I started writing a new entry some minutes ago about the fights in my head and how my mind is preoccupied with it to a degree that nothing else seems to matter, but I couldn’t finish it. I often seem to stray from what I want to express to something entirely different: what I wish I would say or feel. It takes so much energy to actual feel what I want to write, feel what I actually am feeling.
I think about my family a lot. Not much of it, almost all of it very difficult. I think about how I don’t want to talk to my grandmothers, one more than the other, about how I want nothing to do with the man who biologically is my father, about how I hate my mother, but really wish I didn’t. I think a lot - A LOT - about what I’d like to say to them, and every time I come to the conclusion that it actually makes no difference. They will never understand, never see more than they do now. We are too different, too much history and pain between us to make a change. I want to, but I’m not sure I could, even if they understood. And I would probably still feel all the things I feel now.
Right now I do all the work, or so it seems - how painful it is to look at others acting as if nothing is amiss, seeing both your own suffering and theirs behind the veil of normalcy. It kills me to think that I am thinking more about their pain than my own, and that is what impedes me, my own recovery, my own moving forwards. I used to think that I would be okay, that I got away, but now I feel like I’m never going to be free of them all.
I don’t want to blame anybody, don’t want to think that I am the definite result of all this, but the reality of it all is inevitable. It actually makes it worse, thinking and feeling the blame so acutely. But what is the alternative? Deceiving myself into thinking that it is all in the past when it’s not, when the patterns crop up now and then, when nothing really changes, except for me? Now I’m changing in the opposite direction: instead of looking away from the past, I look straight at it, reliving, refeeling, rethinking everything, digging myself down down down the hole, and counting on it counting for something in the end.
Is this what it feels to “work through it”? I sure as hell hope so.
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