Trashy place to vent

It means it's over.

The loud despair that drowned everything, that screamed so high it made all else a whisper: it's over. I can feel normal pain again. And although it's awful, it's familiar. Like returning to a messy house after a strenuous day: maybe it's not ideal, and there's still so much work to do, so many things to fix, but it is home.

I feel so anxious and impotent and grudgy and ashamed and angry for feeling ashamed... I want to cut him off, it's healthier to cut him off, since I can't forgive what he did to mom. What he did to me, to my family... He really screwed up, time after time, and he holds no regrets about trying to alienate me or all his shameful attempts at manipulation. I know that if I get close he'll only do it again, only shatter my heart again... Because sadly, even if I know and despise what he's done, I still care for him... And I know he cares for me too, although his love is like twisted torns against my skin, like his love for my mother was... It would do me no good to let it take root. And yet I can't cut him off. I need him. I hate it but I need him. And even if I'd rather cut all ties, I'm the only one in the family who actually speaks to him - all my siblings already gave up or blew things up on purpose, and my mother even deleted her entire social media to keep him from stalking her... So any time we need something judicial I'm the one who needs to contact him. And this makes it seems like I'm a fucking money-grabber, only appearing when it's convenient. But no - I'm just socially awkward like that and almost never contact people. And even worse: even before the divorce one of my father's favorite pastimes was to spend hours saying how I'm just a faking money-grabber that don't care shit for him, day after day, in person, by phone, by text... He'd do everything in his power to shame me into coddling him and criticizing my mom, and he would only get madder when the second part didn't work. He'd also work day and night, never giving me chance to actually be with him. He'd also miss any presentations and important things I had unless my mother forced him to come. He'd also spend his off time either dead drunk or sleeping, never caring to talk to any of his children. He'd forget my birthday every year, including the one I spent off Country. He'd not even know when I was sick or healthy. He neglected me at every turn and had the gall to say I was the one who didn't care, when I genuinely tried to fix our relationship more times than I can ever count, only stopping because my therapist told me I had to either choose to forgive everything or to let him go for good.

Sometimes I hate it when I get the realization that something I always struggled with, that I always gave my best trying to fix, is just... Another adhd symptom. That it may be wired in my brain and thus impossible to get rid of. It's annoying, it's depressing, and it's even kind of... Relief-indulcing, since it eases the crushing guild of failing time after time at being normal - or functional, at least. I don't want to fit whatever absurd standard society holds as "normal", but I wish I could live my life without struggling to do things that are supposed to be easy, simple.

But I derail.

The realization of the day is about anxiety... I can't mildly worry. It's always either "these thoughts are consuming me like fire, be it consciously or invisibly burning me from the inside" or "problems? What problems? I'm a potato with only a vague understanding of things like 'future' and 'consequences'". I prefer the second state of mind for the obvious reason of "I compared the other one to burning alive, what else did you expect?", but the first state is somewhat prevalent. Often in therapy my psychologist would say that I should stop worrying about things I had no control over, stop looking at trouble that would only hit me in years like I had to solve it right now... But I couldn't. The best I could archieve was to "turn everything off" and act/feel like the problem didn't exist at all. It wasn't today, right? So it was in the vague-sense-of-a-future-that-I-can't-ever-visualize. Was this vague sense a week? An hour? An year? A decade? Hells, I hated when the psychologist asked those vague fucking things... "Where do you see yourself in 5 years?" I don't know, Karen! I don't understand time, and as far as I'm concerned it's a miracle I'm not dead yet!

So yeah, I have I worry-switch in my brain aligned with time: it's either "it is/feels like rn and I'm freaking out" or "it is later and whatever". Even when there's obviously enough time for the task: if you tell me I have 1 minute to answer a simple addition question I'll freak out and tell you 2+3=4, my entire body shaking in a light anxiety attack. If you give me five seconds to answer 1+1 I'll probably cry. But if you decide to give me a menial task with a deadline that my brain doesn't recognize as "rn"... Oh dear, you're playing with Lady Luck, because I may never do it at all. Or I may do it in that instant without any of the anxiety, who knows? It's weird and confusing and makes no sense until you put adhd into play, then everything falls into place like the pieces of a puzzle.