Yeah, I´m still alive

So it happened, I left home.

I´ve always had trouble with changes. And this is so far the biggest change in my life. I´ve left and I´m not going to come back. The place will be sold. I honestly have thoughts that it would be convenient if my parents died now because that way I could save the place. Oddly enough, I also have thoughts of the place burning down now, while I saved the most important stuff, and nothing remaining. For some reason that would be more bearable than what I´m feeling now.

I´m still not sure if I feel abandoned, or like I have abandoned something. The easiest way to put it might be to say I feel like a homesick little child crying for her mother, just that this child will now have to live alone, and that it´s not my mother I´m crying for. It´s my home.

I feel like I myself ought to die now. I´ve made that step out of my sheltered world, the painful, complicated relationship with my home (and I mean that absolutely literally: with the place!), and the end of this relationship is nothing I should survive. I feel like cutting my wrists so I bleed out all the pain, anxiety and guilt I´m feeling and fall asleep peacefully.

The worst thing is that I still feel like I could get my home back, or that I could keep it. I still frantically think about how much time I still had one month ago, one year ago, or – goodness! – six years ago! I could have thought of something, or done something to become a person who can deal with this, but now here I am, being absolutely not ready for this, and yet it is me who is lying in this strange, foreign room with pieces of my old furniture standing around.

And I was neglectful. I always preferred not to think about it. What was going to come, I mean. For some reason I feel like…well. I was going to say I feel like I want to stop running away from anything at all and just spit out all of my feelings, worries and dark secrets right here. Which is what I´m doing anyway, but it feels unwise. I wish I was the kind of person who doesn´t need this. It makes me vulnerable.  Or maybe, what I dislike so much about it is that I feel better after telling someone, and be it random strangers on the Internet, how weak and helpless and homesick I am. How much I need to be cared about, whatever exactly it is that I need. It feels like a trap. It feels like a price I pay for affection. Being really, really low. Hitting rock bottom. It feels like running back to my mother and telling her how weak and needy I am, making her feel strong and needed and confirming her view of me.  It is okay to show neediness in the presence of people who like you when you´re strong, self-confident and independent. It is not when the people in question prefer you weak and helpless.

Still, I am weak and helpless and needy sometimes, and the easiest way to battle this is to judge myself. Talk about how neglectful or lazy or corrupt I was. Condemnation bears hope, it means that I could or one day can be feeling better if only I change. And maybe there´s something else to it, too, maybe it gives release the way self-harm does. Emotionally hurting oneself, then reaching some kind of catharsis. If you want a more harmless analogy, take a crying fit. Or maybe it´s just a way of taking all my fears (“I´m useless, I´m a bad person, I´m wrong, I´m lazy, I´m a failure, I will always feel this terrible pain and nausea, I am completely alone”) and calming them by stating they´re true. Yes, I am useless, wrong, lazy, a failure, a bad person. Yes, I am alone and I will always suffer. I no longer have to worry any of this might be the case. All of it is.

Again, though, this is a way of killing anxiety that reminds me of ways described in this entry. It seems like a brute force method of invoking a kind of catharsis that cannot last. I will – hopefully, but also likely – at some point feel better again. I will feel independent, brilliant, strong and epic, and I will be ambitious. I will be sarcastic and impatient and demand too much from myself, or I will be cranky and apathetic and refuse to do anything other than watch cartoons. So what is the point of being all lofty now and turning my soul inside out so everyone can see the ugly underside? It seems almost unhealthy, hysterical, dangerous; like a step back.

If I feel the strong need for something like “confession”, then maybe I should engage in it, but in a more reflected way. I think it is a very masochistic drive which I shouldn´t mistake for my route to salvation. Or at least I shouldn´t believe all the nasty things I say about myself when I´m in that state of mind. It´s feelings and fears I have, or maybe just a need to put myself down. Maybe I´ll find a way to express all that without losing sight of my motivation and the drive behind expressing it.

I´m sorry this is getting so boring and theoretical, I guess the part about the homesick little child living inside a tough-as-nails twen was more interesting. I´m also sorry, by the way, if this entry doesn´t even make the remotest sense. I haven´t slept in a while.

Well, it was an attempt at resuming my blogging.


2 Responses to “Yeah, I´m still alive”

  1. My family has had one home my entire life, and I’m back living at home now. I have no idea how I’d feel if the actual place was gone and sold.

    I enjoy your honesty and willingness to engage with your difficulties and the negative side of things, and I wanted to let you know I’ve nominated you for the Very Inspiring Blog Award (participation in its chain-letter aspect is strictly optional):

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