A new chapter

So there's been a lot that's happened since I last wrote. I just can't believe it's only been about eight weeks. It feels like a lot more.

My partner, the man I believed was going to be with me for the rest of my life, told me that he was conflicted. Conflicted because he developed feelings for someone else. All the while, telling me that he never stopped loving me. It hurt. It still does. Not only because I feel like he deceived me, but because I take vows of love and vows of loyalty very seriously. But was I surprised? Through all the hurt...not really. It's just one in another long line of people who take, take, take, and then when it's time for them to really deliver, shut down. I'm at work while I'm writing this, and feel a little off. I feel as though I'm about to burst into tears. We have communicated. I've told him everything I've been feeling. I've yelled, accused, and cried. But most importantly, I opened up. Something I've been wanting to do. Because that's what you do when you love someone.

You see, we've never really shared the same space for more than a week at a time, and that's months apart. We've been (were...however you want to put it) together for three years. The relationship's been long distance. The best part of that is that we were forced to get to know each other. We actually talked. We talked about things that were important to us - dreams, past relationships, family, careers, our future. Then we talked about us - how we felt about each other, what we wanted from each other, and how we were going to get there. I love him so much. I'm not sure he really knows that. But the one thing we really didn't share was physical intimacy. I know I've said that I'm a very sexual person, but when I'm in a relationship, I freeze up. In the back of my head, I'm telling myself  he's going to know what happened to you and he's gonna leave you like everyone else. I resigned myself to tell him. He deserved to know. When he does, he won't know what to do with you. Why should he suffer for something that happened to me? I wanted to enjoy sex with him. But I couldn't because I had this black cloud looming over me...and it slowly started to cast its shadow over the two of us. I hated him feeling as though it was him. It never was.

He finally broke down and told me that part of the reason was because our sex life was so sparse. You see, the reason I never told him was because I couldn't fathom telling him during our two or three days...our special time that we spent together. I never wanted to tell him over the phone - because that would be taking the chicken way out. I certainly never wanted him to think I was using this as a crutch, as a way to keep him in my life and not leave me. I wanted him to be with me because he wanted to be with me. Because we had built up such a solid foundation in our relationship. I wanted to tell him when we were together not on the phone, not just for a few days, but for a lifetime.

But I did. I finally told him. It was such an emotionally heated conversation that I let it out. I was wailing. I couldn't control myself. I wanted him to comfort me. I really needed him with me. I wanted him to hold me, and say no matter what you went through, I will always love you and be by  your side. I am so sorry that happened to you. But I can't remember what he said. I know he said I should talk to someone and get help. It hurt that he didn't say talk to me about everything. I want to know. Let me help you. I love and care about you so much that I'll never leave you, regardless of what you say, think, or feel. But he didn't. And so, now he knows.

So how do I feel about this? Even though, at first, I felt as though I made a horribly big mistake by telling him, and because there's a slim chance that we'll be able to move on together as a couple, I feel like I did the right thing. I feel much lighter.

Getting there

I finally contacted him. The one man I think that can answer a few questions. The one man I feel just a little weird about. I had his phone number and email address. But being the chicken that I am, I decided to email him instead of call. To my surprise, he responded within minutes. He didn't even ask me how I found him (and I didn't offer that information).

His first few emails came quickly. A few of them were even cryptic, almost like he wasn't surprised at all that I initiated contact. When I said that I needed to ask him questions about my past, he suggested meeting and talking about those times. Perhaps he didn't believe I'd take him up on the offer, because when I told him I could meet him, he backed off. He said he found it very strange that I would want to meet him. That his memory isn't what it used to be. That his memory of me wasn't very significant. But that if I felt it was necessary, he'd oblige. After sending my response thanking him, saying it would mean a lot to me, nothing. I received absolutely no reply.

That shouldn't have surprised me. Everywhere I turn for answers, some roadblock always comes up.

I don't want to feel this way anymore.

I'm tired of it.

But then I think...am I not tired of living in the dark?

Fake

I'm a complete and utter fake. I walk through my life as though I'm someone completely different. I pretend to be happy. I pretend to be normal. Deep down inside, I know I'm not. Just when things get really good, something inside me wants to sabotage everything. Like today.

I woke up today in such a funk. I was so upset at the world. I was so upset at me. Everything around me just made me want to close up inside myself. Every person I saw made me cringe. Everyone that spoke to me made me want to cry. I felt so alone among all those people today that I just wanted to run away screaming. Speaking hurt. Smiling felt like it was painful. Thinking was a chore. I felt so tired. I hate those questions. "What's wrong?"..."Are you okay?"..."Everything okay?". Pfft.

Then I get so angry with myself. I can't believe that I let myself be like this. No one is supposed to know that something is wrong with me. Fuck.

Maybe tomorrow

I've been sitting here, staring at this phone number. I keep telling myself to call. Then I end up promising myself I'll do it tomorrow.

I've waited years to find it. To have the ability to make that call. And now...I can't.

I've never been afraid to do anything like this. I'm actually quite gutsy. But now that it has to do with me..with something so personal, I guess I'm chickening out. There's some fear inside that maybe he won't remember me. Maybe he won't be able to answer any of my questions. I've even planned to be someone else when I call so I don't alarm him. Maybe tomorrow.

Regrets

I didn't realize that it's been this long since I last wrote here. I honestly don't know why. I promised myself I would do this regularly, as a form of therapy, and as a way to reach out to whomever may be reading (though I'm inclined to believe that I'm the only one that's reading this).

Several things have happened in the last few months.

I had that dream again. I remember it like it was something that happened in my waking life. I remember tossing and turning, having a lot of difficulty sleeping, I had a rough week and maybe that's why. Maybe it's because there were a few things weighing down on me from the previous days. After a few restless hours, I think I finally fell asleep. At some point, it was like my legs completely fell asleep. Not that "pins-and-needles" feeling, but a numbness, almost as though my legs were cut off...that I had no legs. As the waking me was asleep with his eyes closed, the dreaming me was fully awake, ready to expect the worst. Then everything went dark. I started panting. My throat went dry. Then I felt a weight press down on me so hard, I couldn't breathe. In my head, I could hear my voice. Well, not my voice now. But my voice when I was a little kid. I tried to scream out for my mother. My throat was so hoarse, so dry, nothing came out. I felt myself sweating, trying to push whatever the weight was away from me. "Maaaaa! Maaaaa!" I tried to scream. It felt like hours. My legs were frozen. My chest felt heavy. I woke up lying in a pool of sweat. My head was soaking wet. My shirt was drenched. I'm not sure if I was just screaming in my dream, or if I was screaming in real life, or both. I don't even know if both the real me or dreaming me couldn't because of the parched throat.

I don't know what that all means. I don't know what that weight was. Should I be worried?

I found a phone number of someone that might have some answers. I've had it for a week or so. I'm afraid of calling. I'm not sure what I would say. I've practiced in my head what I think I'd like to say. But then when I think of actually dialing the number, I  get really scared. Will I actually be able to go through with it? What if I don't get the answers I need or am looking for?

I watched a show the other day where a survivor talked about what happened to them. A fictional story. No strands of truth in it. And the person listening...showing signs of empathy and compassion before leaning and hugging the victim. "I'm so sorry that happened to you." What powerful words. No one's ever said that to me. I wish I could take back all my disclosures. I never regret anything. That's the only thing I ever regret in my life. Telling people. And no one ever feeling like they were sorry.

Fear

I'm afraid something's going to happen.

Normal

I'm not normal.
I probably was once.
Then something happened.
And every shred of normalcy vanished.

It isn't normal for someone to constantly question themselves.
It isn't normal for someone to continuously find reasons to live and keep going, only to say "I wanna die today".
It isn't normal for someone to have dreams, try to fulfill them, and then just give up.

For the last week, I've had no reason to be unhappy.
Somehow, I found a reason.
It just crept up on me.

I have so many ideas, so many things I want to do.
I get so excited about them, only to tell myself to forget it, that no one will ever care, that no one will ever give a damn.

Last night, I felt as though I was convulsing.
I felt a heaviness in my chest.
I felt as though I was being hurt, although I felt no pain.
I don't know what that means; it was scary, it lasted about two minutes, I felt like someone's hands were on me.
I hope it's something, some door that's opening.

I hate myself.
I disappoint myself and everyone around me everyday.
I don't want to live.
I just can't do it.
I'd rather someone else did it for me.
I'm so tired.