When I enter into a relationship I tend to share my mental health issues. Not straight away, obviously I have to appear normal for a while, but once I believe it may lead somewhere. The good the bad and the ugly is laid out. It is always a scary moment reading the facial expressions for signs that their about to run. It must come as a shock somewhat when I appear to be a mature, rational, normal girl next door. Maybe let’s throw in also telling them about my children. Maybe it’s because I would run I assume they would or should. I’m a catch! I explain I have the emotional maturity of a toddler, sensitive ridiculously under the tough exterior, emotional wobbles that I won’t give clues to, I kind of expect the adult in them to be compassionate and understanding. As they would at times if I was three and emotional.
Now I’m angry I am even in this situation. Did he not get this? Not care if he did? Was he too self absorbed to even begin to imagine someone else starts where he ends and his actions have impact? What? Why? So many questions really that to me are normal. Why would one want to be away so long from people they love? Why would one not want to experience life with the ones they love? Why would he not even think a real gift with his money would be to spend it having amazing holidays with his children or the love of his life. Or so called. Then I wonder would he treat a three year old he loves like this. Would he not share bedtimes with them for days before leaving? Would he not smother them to death? Reassure them? Would he have them share his last time with friends? Would he act in ways that jeopardised her ability to stay? Would he buy things that were detrimental to her and their relationship? I mean. The questions don’t stop. But I know the chances are I am batshit. Because if any of this was real and not batshit, then what? All of this starts the cycles kicking. The thoughts. The defences kick in to help me protect my vulnerable little heart. Immature and mature ones. Ones that spike off my defence charts. I believe the first reaction is my ridding. I think I may be wrong. It may actually be the bit in the middle and all this started in preparation. Now I’m convinced he doesn’t care. No one cares. He doesn’t support you, he never supports you, hold up no one supports me. Shit I have no one. Why would anyone want to be with you anyway. I’m worth nothing. What can I offer? Why am I surprised? God I’m stupid. You stupid girl. Did you think anyone loved you? Has anyone? He didn’t. He doesn’t. He thinks he does.. But look. No one has ever looked after me? Not the underneath me? Why did you think he would? Two years of lonely important times. Two years fighting alone. You deserve this to be happening ! Your job is to be there for others. Don’t be so selfish. And then the guilt. Don’t say anything. I will ruin it for him. My batshit will poop on him. Batpoop. He is being normal because I’m so not. I’m a bad girlfriend. Even bad thoughts. He should be with someone he wants to include. Not leave. Or someone the same. Someone that would kiss him goodbye when waving from the airport. Not me. I wouldn’t give him a lift and found touching him hard in the last hours.
So what does one do when faced with such internal conflicts. Nothing. They stay still and silent. Stepford. Tired. Sit in shame binds, self hate, loathing every tinee detail of personality. What do I do? Help.. I can’t express. I will ruin everything and it’s all on shit judgement. Burn. Take it. Make it go. No. I have a tc contract. Ok. Wine. Yes. Hold on. What about my secret stash of men willing to have me. What about the ones I don’t have to answer or explain to. Yes. They will abuse me. Exploit. Hell I will do it too. With alcohol..and please Lord let them have drugs.
No. Just no. It will ruin my relationship. I’m working too hard for this. To make my life easier and my head more enjoyable. More room to hate self. I’m not worthy of anyone. I can work as hard as I like but I can’t change this. I can stop the bad behaviour. Never guaranteed. Why don’t I just go. Bloody kids. I can’t leave them. I love them too much. Go. Don’t go. Go. Don’t go. Take them with you. Keep them safe. No. And on this knife edge is where I am used to living. Unless the bad behaviours win and winning is like having the whole of the world’s energy pumped into my veins.
Basically if my needs aren’t met. The child ego is a permanent state. Because my needs are young. Tantrums come out in the form of bad behaviours. I need things met. Everyone has to have their needs met. I meet every one else’s. I can’t stand to watch people struggle if I can see it to fix it. Mostly totally unbeknown to them I feel like a guardian angel to their emotional state. The flip of the coin is I know every weakness their probably unaware of. Thrown into the stamp museum for when they turn on me, inevitable.
My head is so chaotic it spills like infection into my life. The mother running to dust it away before it settles and clogs children’s lives. I am exhausted. I am still and silent because going in either direction won’t end well. So still. With the weight of it all making my limbs heavy. Making my speech off. Leaving the voices floating. Listening.
Ultimately. Is it worth it? The only people I need to keep are my children. Everyone else becomes dispensable. Even me. I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want the added hurt on the hurt. I don’t want to hurdle it to be faced with more and more. I’m so tired of that. I want it to stop. Because then what? It’s all cycles. Cycles on top of cycles. Like a cycle Park in Amsterdam rammed. Different sizes, colours, some with gears, some neglected and some not. All on top of and leaning into each other. To get to one you have to find it, rummage through, move cycles out the way. It’s a mission that face all the time. Then just as I find one someone else parks up another bike.