I was speaking with someone today who was thinking about applying for a job in their dream location. They hadn’t yet, and I told them I hoped they would. It would be nice to see someone fulfill a dream.
I began to cry back at my desk.
One of my biggest dreams was to have a loving relationship. To prove that it could be done, that they were real. To live in a state of love rather than contempt and tolerance. That dream will never come true, now. Maybe I am just trying to love and be loved for all the wrong reasons. Fail before I begin.
I then thought that a dream of mine was to become a published author. And hot on its heels was the thought that, well, I could work my ass off at that and never succeed. I worked on having a loving marriage, and that didn’t work either, so what difference does working on a novel that no one ever reads? A wasted life is a wasted life.
I could certainly choose to waste my life in less noble, more damaging and abusive pursuits. I could spend the rest of my life making the man who ruined my life pay. Oh wait, the first one who started the trend is dead. I could use all my creative energies to devise ways to hurt him, to hurt all men. After all, that’s what whores do, not care at all if they are complicit in the destruction of other people’s lives, man woman or child, as long as the man pays up front. I could self destruct and take the respect and pain of my family with me, with alcohol, or drugs, and whoring myself as I fall. Men don’t really care what a whore looks like as long as he gets his orgasm fix.
I feel sick just thinking about those things. I wanted to live a noble life. Live authentic. Say what I mean, mean what I say. Treat others with respect. If I find myself thinking ill of someone else, analyze why I think that, what that means about me, and decide if that needs to be changed in myself. Forgive others for hurting others in their damage, but be wise enough to leave them alone to their misery so I do not allow myself to become infected and ruined by it.
What a joke. What a monumental joke.
No. I waste my life in an empty, hopeless, misguided pursuit of a loving partnership. With no model to follow, no guidebook, no real understanding of how to recognize such a thing. Oh well. It is just a dream. Loving relationships don’t exist. People can always, always find some excuse to fuck each other over, to hurt each other to the point of no return.
I guess I am purely selfish, looking for love for myself. Well, I did want to give love to someone else. To really be allowed to love them, like I wasn’t allowed to love my brother, or my father, or my step father, or my mother, or my step brother, or my grandparents, or even my step brother. I wasn’t allowed to be close to anyone, and I wanted to be close. But all my ‘best friends’ have betrayed me, one way or another. Some small, some large. I am too forgiving, too forgetting, not nearly protective and resentful and spiteful enough.
Is that just ‘nice girl’ syndrome? But I overcame so much of that. I don’t do things for other people if I really don’t want to, so I don’t resent what I do decide to offer. I buy myself things I really really want rather than always sacrifice for others, even if I do feel a bit guilty for spending on myself, but I know that I am trained that way and I don’t beat myself up for the guilt or the decision to take care of myself. I was going to say treat myself, then an image of him deciding he deserved to treat himself to another whore, and another hit me. And using his guilt to fuel the excitement and wallowing in the guilt because he liked being so bad, it felt so good.
I will never be the same. Every word, every thought can be a trigger, some small, some that overwhelm me and I am ripped apart inside. Yes, I woke up crying again today. Yes, I am crying at work again today. I didn’t cry all day yesterday. What a milestone, to count success by a single day of not crying. It hurts now, to be a synthesis mind, where all the thoughts intertwine and one thought readily flows into another. Gods, I hope I don’t talk myself into a stroke just so I can begin to forget, to disrupt my brain and stop some of the pain. Ha, watch the stroke hit only the useful parts of my brain and leave me with only the painful memories and stuck in a loop of endless sorrow. Be careful what you wish for. The ability to forget may have a price so high, so unbearably high.
What did I think I wanted that was worth this price?
Oh well, oh gee, that’s just life. That is just how it works.
Is it really???
Two more years. I must survive this for two more years. I must find a way to make the best of what is left of my life.
Why? Why is this all there is? Why did he decide it was hunky dory OK to hurt someone so much?
I would prefer to take responsbility for my life, my choices. But right now I just feel cursed.
I can’t believe he did this.
I wish I had never tried to love again. I wish I had never thought he was different. I wish I had never been born.
If I were to dare to dream, what dream would I have? Surely not this nightmare.
I don’t know if I have any dreams left. Nothing seems to make any difference, nothing will ever be whole again. I am merely existing. What a waste of resources, I am.