Friday, August 1, 2014

Happiness: Flawed Coping Mechanism

Last night I had a nightmare that ended with me being in a broken pool full of people and once the pool broke, they all crushed me to death since it was on a slope.

Needless to say, I'm a little droopy. But today is also my boyfriend and I's one year anniversary, and I'm happy. But equal parts nervous.

I have never had a relationship outside of this one last this long, that was not long distance.  I have mulled over why not over and over in my head for years but could only assume I either had terrible taste, terrible timing, and a troubled mind.  And now, today, I finally have met a milestone various friends have both equally reached and surpassed various times with ease.

I don't want reaching a milestone in a relationship to be my biggest accomplishment. I think I'm afraid that I'm becoming dependent, or that I'll lose a part of myself now the more time I invest. My boyfriend has the more dominant persona, and that's fine because it's one of the things I like about him, but I fear my own persona being lessened because I get too involved.  With other men, it's always been baffling to me when I've finally mustered up the chutzpah to confront them about their poor treatment and they scatter like waves rather than engage or fight for me. Or disagree. Maybe I was the only one with balls to call them out on being terrible people.

I made the mistake of dating a younger guy last time. In my defense, he looked 30 (Russian men are strange that way) and had no idea his age until AFTER I had started liking him. So there's my justification. I still feel like a creeper.

Anyhoo, we started to date and it was so nice because he was so innocent. Seriously, I was probably his first real girlfriend (and first in a lot of other things, HIGH FIVE BRO) and it was nice. For a while. And then 3 months in, things changed.

For one, most of his friends (a select few are very nice and people I keep some contact with) are real douchebags. Actually, that word doesn't even capture the amount of terrible that runs through their veins, as one of his friends once beat the shit out of a girl for no reason other than she tried to step in front of him while he was beating up her boyfriend.  These are the people he hung out with, a lot.

So much so, that once I got a second job and he got a job, he would rather play football with them (and guys, it was MARCH) than hang out with me.  I don't think he ever even took me out to dinner in the whole 5 months we dated. And on Valentine's Day, I was fed up.  I had picked something out for us to do that was relatively inexpensive (yes, I PLANNED MY OWN ROMANTIC DAY) and bought him a card and soem chocolates he liked.  He calls me the night before and asks if we can go see Die Hard, because he spent all his money shopping for clothes and taking his parents out to dinner the day before Valentine's Day.

Normally that would be very sweet, but the poor timing was ridiculous. So we compromised on seeing warm bodies, I dressed up even. He didn't notice. I paid for my own halal food and movie ticket. We saw the movie, he left. I went to the thing I wanted to go to. I cried on the way home because I felt so undervalued  and foolish for investing so much time and effort into someone who would never, EVER appreciate it.

And how do I know he'll never appreciate it? Because a week after our "nice" breakup, he starts telling people I'm a huge slut and that he humped me and posts a bunch of articles about how you shouldn't date sluts.

This, people, is why I don't want to live on this planet sometimes. Because I know there are millions of people who have had this and WORSE happen to them. And they should all eat a bunch of

But then, sometimes something good comes along. And then, you realize you might be the one to fuck it up and be the only one to really feel the loss if you do, because that's the way of the world.

I feel better after getting all of that out. It's really terrifying to be this in love with someone, but also really rewarding.

I'm very lucky.

-Grace #Adulting

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The Scarlet Letter

Sometimes I feel like my brain is a hand that has no opposable thumb; that it is lacking in the most basic of functions and reasoning.

But other times I wonder if I feel this way because it's easier to just say something is wrong with me.

Every night, for the past 9 months I have listened to various meditations, mantras, motivational speeches. I've used delta waves, repetition, osmosis, you name it.  I even tried praying. I don't even believe in God, and if I did I'm not egotistical enough to think he'd take the time to listen to me with all the other shit happening.

I have exercised.  I have reflected. I have written. I have sang. And I have cried.

Oh, how I have cried.

I went to the psychiatrist today. I made the appointment 3 weeks ago and have waited anxiously for it since. I wanted help.

He prescribed me pills.

They are not high dosage, they are not intense.  We spoke for about 30 minutes, and he never gave me a diagnosis. I had spoken to him of the various ones I'd had.

He prescribed me pills and psychotherapy, because part of my issue was a personality trait.  I have been off and on meds since I was 14, and talking about my extensive history of struggling was strange because it has been a very long time since I had said it all aloud.  It was like a juvenile's rap sheet, and my conviction was on his prescription pad.

I was ecstatic. I was relieved. I thought "Now I've got the magic elixir, and it will all click in my head and I will be normal".  Then I talked to my boyfriend about it.

My boyfriend is the most level headed, pragmatic and emotionally intelligent person I know. He's also a naturalist who prescribes to his own belief that you just "get it" after continuously thinking about how you need to change.

It made me feel like a failure.

The shame is so palpable I can feel its heat vibrating off my chest and now I want to just crawl under a rock  or live like a hermit.

I'm a failure.

He didn't mean to make me feel this way. Not once did he criticize my choice, he even told me he was proud of me. But I know. I know there's a "but" somewhere.  I know, deep down most likely subconsciously he's lost a little respect for me, as does everyone who finds out I am on medication.  There is always the attached "well, she's on meds".  It's hard enough being taken seriously as a woman. It is a bookmark. It is a stamp.

It is what keeps me up at night frantically listening to these recordings until I wake up in the morning with palpitations and terror.  I am afraid of what I will do or say.

I am afraid that what I accomplish or fail will always be shadowed by this aspect of myself. I fear having people give me that look, the look of pity and the look of fear as if you have something contagious.  I have given it to people myself, and I am so, so sorry for it.

Because it is a scar. It is a branding.

It is a scarlet letter.

-Grace #Adulting