Oh boy. I was in a world of hurt last night. The same drama following the same pattern. I reach out, I get nothing but cold contact. We’re “fine”. We’re always “fine” after we catch up. Which is to say… we’re never fine. I get upset. It’s predictable and yet I seem incapable of controlling it. Good news for me tho was that in between crying sessions after I went to bed, I hauled out my trusty tablet and managed to get some thoughts down on paper (or not as the case may be) which helped me to sort some shit out in my head. Not enough shit, apparently, as my stomach still rolls every time I think about him. And not in a good way. In the sort of way that makes me think my brain is starting to reach the end of this… that we aren’t too many bouts of insanity from me actually walking away. Not because I want to. Not because I have to. But because… what? My mental health. The highs are so very, very high, they’re beautiful and wonderful and everything I want, and they make me everything I want to be. But the lows are so tragic, and wrenching, and at the very worst of it I fear for my safety.The only way I can see this working for me is if I can actually stop taking it personally – if I can enjoy the highs and then when they stop… just back off and wait for him to find his peace. Stop putting my happiness into others hands.

So… from the comfort of my bed and the depths of my broken, rotting soul I bring you this. To put into context, for the first part I was trying to convince myself that this is not my drama, but a drama of someone elses that I have been caught up in. The pain and confusion he must feel that drives him to behave the way he does towards me is  not ABOUT me, it is not a REFLECTION of me. It is his story and his story only. And no matter how badly I want to solve his problems, I cannot. So… onwards.

This is a war he has to fight on his own; I cannot stand in his trenches, I cannot have his back. I cannot assist him in any way. I need to learn to let go, to stop making it about me, stop trying to fix him. He isn’t mine to fix and even if he was… He needs to walk his own path. This is his journey. It hurts me that I can’t walk it with him, it cuts me very deep inside. I want to be able to do this for him so very badly, so badly it physically hurts me too. He needs to find his place in his relationships. I need to find my place in this one too. This is so toxic. I know I should walk but feel like I can’t. My mental health… I will be worse off without him but can’t deal with him in my life.

And then I waffled back into my favourite fallback… flowery language and imagery.

You live in your castle like the insecure male version of Rapunzel, but without the hair. And you keep your drawbridge so very high. You surround yourself with your snapping bloodthirsty piranhas and that’s where you live – by yourself – nursing your regret and fear like a colicky newborn. Occasionally, for reasons I’m yet to comprehend you lower the drawbridge and let me in. And I get to dine in the castle with you, and see your paintings of war, your victory pennants on the wall. You show me around and I get a little insight into your house, your home, your mind. You throw open the curtains and invite me to look around, but you keep a few doors shut and all I hear is faint music from behind those doors. And occasionally, sobbing.  I love these visits and they stay with me for a long time after. I don’t notice the dust that’s settled from negligence, I don’t notice the frayed carpets from pacing feet. I don’t notice the tarnished brass or the cracked mirrors with the smeared imprints of your palms. I just notice you, in your resplendent glory as you allow yourself to have a few hours of happiness, contentment, trust and hope. I gorge myself on these moments and kid myself that you may like me as a regular visitor. You  may enjoy my company, you may throw  your doors open to me when I come a’knocking. You don’t. You punt me out in double time and I feel as popular as a fart in a space suit. You throw me to the piranhas, you slam the drawbridge and you leave me out in the cold with a sore arse and a sorer heart. And no explanation. You let me in as a Princess and throw me out as a maid. You treat me like a queen and reject me like a whore. I’m expected to brush myself off and wait until next time you lower the bridge and hope I’m there’s to see it. And in the meantime I sit there, tossing pebbles at your shutters with increasing force and fervor, trying to see if you’ll lower the bridge tonight? If I’m truly unlucky sometimes  I’ll get a frosty, cold glance of the window to let me know that yes, you’re there, yes you heard, and no. Go back to your hovel. Not tonight. You’re not interested in my company. You don’t want to share your space,  your breath, your thoughts. Sometimes the shutters stay firmly closed. Sometimes they stay closed for months and months and the air grows stagnant in your castle, the seasons change, the plants die, unwatered. The birds don’t even fly over anymore.

But you’re still my knight in shining armor. Problem is, your armor is in dire need of a polish and it squeaks to let me know you’re coming. Your faithful steed is dead from lack of attention. The only army you have left to fight for you is in your head and I fear it’s fighting the wrong battles. I fear it’s fighting against you and it’s poisoning the way you think. And it’s turning you against me. Your army wants to burn me at the cross – right after it burns you. I have my own army. But  my army fights for me. My army is bruised easily but never cut. But it’s no match for yours.

You joke you’re bipolar… It seems like more than a joke some days. Remember you’re hurting more than yourself. And don’t you dare use that as an excuse to run away.

Thank you polaris office! I have been able to get some stuff down when I think of it, which means I can blog about it later on… which means hopefully I can start working through some stuff again. I’m feeling very funky tonight, weirdly and unusually so. I had a run in with the mothership over a dumb thing that could’ve been avoided so easily and on top of PP and the spazz flares lately and and and… it’s left me in a strange headspace indeed. I don’t like it at all. I feel flighty and hair triggered and ill. I feel tense and worried and in all honesty, I’m having thoughts I’d really rather not have. And I’m unsure how to get away from this. All I know is that I need to, or this could get ugly.

So. My thoughts from today…

When cleaning up today I found my little brown bear. He has no name, and he is a tiny wee little thing, about 10cm tall, dark brown and furry with a yellow bow and shiny little black eyes. I have had him since I was a little girl, I can’t put a number on it but I’ll say… probably around 6? I was and still am surprisingly attached to him, and was surprised to find him again today. And when i found him… I realised something.

He has one leg longer than the other, and it is sewn back on with yellow and red cotton, indicating it has been ‘repaired’ at least twice. When I was playing with him and his little furry leg originally fell off I was devastated. I just wanted him fixed. I became so enamoured with the idea that he could be fixed that I kissed his little wee head and tucked him into my toy hammock. I prayed the fairies would come and fix him for me, I prayed very hard, and I turned the light off (as I knew they would be too scared to come out otherwise) and I left him. Somewhat unsurprisingly, upon my return that hadn’t happened. He was still broken. I can actually picture it to this very day, the white plastic rod that ran down his leg exposed, with the raw edge of the fabric.

This was my first foray into the understanding that you can’t rely on anyone else to fix your problems for you. If you want something done, you have to be proactive and do it yourself. That no one is going to come save your arse. No matter how much you pray and beg and plead. No matter how much you want something, wanting it isn’t and never will be enough.

It dawned on me today that I’m still doing this, placing my hopes, dreams and trust in figures of my imagination. I’m still looking for someone to save me when I need to learn to save myself. If I make the effort and try, I can do things for myself, and I can ‘save’ myself. And in the long run I will get what I want, it may not be perfect but it is good and has lasted nearly thirty years.

PP is the fairy (ha ha). I am the bear. He isn’t going to save me. I have to save myself.

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So I have a transferance problem.

I once had a boyfriend… who for whatever reason worshiped the ground I walked on. I wasn’t as into the relationship as he was – loved him as a friend but nothing more. So I ended up getting OTT into an artist who he resembled, because, well, I suppose he was safer for me to worship. No expectations.

Then I had a friend who was very keen on me, and I dunno, given more time and effort perhaps I could’ve gotten more into him but I didn’t. Instead, I found a comedian who I really liked and focused all my energy into watching him and getting into him.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise that I am transferring my affections, attention, whatever onto ‘safer’ subjects that still represent people closer to me in my head. People who wont threaten my carefully erected walls, wont make me leave my comfort zone. It dawned on me today that I’m not doing that this time around. Is that because there’s no one similar, or because I don’t want to?

Life is plugging away. I have nothing going on in my head that I feel like blogging about other than the two topics that are constantly visited in this blog. I feel like I am in some sort of rut… and that perhaps this rut is contributing towards my spazz, and that if I could only get away from this record on permanent rotation in my head, perhaps I could move away from this rut and the spazz attacks. But then, last time I tried to do that I got stuck into MBP and that in turn caused the spazz attacks to flare. That’s a whole other blog entry – why MBP seems to be a trigger for spazz attacks.

I need to balance out recent concerns and whinges with a positive list!

• healthy eating
• snuggling on cold nights
• lavender
• friends to dismantle situations with
• cake

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All the things.

I have (as usual) a million billion thoughts wandering aimlessly around my head. They’re standing in front of the fridge, browsing. They’re walking into a lobe and forgetting why they went in there? They’re trying to remember something for a sec whilst they just do this one thing… and forgetting.

I need to work out the voice recorder on my tablet or take a notebook to bed. I could write a thousand wonderful entries when I’m trying to fall asleep. Nearly all of them about PP and all the things I’d like to ask him, or want him to know.

I keep rolling on in here to blog and keep rolling on back out. I have much to say, and can write a fantastic blog entry every  night when I go to bed and turn off the lights… but when I’m here? Nada. Not a goddamn thing.

Had an unexpected visitor recently – a bad one. Someone that PP had warned the household against in the past, said not to become involved. Bad news kinda person. The Mothership ignored this advice and thus placed the household in the path of someone whose path you do not want to cross. It was crossed. Not fun. This pulled PP back into my immediate surrounds, albeit temporarily…

I struggle. I really, really do. When he’s here, when he’s close enough to touch and when we’re speaking face to face it’s like nothing has changed. The fun is still there, the comfort, how natural it is. Only one thing has changed… (well that’s a lie. EVERYTHING has changed.) But for me, the most identifiable thing? I just… want to touch him. Not even sexually. But I just… NEED to touch him. And I’m quick to point out here – I am not a touchy person. I find touch uncomfortable and weird. I’ve never been tactile, I was raised not to be, not to expect it, not to enjoy it. But here, I have this person who means so much to me that I just want to… put my hand on their knee. Pat their hand. Hold their hand. Rest my head on their shoulder. Just… feel them. As I said, it isn’t sexual, I don’t want fodder for fantasies or to feel anything that way. I never felt the urge to touch him prior to our fateful night of doom, so the question begs – do I want to recapture that feeling, that night with physical contact? At the time it felt so natural, so right. Everything was exactly as it should be, where it should be. Or is it because I just want to tangible proof that it is real, he is real, he is there? I just want to sit there, hold his hand and stare at him and I’ve NEVER felt that way before. About ANYONE.

If I had to sum it up in a word it would be… comfort. I feel comforted, safe and protected when he is here. I know he is here for ME. To protect ME. He would lay his life on the line for ME. Ahead of anyone else here. That is an amazing feeling to have. And one, whilst I know it to be true, that I cannot share with any other. And I have to pretend isn’t true, and can never acknowledge to him.

His behaviour since all this went down has reminded me of thus. It’s cold comfort almost, knowing that this is the case. Because whilst nothing has changed, everything has changed. and I will never get to enjoy it.

Sighs.

Spazz attacks are still present and accounted for, tho I feel on the way out. For now. I think I’m pretty close to being able to get past that and return to normal programming, thank Henry. Tomorrow is a community event that I’m involved in, and I’m mildly concerned about that but it’s very close to home and I know I can bolt at any given moment so I should be ok. The only pressure on there is that I have an opportunity if I stay there to grab a lifelong dream if I play my cards right… so yeah, no pressure!! And the big stress formally known as my voluntary commitment recommences again soon, and I’m feeling some spazz about that, in spite of the fact it is no longer my problem. I feel bad not helping the person who took it over from me tho. She understands my spazz issues, we’ve discussed it and she’s one of the few people who have actually seen me have one… so I think she understands. But I feel bad all the same, and know I’ll be judged by others.

On the flipside – new natural therapy for my #1 boy is THE BOMB. He is doing so much better on it than I ever could’ve hoped, it’s fixing multiple issues, it’s cheaper… where’s the catch?

TBP is progressing in leaps and bounds, in a fashion. Purchases are being made, plans are being laid, clever people are being sourced. It’s all happening. Decisions are being made and trust me, if you knew me you’d know that that is a LONG process. Keen to get back into painting but body is currently saying NO.

A list of happiness!

• Learning again to relax
• Opportunities
• Chocolate
• Remembering to smile
• Memories with beautiful souls
• Rain
• Playful dogs
• Getting a job done
• Fun things in the mail
• Compliments
• Remembering how to take compliments
• Love ❤