Undone

Doesn’t it drive you insane when you’re trying to remember someone’s exact words and all that comes to mind is gibberish. *growls* I want to remember what Aragorn told Eowyn… when they talked before he went into the mountain.

It went a little like this:

Aragorn:”Why do you linger here?”

Eowyn: “Do you not know?”

Aragorn: *pause* “The Man you love is but a thought and a memory.”

I think that’s what he said. it’s the last part i’m worried about. Please, if you’ve just seen the film, i’d LOVE to know. *coughs* You could always Email me… and i’d be greatly beholdin’ to ya. *giggles*

i’m thinking of changing my layout again.. I’m just a fickle girl, I know. Oh, For those of you who haven’t been keeping track of the titles of my blog as of recently (the ones on the pictures) I’ll indulge you (like you care)

Affirmation, Acquiescence, Relapse

it may not seem like a lot to you, but honest. It means something.

i sorta want to explain it to those of you who don’t know me that well, but– part of me hesitates… because i don’t want to keep going on this. I’m tired. I’m tired of ragging on it. That’s what Acquiescence was about.

Passive assent or agreement without protest

it’s okay. I’m going to sink silently into the night, and not bring it up, because– i want the best for you. i want you to be happy. See? This is what i mean. Then… I relapsed.

To fall or slide back into a former state. To regress after partial recovery from illness

or addiction. Obsession. That works too. It’s bad. But I guess i’m sorta dealing with more than just… the one thing. There’s the fact that i’m not taking my medication anymore…. and the relationship that exists mostly in my mind (I guess, but i’d rather not discuss) and …. my first boyfriend. i can’t help it… but every time i look in the mirror I think of the words he’d say

You’re ugly.

you’re not worth anything

God, could you be fatter.

and it’s hard. to not believe him…. to not look at myself and see what he sees. What he saw. He doesn’t look anymore. He’s fairly successful… he has a job, makes more money than I do– he’s still a charmer– and despite the fact that they saw– they SAW what happened to me … girls still fall for it.

I pity them all.

And… I … I would have fallen back into his arms in a heart beat. He had me trained. Might still. *shrugs* i’m not around him enough to know. I can’t let my guard down around him because… if i did, for one minute– i’d be back there– in the hellish place… being hurt– being told those things again.

and the worst thing is that i’d believe him. Every word. because affection, even in it’s most sullied form, is affection. and i need it. I crave it.

i’m more than just casually addicted.

and no– my mum and dad hugged me enough as a child. and there was a lot of love in our home. I know i’m wanted here… that they love me.

but it’s never felt right. The only girl, only daughter, and the youngest, is a dangerous kind of cocktail. Two things you should never mix in a family with alcoholism and depression in it’s background. (not that i’d drink– but still, addictive tendencies) It’s like you’re asking to have a psychotic teen on your hands.

and people always say that i have to love myself before others can love me.

and I’d tell you what i think of that, but i’m trying my hardest not to swear. It’s a bad habit, highly addictive. Gives off lots of tension, with the slip of a tongue. shame on me. *looks sheepish* it’s a load of crap though. There is only one person who can love me the way i am, and sometimes, i don’t talk to him the way I should. Once again with the shame on me…

and honestly, the only people in the world who love me are the ones who don’t know me well, or have known me long enough that they simply must. It may sound like i’m depressed but….

honestly, i’ve not felt better in a long time. not since… well before. I guess I see what i as good and what is good, is different.

I think when I’m not hungry, it’s good. Like yesterday– i ate one meal, and wasn’t hungry the rest of the day. That’s good. good to me. I know it’s because of my depression that i didn’t want to eat– but my desire not to eat, made me happy…. so– my sadness pleases me.

Could I be more masochistic? But I guess, if i wasn’t so down on myself… if i didnt’ hate myself for the way i am– then every thing would be okay. I wouldn’t be so depressed, and i wouldn’t be so masochistic… (being the second and third definition, not the first.)

The deriving of pleasure, or the tendency to derive pleasure, from being humiliated or mistreated, either by another or by oneself.

A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.

That’s me. I hate myself. WHy not put myself through hell? I deserve it.

Why not re run the millions of things i could have done BETTER in a relationship through my head until it makes me ill. Until i can’t sleep… until i can’t cry anymore and the day breaks, and no one knows…. and I can’t tell them. Because they think i’m wrong. that i’m sick

and that i’m misshapen. Ugly, disgusting, foul, defective, erratic, faulty, mishandled, unsound, blasphemous, indecent, iniquitous, profane, damaged, mangled, feeble, and screwed up.

I am. I am all of those things. and I don’t know why. I don’t know why the images linger still. I don’t know why I can’t go on like everyone else.

Maybe i cling to those who show affection who had no need to. It shocks me. Intrigues me…. thrills me. i don’t know why they do it. I want to. and before i can ask– they’re gone.

in a heartbeat.

how can a bond so tight be broken so quickly?

Maybe it’s like shoe laces. You pull them too tightly, and they bust.

I feel busted.

and some of this is about one thing, and some of it is about another. and honestly, i don’t know where the line separates. it seems to be one large ball of pain inside of my brain, and i try to shove it away– try to keep smiling, but i find when i don’t notice what i’m doing, tears begin to well in my eyes. the smile that is so often permanently plastered on my face dissipates.

I’m…. hurting. From things so far in the past that i can’t even remember them clearly– from pushing them away so hard…. and from the present. the constant sting of my ever absent friends. but i keep reminding myself.

not everything is about me. everyone has problems. everyone has hurts, and everyone deals with them.

why are you having such an issue?

sometimes i’m angry with myself for saying that. I’m NOT like everyone else– i care. I care about everyone. I care about the freakish jerk who cuts me off in traffic. I care about the homeless person on the street.

and this isn’t a little care. This is overwhelming care. This is inside of my brain all of the time– constantly making me feel. as if to make up for all of those years of not caring…. for not feeling anything….

Derringer Meryl [Something’s here I’m not quite getting] Out