Dysalexic

The 10th of this month marked one year since my last relationship technically ended. I didn’t think it would affect me at all. I let the day go by without even stopping to reflect on the changes that have occurred. Yet, the past week has riddled me with complete anxiety. And to be fair, a lot of it doesn’t have anything to do with the past, but rather my own illness. But the part of the anxiety I can control should be expressed.

The past year has been an exploration of independence. Upon rereading my journal entries from the month of that breakup, I realize the trauma that has been inflicted upon my sense of self. That was the most horrible 10 months. The first month was spent with someone who treated me as a yo-yo. He couldn’t let go of me, so instead he played upon my insecurity, morality and concept of love and relationships. He would see me slipping away and then reach for me, and in my instability I reacted in ways that I cannot fathom any longer. I was angry, scared, violent and compulsive; all things I have since learned to control and channel. But the situation being what it was at the time, I was unable to react in any other way. It was a lesson in growing up. I had no support system at the time, minus my dog and the fact that I was able to put pen to paper and constructively turn those impulsive thoughts into concise declarations of how I was feeling and what I needed to do to stop those feelings.

I asserted my independence. I took off on vacation to Colorado and upon my return my whole sense of self changed. I was free. I didn’t need anyone to tell me where to go or what to do or who to be. I didn’t even need friends any more. I just needed to do what I wanted to do and everything would follow inline. I worked my ass off, and cultivated new relationships. I stopped being terrified to take risks, to meet people and to therapeutically put myself into unknown situations where the outcome was unclear.

Somehow independence transcended into a reckless behavior that has become the norm. I have had little concern as to my personal well being. I put myself in a hospital at one point in time. I have used men the way men use women to distract themselves. The people I have dated I have not even been able to tolerate when I’m sober. Even my friendships have been somewhat superficial, based on the fact that all I really want is the free will to do what I want. I am offended by the close friends I have who tell me they are worried about what I am doing.

Now I need some stability. I think when my closest friend left a couple of months ago, that was when I realized that I can’t do this anymore. I need someone I can turn to, confide in and be with regardless of my level of intoxication. The fact that this friend still feels like a phantom limb in my life is the most depressing feeling that I have encountered in years.

But it has instilled in me this fear that maybe I am unable to form a lasting and tangible relationship with people right now. I spent a year talking myself out of feelings… talking myself out of forming a solid connection with another person. And all of the sudden I have a new person in my life who does not trust me as much as I do not trust myself. When he told me the other night that we both are clearly having trouble trusting each other, I took a step back and, after the initial burst of irritation and anger at the statement, realized that he’s right. If I’m unable to tell him these things about myself, or unwilling, then why SHOULD he trust me? After spending a year pinpointing all of the things I’m unable to love about a potential boyfriend, I think I’ve mutilated my ability to trust and love. How in the world can you know if you can be with someone if you spend all of your time talking yourself out of feelings? I’m unable to let myself go, to drop these walls and let someone really see me. Not the superficial, happy-go-lucky drunk me. The real person who has these selfish inner monologues and is so afraid to be intimate that they hate other people rather than love them.

I need to stop. I need to dispel the notion that I cannot be happy with another person. Or, it’s not so much that I can’t be happy with another person, but more so that I am scared to love because love equals pain. Of course it does. If love wasn’t painful, it would be boring… right?

Guh. Stupid brain. Shut yourself off.

I can’t tell what’s going on here. There are moments of extreme tenderness, so unwarranted. I have not asked for them, and the fact that they exist is actually more infuriating than exciting. It’s boggling my mind a little bit, and mostly because I think I’ve finally figured out what I want. I want normalcy. I want someone to take me on dates and hold my hand and pet my head and give me pet names, not because they can’t remember my name, but because they actually care about me. I want a little love in my love life, for once. Not these douchers and scumbags that I seem to end up with Every. Single. Time.

My legs are sticking to the sheets. It’s so hot. My apartment is 100 degrees, give or take, and I love it. It feels so good to swelter. I could leave. I could go somewhere outside and enjoy a tasty beverage on a patio, but that more often than not leads to uncomfortable situations lately.

I need to be careful. Every day I feel like I’m teetering on the verge of complete disarray, but somehow I am holding it all together. I’m accomplishing goals, and establishing new ones. I’m ready for a huge change, and I feel as though my debauchery is the recourse of this impending decision. I have been behaving as though I am a lush, and while this is not true.. I suppose in a way it is. It’s hard for me to stay still. It’s hard for me to not be gluttonous.

I also, once again, have too many men in my life. But only one is really intriguing. It’s always the case, huh? But, since Portland, Maine is the smallest place on earth, there of course is history. Not between us personally, but my reputation probably precedes me. Well, it definitely does. Gah. Vague.

I need to work on my book. Or my cookbook. Or something to keep me moving forward, instead of being tossed about from person to person, from dance venue to dance venue or from bar to bar.

Also, I miss my friend in Colorado. It’s really quite a shame that we didn’t spend time together when we were both in the same location, considering the strength of our current friendship.

This Saturday morning is for damage control. But the sad thing is that I have no idea how to control any of it. Or, if I even want to. I break my own heart on a daily basis due to lack of communication, and not even on my part. I don’t know how I can spill my soul to someone that I’m supposed to trust and walk away feeling so blatantly cut open. Like that person just took a part of me and because I’m prone to verbal vomit, I can never get that back. And I don’t even want them around me anymore because a) I feel so raw b) they look at me like I’m damaged and c) their lack of support is appalling. So I should walk away, right? Find someone else who is more capable of understanding me, and who I am more capable of understanding. That seems logical, but most of the time logic is not my friend and REALLY I’m probably too much of a lush to be in a logical relationship.

… I wish you’d just call me back.