Monday, December 18, 2000

Issues. Always my damn issues. I've gotten sick of the word, sick of the concept, sick of me. Always making someone else's life hell because of my issues. Who asked for it, who needs it? I should just grow the hell up and get over it. Over, done with, hasta la vista baby.

The one who suffers most, of course, is C.R. I'll tell you, if I was he, I wouldn't be marrying me. I would run as far and fast as I could from this screwed up person.

Wallowing in self pity. Oh, how lovely. Would you like to come to the party?

*sigh*

Angst and depression. Demons and ghosts. Tape recordings in my head. I want to kill them all. To shoot them, blow them up, annihilate them, obliterate them. Erase all memory of them. I've asked C.R., how do you get rid of the demons? I know, said he, but I'm not telling you right now. He wants me to figure it out for myself, I guess. Well, the demons refuse to be quashed and I need some help, damnit!

Too bad this is the only outlet for my pain and cries. Too bad he'll never see these words, never know how I feel. Because I cannot communicate, cannot open my heart and soul enough to let the truth come spilling forth. I fear. Oh, gods, how I fear.

Insecurity. I remember in college, when my parents sent me to counseling as a punishment for being "out of control," Ian was my counselor. I remember him giving me a book called, "Why Am I Afraid to Let You Know Who I Am?" (Damn, that's a long title.) I never read it. I scanned the synopsis and said, this is pure BS and I refuse to read it. I gave him back the book the next week. "Did you read it?" he asked. I shook my head and he tried to give it back. I wouldn't take it, wouldn't look at him. "Someday you're going to want the information that's in here and I won't be around then," he warned. "Remember this book."

Ian didn't take long to decide that the problem wasn't me but rather my parents; specifically, my mother. When he called her in to point a few things out to her, she railed and ranted and screamed at him. Told him that he was a sorry excuse for a psychologist because he didn't know a damn thing. Couldn't he see that I was the problem? Couldn't he DO something with me? Couldn't he see that I was BSing him? Well, gee, Mom... maybe he couldn't because IT WAS ALL IN YOUR FREAKIN' HEAD!

Oh, sorry... Where was I...? Oh yeah. Why I'm afraid to let people know me. Who knows? Maybe because they'll see the demons lurking inside and run. Maybe because once they know me, they won't like me and even if they do, I won't let them like me. When people get close, you give them the power to hurt you. My life is one big ball of pain and abuse. Sometimes I think I don't even know how to live without it. C.R. would never knowingly hurt me, would never abuse me. He's just too nice, too kind, too honorable. If he was an asshole, things would be so much easier. And so I try to make him out to be an asshole, even if it's something that isn't that big a deal.

I don't know. Maybe that's what I do. I'm second-guessing myself and questioning my motives. I don't know how to deal with a decent man, a man who truly loves me, a man who would give me the world if it was his to give.

He asked me this morning as we were arguing, sitting in the parking lot of my office, "Do you want this to be over or do you just not want to get married?"

I don't want to get married. I don't want him. I don't want this wonderful life he's given me. But not because I don't love him.

I don't know how to handle something wonderful and I'm scared. Now I know... Now I know that 2 years ago when we were hand-fasted, when we spent every day for the week leading up to the ritual fighting... that was my fault. I blamed it on C.R. and gods, I was so wrong.

I don't want to cause him pain any longer. I can hear what he would say... "So stop doing what you're doing." As if it were that easy to erase 30-odd years of this crap!

I'm so capable at work, so organized, so strong and in control. I live a dichotomy. C.R. accuses me of not knowing what I want. Maybe he's right. Maybe the dichotomy is stronger and more prevalent than I thought. People have told me that I show vague signs of being a multiple personality and that with my background it would be perfectly understandable. They've said they don't understand how I could NOT be a multiple what with my history. Maybe I am, more so than I thought.

Or maybe I should just pull myself together, stop trying to analyze and find the reasons for what happens in my head, and get on with life.

Shit. No one ever said life would be easy but no one warned me it would be like this.