I hadn’t thought of anything. Until last night. As I lay unable to sleep, my thoughts caught up with me. And I just… broke down. I cried. It hit me from nowhere, the feeling. I wrote notes, and I cried as I wrote them, and they weren’t to my family, but they were to people who felt like family, to the only two people I can talk to out loud but can’t talk to again. they were notes that said thank you and sorry, except thank you wasn’t big enough and sorry wasn’t sorry enough to express how I felt. The only words that said what I wanted them to were goodbye and I can’t cope alone.
It was all about/ triggered by my acommodation situation. I didn’t want to live where I’m going to live because it is lovely but as a result it is far, far too expensive for my family to afford, and we don’t have money to spare. Also, they aren’t flats, it’s just a corridor of rooms on each floor, self sufficient bubbles. And I withdraw. I never mean to, I just do. When things get tough, I push everyone away, I try to protect them and I feel like too much of a bother and a burden to reach out and pull them back. I retreat. I fall into this abyss, and I don’t know how to cope eventually, and I consider stupid stuff and I don’t know what to turn to or what to do. A few times, I end up drinking heavily to medicate the emotional pain, to deaden my mind until it cannot think or feel. Because when my dog isn’t there, there’s nobody to talk to. Uni parents are a no-go zone, and so I just destroy myself. My worst time was in late November last year, when the uni tried to push me to leave and I was drunk for a week, downing a bottle of cider until I was dizzy and tipsy enough to get out of the bed and face the day without having to feel the ache of such intense despair. And I never see it coming. There is never a here it comes again” or an “I haven’t left my room in a while I should probably do that or an I should talk to someone and reach out because I need help now I can’t carry the weight of this situation on my own because I’m going to break down. There is just a how did I get here again? and then a what am I doing? and then a but I don’t know what else to do, how else to cope other than to end it all… If I did that, maybe I should do it in the shower so that I’m easier to clean up. And then somehow I pop out of it, usually after a walk by the Thames (many times with the assistance of a uni parent. Those guys genuinely kept me alive).
I got annoyed that somebody had put me in a situation that forced me to live there, was frustrated at myself for letting… Anyway, it just isn’t going to be good for my mental state. I’m scared of the isolation and the loneliness. I didn’t want that for myself, I had avoided that for myself and made plans early so I wouldn’t end up here. Being let down is the one thing I don’t know how to get over. It hurts. I am trying to overlook it, but I still don’t even think the other person knows what a huge impact they had on my life with the way they handled things. I almost couldn’t go back to university because I can’t live with strangers (my doctors said to stick with people who know about my health), I’d turned down everyone else’s offers, and it was too late. So I cried over where I’m going to live. I sobbed so hard I couldn’t breathe and my nose bled. I roared silently into the darkness of the hotel room, until my mum woke up and told me the light from my phone screen was disturbing her. I’d been writing goodbye notes, I don’t know where I was going, I just decided it was time to go. And I carried on crying, but sat in the bathroom, messaging Uni Pal who seemed to think that it was as simple as just being tough and not withdrawing. It isn’t. I’m too pathetic. I shall post about this some other time. It just worried me that even in the best times of my life thoughts to end it all can spring from nowhere. There’s a D word that I can’t mention because of the stigma even my own mother attaches to it. She tells me it’s mind over matter, but it’s by far the biggest threat to my life I feel. It’s the biggest threat to my feeling of living. It is crippling at the best of times.
Today I woke up at 8am (after my alarm had been going off for an hour – I’d ended up catching up on a bunch of Roman Atwood vlogs when I FINALLY managed to get an appallingly slow internet connection on my phone). I put on my dressing gown and complimentary flip-flops, and walked down to the pool. I swam 20 lengths. 20. It hurt in the end, and I pushed through the hurt, because it wasn’t agony, just a little ache in the top of my arms. And everything felt ok. Because that is what exercise does for me. It makes it all ok.
We went to breakfast, packed the room, took many diversions to avoid many accidents on the way home (and each one made me imagine why they’d had to close an entire motorway, or why three accidents had happened within two miles… and I felt worried for people I’ve never met)… We stopped at Ikea and grabbed some bits for uni, and a book case for the spare room my nephew sleeps in. And then we got back to my family’s home. And my dog went nuts. He ran around, he jumped on me, he wouldn’t leave my side at all.
And then my dad and brother got in. That was almost five hours ago. My “dad” hasn’t said a single word to me. Not one. Not even hello. I’m not starting a conversation to have my head bitten up or feel like a piece of crap because he moodily shoots me a sarcastic and blunt response. I’m kind of intrigued to see how long it is before he will even acknowledge the presence of something he hates so much. My brother hugged me. My nephew got in with my big sister. My dad and her had animated, happy conversation. She spoke to everyone and only said a few words to me. My nephew was very rude and offish with his tone. I realised this family will never feel like mine, and that this house will never feel like home. My heart sank and I felt invisible and pushed out. My nephew was rude to my little brother, who came to me about it. And I was kind of like if you’re going to be like that, get out of OUR house. My nephew walked the dog with me a couple of times before we went away and it was so nice to walk along chatting with him. But today he was rude and if he was anyone else I’d have had nothing more to do with him. He walked into the kitchen and talked about nothing other than himself and how great he is doing at everything. I asked how he was as soon as he walked in and he didn’t ask a single thing about me. I’d spent last night crying that I didn’t want to leave. But now I remember what I’ve spent so long wanting to run from. I don’t ever want to live here again. Which is an improvement, because last night, I didn’t want to live at all.
I remembered why I’ve been so desperate to go back to uni, what I’ve missed. In a way I haven’t wanted to go to uni, I’ve just wanted to be away from this environment that poisons my mind against itself and is toxic to my self esteem. There was no shouting or anything, there didn’t have to be. Silence hurt more. Ignorance hurt more.
I felt so detached from everything that I didn’t eat dinner with them. I went to sit down at the table in the space I’ve sat at since the kitchen was built, and my nephew was sat there in my seat. He sits there now. I am being pushed out of this house, and I haven’t ever felt part of my dad’s family. They don’t include me. I’m not included in the sister selfies, I cannot compete with my nephew or my brother, with their blood, for their affection or attention. I am often left out and often feel left out. I didn’t want to face that in the house I grew up in, when I already felt like it wasn’t my home before. I ate my dinner alone in the dining room, watching Lance Steward vlog to keep me company (during my loneliest times at uni and the summer beforehand when I was bed bound and missed months of school, I watched Julien Solomita vlogs and they made me feel so much less alone. Over the year I found Roman Atwood vlogs, which I also watch daily at uni, and among many other personalities, I then discovered Lance Stewart). I got told off for eating my dinner separately. I got told off by my mum when I said that I wasn’t happy here. She doesn’t ever want me to talk to her about family stuff because she seems to be stuck in denial and just shuts it all out, but then she shouts so much if I talk to anyone else and I don’t know where to turn.
Breaking news: after four and a half hours of being in the house with him, my dad finally spoke to me. He said five words: can you see the TV? That’s it. But I’ll take it. It made me pathetically happy, which angered me at myself. I tonight considered changing my name back to the one my mum and I had before she met dad and they had my little brother. I don’t feel part of my dad’s family, he makes me hate myself and I’m convinced he hates me mostly because I don’t share his blood but also because I’m a sub-standard person, and suddenly I just didn’t want to associate myself with that – with a family that never has or will feel like mine. I loved them so much, and I just never felt loved back. Anyway.
My mum and I are spending the day together tomorrow. We’ve been arguing rather a lot and I exasperate her with just how I am… But we’re getting along so much better than we have done, I feel. She’s so relaxed now that she’s quit her job. Her moods are less changeful. She calms down more quickly.
When I was little, having a dad, having a family… It meant the world. It still does. My dad just doesn’t treat me like he treats his daughters and my little brother, there is a great chasm between me and them, one that he won’t even look at, let alone cross. I call him dad. I don’t feel like… Other family members from my mum’s side of the family have made comment on the fact that I am treated differently by him… (Yeah I can’t say it. I can’t say that I feel like I don’t have a… That… doesn’t feel like my…).
OH NO I AM MISSING The Last Leg (such an awesome tv show). I have to go and… I have to go.
No way but through.