for the dinner in the middle of the week.

And I’m giving you all these small, largely meaningless details because I really don’t want to tell this part of the story. I really bloody hate this part of the story.

It happened soon after I’d gotten better. One of the times my father took me out by myself. We were sitting in a restaurant, waiting for our food. Talking about nothing. He didn’t broach the topic until the food came and we’d started eating, because although my father may be an idiot, he’s not stupid.

He asked me - something about what was happening, I don’t remember exactly; I tried to brush him off.  Then he started telling my how hurt my stepmother was by what happened. How sad and upset she was by what I’d done to her.
He said to me, “It hurts me, too, you know. This is my family that’s being broken apart. You’re breaking my family.”

That’s the last part of the night I remember. I’m pretty sure I never said another word. He never mentioned it again. And I will never, ever bring it up because I just can’t hear again how much he hates me.

Probably I’m Back Now

Hello, world.

I think I’m going to come back to this now. I don’t think I’m going to update as often (probably it’ll end up being just on the weekends, but it depends on how I can queue things). I have a real job this summer, so I don’t have a lot of time.

As for why I took a hiatus…Well, I’d like to say that I’ve just been extremely busy and distracted. But I swore to myself when I started this that it was going to be complete honesty or nothing at all. There are two people in the world with whom I’ve shared the whole story. Who also know my identity. There are a few others who’ve gotten parts of it when I’ve been….not completely in control of myself.

The point is, this is not something I talk about. This is not something I like to talk about. When I started this blog, I was just so…I don’t even know. I felt broken and it was spilling out all over the place and I couldn’t control it, I could just try to channel it so the people around me didn’t know just how broken. The thing is, it was easy (easier) to write about when everything was going to come out anyway, when I was just feeling so much and I couldn’t make it stop. It’s a thousand times harder now that I’ve regained control of my emotions.

I thought I’d dealt with it years ago, when I was sixteen and simply refused to face it. I was wrong.
I thought I was healed when I first started uni and could listen as my psychology professor talked about disorders and psychoses and feel only mild triumph that I was not quite as screwed up as I could have been - and not quite as screwed up as she was. I was wrong.
I knew I was messed up when I started this blog, but as it continued, I dared to hope that I was getting better, that I was finally dealing with it. I was wrong.
Well, perhaps not entirely wrong. When I stopped writing, I was by no means okay. I got my external validation back and I stopped trying. There was something else to cling to, something real, why keep digging at old scars?

And I know that’s a bit not good. I know it’s not healthy and that there’s absolutely nothing in the world to keep this from happening again (aside from a certain wariness of job interviews, but I can’t very well never interview for a job again). I’ve packed all my emotions back into a tiny little box, just like when I was fifteen, almost without realizing what I was doing. It’s hard to try to convince myself to go through and pull them all out again. But I don’t think I’m quite ready to give up yet.

How’s that for a super-angsty post to get back into this?
I have ideas for a few more that I hope to finish this weekend and queue up for the next week. After that…we’ll see.

I don’t want to keep writing, but I also really don’t want to stop.

Sorry, World

Hello, world.

Sorry I’ve been completely not posting anything for the last week-ish. And for posting random and completely irrelevant stuff for the week before that. RL invaded. Very rude.

Anyway, the good news is I’m done with this semester. The bad news is I’m back at home. And the other good news is I go back to the city my university is in in a week for my job. There’s just been a hell of a lot to do this week to prepare to move back so quickly. For a very awkward couple days I had no place to live. It was unpleasant.

Now I just have no way to get anywhere I want to go (unless I feel like using public transportation and spending 6 hours on an hour trip), which is a less immediate problem.

Point. I am going to come back to this blog, and this blog is going to go back to the original topic. And Ipromise I’ll get to your messages. It’s just going to take me a bit more time.

Sorry for the delay and thanks for your patience. <3