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I'm still all right; just a rant
Aug. 3rd, 2011 06:08 pmI think All The Things just piled on and I'd shoved them aside to deal with them later, and now it's later, and last night I broke down in front of Adam, like to the point of being unable to speak because the crying was so severe, and I called myself a monster, that I shouldn't exist, that I shouldn't be here like this, that I was lazy and no good and unmotivated and scared of myself and uncaring and insecure, and I wanted my masks and my costumes and my pretend face, my cosmetics and makeups and lotions and creams, all the topical things that made my outside skin prettier than my inside, and I wanted to keep saying I was fine and I could get up and keep going, and all sorts of things even though I wanted to fade away...
And he took my hands and he talked to me. He talked to me with tears running down his face and he told me I was kind and gentle and friendly and sweet and wonderful and brilliant and that I really just needed to be more determined, and I could do anything, anything, and yes I would never be cured, but I could make the symptoms less terrible. Like those tales of Sleeping Beauty where the final fairy shifts the death curse into a century-long sleep curse. No cure, just less awfulness. Oh, the tears. He shares my chronic pain, spending hours and hours awake with no food just to get the job done, his back and legs exploding in pain and he just keeps going, and I want to just keep going but I'm not him, I have a different body, and I just want to BE.
We cried and held each other and he told me how very special I am. He told me I was the most special person he had ever known. I felt his love as a tangible thing, something wrapping around me and weaving through me, and I knew deep deep down that he would do anything for me, anything at all, and it made me cry even harder, because there is that part of me that is monstrous and hates myself and doesn't think I deserve it. It's a quiet part, though. It's a very quiet part.
There are so many things I am going to do, you know. There are so many things I am scared of. There are so many ways I want to do everything. There are so many ways I hurt and hurt and I'm so tired of people telling me that it's not so bad.
Today, I tore a muscle in my lower back. Everything makes me scream. I'm trying to find the proper ethernet cable so I can fix our Netflix problem, but it's taking time and concentration, and I may just take a codeine just to get the pain out of the way.
I'm so fucking tired. I don't even want to take a walk. The simple task of sorting through wires is agonizing and my hands are shaking and on fire.
But in the end, I do love myself. I promise. Pinky swear.
/pity rant over
And he took my hands and he talked to me. He talked to me with tears running down his face and he told me I was kind and gentle and friendly and sweet and wonderful and brilliant and that I really just needed to be more determined, and I could do anything, anything, and yes I would never be cured, but I could make the symptoms less terrible. Like those tales of Sleeping Beauty where the final fairy shifts the death curse into a century-long sleep curse. No cure, just less awfulness. Oh, the tears. He shares my chronic pain, spending hours and hours awake with no food just to get the job done, his back and legs exploding in pain and he just keeps going, and I want to just keep going but I'm not him, I have a different body, and I just want to BE.
We cried and held each other and he told me how very special I am. He told me I was the most special person he had ever known. I felt his love as a tangible thing, something wrapping around me and weaving through me, and I knew deep deep down that he would do anything for me, anything at all, and it made me cry even harder, because there is that part of me that is monstrous and hates myself and doesn't think I deserve it. It's a quiet part, though. It's a very quiet part.
There are so many things I am going to do, you know. There are so many things I am scared of. There are so many ways I want to do everything. There are so many ways I hurt and hurt and I'm so tired of people telling me that it's not so bad.
Today, I tore a muscle in my lower back. Everything makes me scream. I'm trying to find the proper ethernet cable so I can fix our Netflix problem, but it's taking time and concentration, and I may just take a codeine just to get the pain out of the way.
I'm so fucking tired. I don't even want to take a walk. The simple task of sorting through wires is agonizing and my hands are shaking and on fire.
But in the end, I do love myself. I promise. Pinky swear.
/pity rant over
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