Two years…
The last two years…
The last two years, I’ve said goodbye to a lot of people I love. A lot of people I’ve trusted, and a lot of places I’ve wanted to call home. I don’t blame anyone for choosing not to be a part of my life anymore during that time because I wasn’t a person. I reflect back on the few times I was able to see a person I loved dearly in California and how each time there was always the comment, “How are you so calm about everything?” “You’re so cool because nothing bothers you.” “She’ll protect us, she’s our bodyguard.” I don’t think the friends that said these things had any idea that I was “cool and calm” because I wasn’t real. The last two years have been spent in an almost constant state of disassociation when dealing with a prolonged trauma that had been going on for years only to be put out in the public for all to judge and mock. I tried to take my life that year, which I’ve talked about before on here, but the entire time I was told that I should consider my abuser’s mental health. And my natural inclination? It is to take the blame, anyone that works with me will tell you that. I apologize FOR EVERYTHING, even things that have nothing to do with me. Nobody beats me up as I beat myself up, so when people said things like that to me, I internalized it even though logically I knew of all of the times previously that I did try to look out for my abuser — I tried to get them help, therapy. When they apologized profusely for hurting me and saying things like, “I don’t know why I feel like I have to lie all of the time, but I need you to help me,” I still wanted to help them. So when it ended up with me filing a restraining order and just a small amount of that abuse going public (never mind the people that used that to hurt me further), I felt like I failed that person, even though they failed me. If I’ve ever cared about you, I’ll love you for life — whether you’re still in that life or not. I can’t help that I still care for that person and that has also been a unique form of torture for me.
In addition to that, I was going from abusive job to abusive job, with no one really knowing who I am because I’ve internalized so much without help that I genuinely believed — and still believe — that me just being around is enough to annoy people. There is such a large part of me that internalizes my upbringing where just me being here is enough to make somebody’s life worse, and that kills me. Can you imagine that loneliness? Never mind that within months of this happening, my sister was killed. My ex was brutally murdered. My MS spiraled out of control, my mental health was down to a pinprick. Yet somehow, I was supposed to be the support for everyone around me. This was especially hard for those friends that only came to me if there was 1) trauma, 2) a mental breakdown. I wasn’t in a place to deal with that, and that’s just another way I failed. I failed because even though I thought I was communicating that I couldn’t be present, I wasn’t. That hurt a lot of people that saw my disappearing as a reflection on them. That I didn’t care. That I made things all about me. The thing is? I did. I did make everything about me during that time because I had to. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be alive. It took every ounce of willpower, every single day, every fucking second of every single day, to just get out of bed and not finish out that thought of ending everything that I’ve had since I was five years old.
The few times I felt mentally in a place where I could reach out, I went about it the wrong way. I reached out with proof that I was working on myself; updates on therapy, new job, etc. In my head, this was me trying to show I was putting the effort into getting better so I could be there for those I care about. How did it come off? It came off like I just wanted to talk about myself. And the fact that this hurt people I love kills me. Every day I think about it.
I’m struggling a lot right now, but I can say that I’m in a place where I don’t feel like I have to dissociate to survive. That’s a first in over 10 years. 10 YEARS. Imagine being dissociated for that long. Going that long without a single vacation or day off. Feeling like you’re not good enough to be friends with literally anyone, much less the people you respect in the industry you’re in. I wasn’t a person, but I am now. And while I’m incredibly sad that some people are no longer in my life, I’m infinitely grateful to have been blessed with their friendship for when I had it, as well as for those that saw past the dissociation, past the trauma, and could see I was trying to get myself to a healthy place. Those that welcomed me with open arms when I was finally ready to talk. Those that gave me a chance to explain the last few years with an open heart. You’re magical, and I love you more than I will ever feel comfortable expressing. But I’m working on that too because I have so much love to give and I need to stop being so scared to show that. Past trauma can’t control me anymore, I won’t let it, but I know that this process is one that will never end. Every day will be a struggle, but I promise to never stop trying, because I desperately want to be able to show people how much I really do love them, I just needed some time to find out who I was again. Now, a simple text or message doesn’t throw me into a panic attack, and I think that’s really cool…
