anndei's Blog

It's been a long time since I have posted anything on this site. I suppose that really could be a good thing since I used it primarily when I was feeling low and worthless. When things started going south this blog space was where I always went to cheer myself up a bit. Helping others and giving advice would always help me in some strange little way. I guess helping others is where I decided to continue my story. A story that, at one point, wasn't a promise.
Today while I was enduring forced volunteer hours at an agency called CONCERN Counseling, I hit the lowest point I have been in a while. The feeling took me back to when I was nine and carved for the first time. It wasn't my skin that I altered, but the sill of my bedroom window. I had a vision of my family from a nine, almost ten year olds eyes. It was perfect and because of this I was 'happy.' It wasn't a real happiness, but once again, like my volunteer hours with CONCERN, it was very forced. It came from a statistic I heard in school, that almost half of marriages end in divorce and that most of the children end up in a single parent household with their birth mother as the head. This wasn't my family. My parents were together. Mom, Dad, my Brother and myself.
We functioned very systematically. My father would sleep all day, spend maybe an hour or two with the rest of us until he went to get his shower and then to work on third shift. My brother and I would always stay in bed until Mom got us up at the last possible second for us to get dressed and shoved into the car to get us to school on time. I could never be sure how clean my clothes were before I got dressed, and if I happened to not be sure if I had clean underwear I would sometimes just take my dad's. His clothes were the only ones in the house I never doubted were clean. Oh and I feel like I should mention that my mom never cared if we made it to school or not. If it were up to her we never would have made it to school, but luckily there are government mandates to make sure children can only miss so many days without an excuse. Too bad that never said anything about tarties.
Alan and I very rarely got breakfast, from mom or the school. In fact, the last time I remember ever getting breakfast was in first, maybe second grade. I remember because mom made us pancakes. I never had time to eat them before leaving for school so I kept them in one of my backpack pockets and took pieces throughout the morning. This happened after I ran out of lunch money because I would show up for breakfast at the school without my mom knowing about it.
Anyway, I would get home from school and need to call my mom at work right away. If anyone else called I was to tell them that she was at work and dad was in the shower. Never could I tell anyone he was actually sleeping and I was home without supervision. There were a few times I would sneak out of the house to play with some kids in the area but the risk of getting caught always seemed worse than any possible punishment my parents could possibly offer. I could never really grasp why.
Generally I had nothing to do other than sit around, eat and watch TV. My mother reinforced not doing my homework because she never understood the point of it. She said that we spent enough time in school that there's no reason we should have work outside of school. Obviously I was more than willing to agree with her.
I was overweight, blond, anti-social with the exception of my cousin, who I felt had more of a duty to be my friend than anything else. My parents were never did much with me, not near as much as they did with my brother, at least, and I felt I really had nothing to live for.
I never imagined myself getting to where I am now. As a nine year old carving my name, my age, and the year, 1999, I wasn't convinced that I would be anyone that would be remembered. With all the Y2K talk I wasn't interested in thinking that far in advance. I remember my thoughts as I dug those letters into the wood. I was completely alone, crying, and wanted to disappear, yet I wanted something to be left. I pictured someone a few years later seeing that carving in the sill. That person was a woman, sitting right where I was while I carved. She was trying to think about me. I tried to imagine how she would picture me. Something fantastic, I hoped. Someone who meant something. Maybe not to me but to her, the thought of a little nine year old girl who she never met meant the world to her. I wanted her to feel the same way I always did when I walked through a graveyard and saw a marker of a child who was younger than I currently was when they passed.

But I'm still here...

I covered that carving. I remember it took a lot of effort. It was a physical memento of all the pain I felt at that time. I cover it with a black paint, along with the rest of my room. I wrote on those walls and erased every once in a while, but making my mark on those walls was my therapy to get me to the next day. It was how I remembered the pain and pushed to get past it.
I left that house now and my mom and brother with it. Living in this new house and trying to make a new living has left me with the need to make a mark. I was hoping to leave that mark on society, but I'm stuck again. I can't get past that nine year old little girl and how helpless she was against the pain around her. She had to keep pushing on and looking back, I don't know how I did it. I'm so desperately wanting to just give up again and toss all my pain to a simple little mark to reassure myself that I am still here and pushing forward. I keep thinking of how easy it would be to just drop to my knees and assume the position society best fits me for instead of where I want to be.

Mom would always have dinner ready for dad before he was ready to leave for work. I'll always remember him yelling at me for taking too many grilled cheese sandwiches before he had his share. I ate too much already. It was my fault.

Not long ago I wrote on my facebook about how I've been starting to be able to see and comprehend the happenings in my life. I see them as a reflection. Tattered and torn in the broken shards. Although I have been broken, like a puzzle the pieces can slowly be reassembled. Of course the cracks will always remain. I see many in the way I present myself. The fear and the lonely-ness  that consumes me. The helplessness and confusion. It all wraps up into a whole that I'd rather not always see. 

Joyce has held me and supported me in ways that no one has before yet I still wonder if it's fair. I can't stand on my own. I know that. I'm not even stable enough to try. I know I suffer from things inside my mind that I'm always much more willing to ignore than face them head on. I know I've faced depression even in moments where I should be happiest. It's a curse yet I continue to push to resolve the issues I face within myself. 

I've never done anything wrong yet I'm continuously faced with pain and sanctioning that I can't handle. Why is my guilt so high for reasons I have no control over and can take no part in? Someone else has a bad day and it's my fault. I have no reason to feel guilt. No reason to reassure myself that there is nothing I can do or could have don't to better the situation. 

Is it realistic to think that my reason for this mood swing is over a futon? That while the girl that makes me happier than any other sits next to me, I relive the explosions and pain and hurt that began over an act of helpfulness? Because of one other, someone who plays no role in how my life should work can bring me down like this and play murderer to the good, honest person I have always tried to be. This dark hole holds no light. I've been here one to many times. I felt I was free yet here I sit writing and debating on the best course of action. 

I'd never reverse back to the me that wished to find an end. I have too much love in my life. These loves are so close, I could never consider it even as my mind plays back the dreams and the experiences. But I know I need a way out. I can't live with someone pressing so much guilt and hatred onto myself over minor misfortunes. There has to be a step where there's no risk of losing my balance again and dipping back into this dreadful place where my thoughts aren't my own. Where I still feel the emptiness of death. Where light can not reach into the deepest trenches. Even as she sits next to me. I need to free myself of this trap.

How do you stop missing someone you love?

How do you stop feeling like your constantly just bothering them?

How do you get them to know how much you care?

How do you prove to someone that they're the only one you ever think of?

How do you get them to believe that everything you do and say revolves around them?

how do you do this after the worry of not knowing what's going on? The Distance placed between you? The jealously that you feel just of her best friend. Just because she's with her and your not. After you couldn't be there? After you admitted all of this. How do you do it? is it even possible?

I don't know what came over me. I paniced. I felt so constricted. I couldn't breath. I was confused. Just because of work. We're working on hiring for the summer. Trainees everywhere. There we're so many people there. They didn't know what they where doing. I have never felt so...lost. In the place that I pretty much live. I seriously started hyperventalating. My hands started shaking. I was scared. I didn't understand what was happening. So I hid. I hid from the managers. Mainly because we're graded on how we handle certain workplace situations. I had to stay in the back all four hours. Only four hours I was there and I was panicing. We have had more people on the clock then what was there today. Another employee started talking to me and she said she felt clastrophobic. That's the word. It seemed to fit how I was feeling. I don't understand though why I handled it so badly. I'm generally just fine around people. even people I don't know. I thought I was going to start crying. I don't understand. This has never happened before. I was scared. Not because of the situation but because of my actions torward it. I don't understand.

Next time. Next time I see her won't be the same. When I attack her this time with a hug she won't pull away. I won't let her. I won't let go. Not again. It's killing me that I was there. Right beside her. Holding her hand. Sleeping against her. Yet I left. Sure I didn't want to but... I don't feel I put up enough of a fight. I could have found a way to be there longer. To be by her side. I cryed the night after. when I was alone again. With only the thought of her being right beside me the night before. How could I have let it go? It was so hard to let her go. So hard to visualize myself leaving where she was. I was dieing. I'm only afraid that when we can touch again, I'll cry again. Just remembering the nights that I had to deal with sleeping by myself. Wrapping myself up in my blankets just trying to feel the same loving and caring touch that only she can provide. It doesn't work. My blankets are cold and lifeless. No matter how tightly I wrap myself in their folds they're just as cold and lifeless as before I was in them. I crave her touch. It's the only thing that is enough to cure this lonelyness. I'm so lost without her. My time with her replays through my head. time and time again. It only makes me miss her more. By telling myself to try and focus on something other than her...I trip. Everything turns back to her. My obsession. My love and my life. She keeps me moving. Only in hope that tomorrow I'll be back in her arms.