Like 90 percent of the time I never stick up for myself. Out of fear.
I don't feel like I'll be believed when I say things like "I'm just as afraid now of doing it as I was at 5 yrs old". But that's the truth.
Anger, grief. The feeling of being outcastes...there's nothing *particularly* gruesome or depressing about my experiences I've found. What hurts is how long it has went on, trauma giving way to fear, and how little I've really learned from it. I spend most of my time in some sort of fantasy mindscape. So familiar it's a hurdle too.
I was supposed to get better. I was meant to be smart and show it. Meant to be trusting and capable of being giving of myself and my soul, but I keep getting tripped up.
It happened so much over so long that each individual insult, each time alot of love and empathy was mischaractarised as scorn scheming or just plain not noticed at all.
So many. I lm so scared to trust now. My brain just keeps seeing vipers and backing off. It's to the point now where I hit things in my house when the anguish spills over. Not good.
*sigh*. Been watching house recently. A line that floats over my head dangling these days:
"Three options in life; You *are* good, you *get* good or you give up."
I think I just spend most of my life giving up. Occasionally trying to be decent above background radiation levels. But my brain, the ADHD, whizzes past working on it long term, because it fears committing to long term goals. Passing words of a person not even paying attention nhave destroyed months of comittment in my past.
As for getting good ..I can't even be good half the time anymore.
The whole story of my life feels off and like it's not going like it was meant to. I'm too good at feeling fear and too crap at processing anger. But worst of all, I am ungodly stubborn. Truly. I still haven't met anyone as stubborn as me as far I can tell.
My stubbornness has always maladapted towards keeping me mentally locked in. Emotionally locked in. It's not entirely my enemy. I don't think I'd still be alive if I was stubborn enough about living afraid. But that's still slot of stubbornness.
Free me of this spite and poison in my stomach, I want to be free.
But I've said that before. Haven't I, Iona?
