I'm glad I didn't die before I met you
Jan. 23rd, 2011 05:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rachg82I am officially a fan of catharsis.
And crying for hours like a baby, then picking yourself back up & saying, "Well, that was new."
Because you've cried before, but not like that. Not without a bottom.
Landing on two feet with no denial.
You're not crazy. You don't even need to *get through this*, to make it go away. It's okay if you don't.
It's okay if it turns out the bottom doesn't exist.
You've given yourself permission to feel, to hurt. No endgame, no purpose. Just hurt. Because it's honest. Because it's real.
It turns out that's the only way the falling stops.
It will come back. It's all right. You've lived with it for nearly three decades. You're a human being. You're a survivor. You never got to be a child.
You still deserve emotions. You still deserve truth. You still deserve life. Imperfection & hope. You've been spoonfed lies & blame yourself for hating the dish. No one ever taught you how to cook a balanced meal.
It will take time.
It wasn't your fault.
You're not alone.
You're not bad.
There's no glass wall; you on one side, humanity on the other. You're not wrong. They're not better.
There are so many faces, so many lives. No one's the same. You have your path, he has his, she has hers, they have theirs, everyone walks alone. All are connected. The bond is tenuous. No one feels it. We pretend to anyway.
But we're not alone. It's only in our heads. Our minds are so big. Our lives are so long. Our hands are empty. We look to the surface.
Signals from the universe, as Micah says. Signals in the dark.
Webs of string, points of light.
We try so hard.
We don't know where we're going.
Sometimes we get lost.
And. . .yeah. That's pretty much it. Ramble ramble ramble. My brain likes to spew words sometimes. Blame the fanfic. (It's totally rambly like that so far--just, y'know, fyi. Ha. I'm sure typical prose & dialogue will come soon, but right now it's all, "Nope, sorry. Booth & Brennan's heads. That's all we're doin'. You will not deter me. VIVA LE RESISTANCE.")
The good thing about it though is that I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning last night adding to what I'd written so far, and now I'm really pleased with where it's going. The stalled mojo & picky frustration is no more. Hallelujah.
I'm surprised by how much the story has ended up being about Booth's mindset, honestly. Last time I jumped headfirst into Brennan's POV, and this one will do that too, but it's devoting way more time to Booth than I planned. What can I say--ACA shit is coming out of the woodworks. If he doesn't want me writing about him, he needs to stop being such a textbook case. Heh.
Seriously though. I'm kind of realizing that I think that's why I'm so harsh on him sometimes. Everyone knows I relate to Brennan. But I identify with Booth too. My father is an alcoholic. He was physically abusive. Not to me (okay, that's not true, but I don't remember it. I was a baby. Otherwise, he just constantly threatened me), but to my sister, and to those around me. There was physical abuse in my mom's home. As for me? I got the emotional abuse. On top of that, you all know about my mom. I was the daughter of a drug addict. Of a mentally ill & abused woman. And there was my stepdad. I can teach a course in codependency & show you how it's done. I understand denial. I know what it's like to want to save everyone, to push down your emotions, to do the right thing, to destroy yourself and cover it up, to never believe you'll deserve love but never stop trying.
You want so badly to believe.
You carry it all on your shoulders.
When you see it in others, you hold them to your own high standards, and they're impossible to meet. You are so angry inside, but you smile. You are positive. Happy people piss you off. Lucky people piss you off. You're not jealous. You don't know what you are.
You work hard for everything you get.
It's all of that & so much more. I GET HIM. And it's why I'm so tough on him. The fact that he came from that & turned to gambling? There are no people in the world that I'm more of a hard-ass on than addicts (or those who enable them, for that matter. Same goes with abusers). The words "I hate addicts" have come out of my mouth. I don't even mean it, but I FEEL it. They lie. They lie to themselves & others. And fans who don't come from the home of an addict don't get that. Once the addictive behavior stops, the addict doesn't go away. Hence the term "recovering addict." It's every day, it's hard work, and it's not some "tada! I'm cured!" lifetime special of the week. It's in him forever. His genes, his childhood, his mind. Like a thumbprint. The fact that he's lying right now? (i.e. not telling Hannah about his past? Telling people Bones said she told him she "loved" him, etc) And shows no indication of ever attending meetings, considering all the signs of struggle? Makes me nervous for him. It makes me come down hard on him. He is falling back on old habits. Suppressing emotion, denying his own truths, shutting down.
And it's unfair. Because it takes time. Because he was the oldest child, because he doesn't know how to feel his feelings, because he's hurt. Because he's scared. Because addiction was taught to him like riding a bike. Because we all repeat those lessons in different ways. Some of us stop eating, some of us cut, some of us gamble, some of us drink. We all deal with our emotions differently.
He may lie, but I lied once too.
"I'm worried about you. I think you're depressed."
"I'm fine."
Maybe it took him more time to stop lying, but it's not a race.
Anyway. Again, I'm rambling. Point being, this fic is turning out to be cathartic, much like the last. Not just because of Booth--though very much so because of him--but also because of Bones. Those two. I swear to God.
In other news, I'm hungry. Did you notice that? *points to mood status* And when I say I'm "hungry", I mean my stomach is rumbling. Why, hello, old friend. Why don't you stay awhile?
It's been happening since last night. I know what you're thinking--WTF, GO EAT--but I almost don't want to. I'm kind of relishing it. (don't worry; I just grabbed food anyway. Heh. Resolutions and all)
I don't remember my body really feeling hungry--other than in terms of lightheadedness & confusion--since at least before the Fall of 2009 (fairly symbolic, eh?). I didn't start taking Prozac until January of 2010 & I didn't start taking Topomax (for my migraines--fuck lot of good that's done me. I still can't decide if I should quit. It definitely helped decrease the frequency of the severe ones, which was great, but I still have the chronic daily ones. Plus the side effects are still a concern) until a month or so later. In other words: I know it wasn't the medication that did it. I've been like this for A WHILE. It might not have helped, sure (some people actually take Topomax to lose weight), but seriously. My doctor largely convinced me to start the Prozac because I wasn't eating and, when I did, constantly threw up everything I ate. I was such a nervous wreck, my stomach was fucking shattered. My appetite was gone & I was actually becoming afraid of food. It didn't matter what I did. Turkey noodle soup? In my throat. Peanut butter sandwich? Up & out. Green tea with honey? Acidy churning.
Meanwhile my family was making it their mission to charge us all off a cliff. My walls were cracking. February arrived & burned the house down.
When![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dradiscontact stayed with me last month, she insisted on cooking dinners as a way of thanking me for opening up my home to her. (apparently it's a Southern thing. She's from Texas. She kept trying to clean the dishes too. Very sneaky. I blocked the door when she attempted to take out the trash with no shoes on. Unfortunately she's got a foot of height difference on me.) When she'd ask me if I was hungry, I couldn't answer. I didn't know.
It's been so long since I've been able to know.
On Thursday, I technically ate twice, but only had a lunchable & a peanut butter sandwich. Yesterday, I slept in, ate a burrito & chips, and then spent the evening distracted by my writing & filling my face-hole with German chocolate. Technically, that was some resolutionFAIL right there, but it was unintentional.
It's tempting to say that's why my stomach is rumbling--not enough food for days on end--but it wouldn't be the truth. I've had PLENTY of days like that. I went weeks and weeks and weeks eating only once a day. I lived on slimfast shakes & chicken noodle soup & protein bars. My stomach remained dead.
It's probably weird to smile over a rumbling stomach, I know. But it feels good. It feels alive.
It's my stepdad's birthday today. When I ask myself what I feel, this is all I can think:
It feels like they're on the other side of town,
and I'm here.
It feels like I'm glad to be here.
It still hurts.
In my chest.
Disappointments & lies,
shame & fear.
But I'm here.
They're there.
I'm alive.
I can keep moving.
I don't know where I'm going.
And it's okay.
On a final note, I noticed a typo in a previous entry of mine today, and I left it alone. I didn't correct it. It made me anxious & uncomfortable, and I reminded myself of the 20% fuck-up factor. It's what "The Adult Child's Guide To What's Normal" (a book I bought last year) talks about. Being imperfect is okay. People like me sometimes need to force themselves to be okay with it. It takes practice. It feels wrong & scratches like an itch. You've gotta correct it; you can't let it go. The truth is--eventually I'll forget the itch is there, and it won't matter anymore. NO ONE ELSE CARES.
For my Vid of the Day, I'm continuing my theme of taking-time-for-joy by sharing with you guys my favorite love song. It will absolutely make an appearance in my upcoming Fanfic Soundtrack, which--btw--is getting totally out of control. Haha. Lord help me.
And crying for hours like a baby, then picking yourself back up & saying, "Well, that was new."
Because you've cried before, but not like that. Not without a bottom.
Landing on two feet with no denial.
You're not crazy. You don't even need to *get through this*, to make it go away. It's okay if you don't.
It's okay if it turns out the bottom doesn't exist.
You've given yourself permission to feel, to hurt. No endgame, no purpose. Just hurt. Because it's honest. Because it's real.
It turns out that's the only way the falling stops.
It will come back. It's all right. You've lived with it for nearly three decades. You're a human being. You're a survivor. You never got to be a child.
You still deserve emotions. You still deserve truth. You still deserve life. Imperfection & hope. You've been spoonfed lies & blame yourself for hating the dish. No one ever taught you how to cook a balanced meal.
It will take time.
It wasn't your fault.
You're not alone.
You're not bad.
There's no glass wall; you on one side, humanity on the other. You're not wrong. They're not better.
There are so many faces, so many lives. No one's the same. You have your path, he has his, she has hers, they have theirs, everyone walks alone. All are connected. The bond is tenuous. No one feels it. We pretend to anyway.
But we're not alone. It's only in our heads. Our minds are so big. Our lives are so long. Our hands are empty. We look to the surface.
Signals from the universe, as Micah says. Signals in the dark.
Webs of string, points of light.
We try so hard.
We don't know where we're going.
Sometimes we get lost.
And. . .yeah. That's pretty much it. Ramble ramble ramble. My brain likes to spew words sometimes. Blame the fanfic. (It's totally rambly like that so far--just, y'know, fyi. Ha. I'm sure typical prose & dialogue will come soon, but right now it's all, "Nope, sorry. Booth & Brennan's heads. That's all we're doin'. You will not deter me. VIVA LE RESISTANCE.")
The good thing about it though is that I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning last night adding to what I'd written so far, and now I'm really pleased with where it's going. The stalled mojo & picky frustration is no more. Hallelujah.
I'm surprised by how much the story has ended up being about Booth's mindset, honestly. Last time I jumped headfirst into Brennan's POV, and this one will do that too, but it's devoting way more time to Booth than I planned. What can I say--ACA shit is coming out of the woodworks. If he doesn't want me writing about him, he needs to stop being such a textbook case. Heh.
Seriously though. I'm kind of realizing that I think that's why I'm so harsh on him sometimes. Everyone knows I relate to Brennan. But I identify with Booth too. My father is an alcoholic. He was physically abusive. Not to me (okay, that's not true, but I don't remember it. I was a baby. Otherwise, he just constantly threatened me), but to my sister, and to those around me. There was physical abuse in my mom's home. As for me? I got the emotional abuse. On top of that, you all know about my mom. I was the daughter of a drug addict. Of a mentally ill & abused woman. And there was my stepdad. I can teach a course in codependency & show you how it's done. I understand denial. I know what it's like to want to save everyone, to push down your emotions, to do the right thing, to destroy yourself and cover it up, to never believe you'll deserve love but never stop trying.
You want so badly to believe.
You carry it all on your shoulders.
When you see it in others, you hold them to your own high standards, and they're impossible to meet. You are so angry inside, but you smile. You are positive. Happy people piss you off. Lucky people piss you off. You're not jealous. You don't know what you are.
You work hard for everything you get.
It's all of that & so much more. I GET HIM. And it's why I'm so tough on him. The fact that he came from that & turned to gambling? There are no people in the world that I'm more of a hard-ass on than addicts (or those who enable them, for that matter. Same goes with abusers). The words "I hate addicts" have come out of my mouth. I don't even mean it, but I FEEL it. They lie. They lie to themselves & others. And fans who don't come from the home of an addict don't get that. Once the addictive behavior stops, the addict doesn't go away. Hence the term "recovering addict." It's every day, it's hard work, and it's not some "tada! I'm cured!" lifetime special of the week. It's in him forever. His genes, his childhood, his mind. Like a thumbprint. The fact that he's lying right now? (i.e. not telling Hannah about his past? Telling people Bones said she told him she "loved" him, etc) And shows no indication of ever attending meetings, considering all the signs of struggle? Makes me nervous for him. It makes me come down hard on him. He is falling back on old habits. Suppressing emotion, denying his own truths, shutting down.
And it's unfair. Because it takes time. Because he was the oldest child, because he doesn't know how to feel his feelings, because he's hurt. Because he's scared. Because addiction was taught to him like riding a bike. Because we all repeat those lessons in different ways. Some of us stop eating, some of us cut, some of us gamble, some of us drink. We all deal with our emotions differently.
He may lie, but I lied once too.
"I'm worried about you. I think you're depressed."
"I'm fine."
Maybe it took him more time to stop lying, but it's not a race.
Anyway. Again, I'm rambling. Point being, this fic is turning out to be cathartic, much like the last. Not just because of Booth--though very much so because of him--but also because of Bones. Those two. I swear to God.
In other news, I'm hungry. Did you notice that? *points to mood status* And when I say I'm "hungry", I mean my stomach is rumbling. Why, hello, old friend. Why don't you stay awhile?
It's been happening since last night. I know what you're thinking--WTF, GO EAT--but I almost don't want to. I'm kind of relishing it. (don't worry; I just grabbed food anyway. Heh. Resolutions and all)
I don't remember my body really feeling hungry--other than in terms of lightheadedness & confusion--since at least before the Fall of 2009 (fairly symbolic, eh?). I didn't start taking Prozac until January of 2010 & I didn't start taking Topomax (for my migraines--fuck lot of good that's done me. I still can't decide if I should quit. It definitely helped decrease the frequency of the severe ones, which was great, but I still have the chronic daily ones. Plus the side effects are still a concern) until a month or so later. In other words: I know it wasn't the medication that did it. I've been like this for A WHILE. It might not have helped, sure (some people actually take Topomax to lose weight), but seriously. My doctor largely convinced me to start the Prozac because I wasn't eating and, when I did, constantly threw up everything I ate. I was such a nervous wreck, my stomach was fucking shattered. My appetite was gone & I was actually becoming afraid of food. It didn't matter what I did. Turkey noodle soup? In my throat. Peanut butter sandwich? Up & out. Green tea with honey? Acidy churning.
Meanwhile my family was making it their mission to charge us all off a cliff. My walls were cracking. February arrived & burned the house down.
When
dradiscontact stayed with me last month, she insisted on cooking dinners as a way of thanking me for opening up my home to her. (apparently it's a Southern thing. She's from Texas. She kept trying to clean the dishes too. Very sneaky. I blocked the door when she attempted to take out the trash with no shoes on. Unfortunately she's got a foot of height difference on me.) When she'd ask me if I was hungry, I couldn't answer. I didn't know. It's been so long since I've been able to know.
On Thursday, I technically ate twice, but only had a lunchable & a peanut butter sandwich. Yesterday, I slept in, ate a burrito & chips, and then spent the evening distracted by my writing & filling my face-hole with German chocolate. Technically, that was some resolutionFAIL right there, but it was unintentional.
It's tempting to say that's why my stomach is rumbling--not enough food for days on end--but it wouldn't be the truth. I've had PLENTY of days like that. I went weeks and weeks and weeks eating only once a day. I lived on slimfast shakes & chicken noodle soup & protein bars. My stomach remained dead.
It's probably weird to smile over a rumbling stomach, I know. But it feels good. It feels alive.
It's my stepdad's birthday today. When I ask myself what I feel, this is all I can think:
It feels like they're on the other side of town,
and I'm here.
It feels like I'm glad to be here.
It still hurts.
In my chest.
Disappointments & lies,
shame & fear.
But I'm here.
They're there.
I'm alive.
I can keep moving.
I don't know where I'm going.
And it's okay.
On a final note, I noticed a typo in a previous entry of mine today, and I left it alone. I didn't correct it. It made me anxious & uncomfortable, and I reminded myself of the 20% fuck-up factor. It's what "The Adult Child's Guide To What's Normal" (a book I bought last year) talks about. Being imperfect is okay. People like me sometimes need to force themselves to be okay with it. It takes practice. It feels wrong & scratches like an itch. You've gotta correct it; you can't let it go. The truth is--eventually I'll forget the itch is there, and it won't matter anymore. NO ONE ELSE CARES.
For my Vid of the Day, I'm continuing my theme of taking-time-for-joy by sharing with you guys my favorite love song. It will absolutely make an appearance in my upcoming Fanfic Soundtrack, which--btw--is getting totally out of control. Haha. Lord help me.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-24 02:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-24 03:00 am (UTC)Tears. Down my face. You just made me laugh so hard.
"I'M DOING FANTASTIC! NOW, LET ME PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE! P.S. Have a great day."
God, I hope dealing with my emotions somehow helps the headaches. I've been fighting them since I was a kid. I mean, a KID-kid. They became daily at 16, but I've had them much longer than that. My dad had them since he was four, my brother had them since at least seven, and so on & so forth. I don't know if I can ever be completely rid of them (for genetic reasons)--barring the possibility of miraculous neurological hijinks--but it sure would be nice to improve the situation.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-31 12:16 am (UTC)Oh and keep writing down your dreams. I was reading through mine and the patterns are super enlightening.