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When I moved here, it loved it because the address had both my sister and my birthdays in it and victory lap. I wanted so badly to repair whatever happened with my sister and I - to help her love me - or to help me be worthy of being someone lovable.
She can out agony me by about a million. She's changed schools more times, had more abuse, had a more severe eating disorder.
I'm so jealous of her that I can't even speak to her right now though. Why? because I know she would have kept him on a leash. With her, he would have been chasing her all the time. She knew how the game was played. She's able to put a wall up and not let it bother her.
She told me once that she would be dying inside, but that she knew she had act like she had another plan or another man so the one she wanted would want her.
I believe they call it avoidant attached.
It started off that my sister was jealous of me. I was cute and young and unabused and loved by the monster. He would pick me up in the air, and I would giggle and feel joy after being with the miserable mother whom he was cheating on and emotional abusing. My sister would be watching - knowing - like I would know later that her father had died while still being in his body.
It didn't bring us closer.
"You know, having raised my girls. I realize that we could have been close, but mother didn't facilitate that." she once said.
She once chased me down the beach in Washington state saying she wanted to be my friend, and I repelled her. I'm very much not good at letting people near me when I'm not bulletproof. I don't know how to do a wall, so I have to just be away from everyone.
I'd prefer to just not speak to anyone until this is all over, and I've come through the other side of being dumped by someone I loved who never even said the words "I like you." But, I've learned they get worried about you. Besides, I have definitely been more crazy when I was younger. Looking at you Selim.
But that box she has. That steel she has. It has served her well. She's so great at work and well, she's great at everything. The only think I fucking had was my fucking sensitivity and my fucking intelligence. That fucked me up big time. Imagine being someone who loved and witnessed it all - when they boxed it all up, you couldn't. And being smart enough and sensitive enough to know something was deeply wrong and to be surrounded by narcissists and avoidants - whatever you call them, three people had joy in me as a child and they all went away before I was 11. I was ...
none of this matters. I'm too old to be feeling this way. I've had too much therapy - hell I've been a therapist.
Yet, feel it I do.
I'm jealous of people who can cut me off. I'm jealous of people who keep busy. I'm jealous of people who do puzzles.
I love too deeply and too easily. I instantly recognized how rare and bizarre Neil was, and I did not hold back a single iota of feeling, and it's costing me now.
I'm not going to collapse, but I'm going to hibernate, and I'm going to numb, and I'm going to pray, and I'm going to overeat, and I'm going to walk a lot. I'm going to write like a fucking fiend. I'm going to take those pills and increase the dose if that helps. I'm going to pet the cats. I'm going to cry ...
and I'm going to know that it was my fault.
I couldn't be like her.
I couldn't be strong. I couldn't lie.
I've had to sit on the bed next to my father and refuse his request for sex. It was nothing compared to what she went through, but nonetheless it killed me. I told not one single soul about it until my first love - the red-headed drummer. The reason I told him?
He was sensitive, and the story I heard about him was that he would sit on a bridge and smoke cigarettes and write poetry.
He was the first person who I let in. and I broke his fucking heart, but I never dumped him. He dumped me. I'm not sure if I've ever felt such primal rage the day he told me his new girlfriend wouldn't let us be friends anymore.
Something broke.
Because he had been the one I had trusted with my biggest secret.
now just any old human with an ability to access the internet knows.
and still I write.
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