I hate crying. I hate it with a passion. Not because it's weak. It hurts. It hurts my body and my soul to cry and let all those feelings move around, even if it is up and out. Lately when I cry I sound like a really little kid. I sound just like my nephew when he was about 1 1/2 years old. What happened to me then? Was I not allowed to cry then? I'm this infant trying to make it as a grown-up, trying to act even more mature than I have to, because my soul is old enough for that. My psyche can't catch up with my soul, I guess. I'm trying really hard here. That was another charge.
Charge: I say that I'm working on myself, but how? I blame my mother for everything that happened to me, but I still use her. Jt wrote that she hoped I shared this email with my therapist since I pay her (barely) to be nice to me. First of all I think my therapist has too much integrity to lie to me, to pretend she likes me when she doesn't. I don't even think she'd take a client if she didn't really want to help them, if she didn't genuinely feel like she could relate. And she certainly wouldn't lower her prices for someone she just pretended to be nice to. It wasn't my idea to give me cheap phone sessions. She felt it was worth it to work with me despite the fact that I can barely pay. Jt is directly disrespecting my therapist here, never having even met the woman, and that is just fucking shitty manners. Furthermore, Jt doesn't know what my relationship with my mom is like now. She makes it sound like I don't even like my mother and only spend time with her so I can get stuff. I don't get nearly as much from her as everybody seems to think I do. Plus, I actually like spending time with her, hello? and am working to make our relationship better. I can't do that if I disown her. Just because Jt didn't get to make amends with her mother before she died doesn't mean my attempts to work this through is lame or wrong. Jt could be very jealous that I even have a mother in my life and have the opportunity to create a better relationship. But don't take that crap out on me. My mother is not like your mother, and me having a relationship with my mother doesn't mean anything about you and your mother. Its like she thinks that since I can be with my mother, I'm judging her for not being able to be with hers. But my mother wasn't a viscious fiend like hers. She didn't do things to me on purpose, she didn't beat me or tell me I was ugly or send me to live with other people. She didn't single me out for abuse among all my siblings. My mother now is my mother now. Most of my issues are with who she was 20 years ago. Jt must think I hate my mother, just like she hates hers. The point is she has no idea what really goes on between my mom and I and its none of her business. It's not my fault your mom was a crazy bitch.
All of Jt's paragraphs in that hate-mail started with "You think". How does she know what I think? Is she psychic? She can read my mind? How f*ckin' dare she tell me what goes on in my own head. Lady, this is all about what YOU think. And most of it is what you think about yourself. It sickens me that you have these thoughts about me, that you can be so wrong and blind and hateful. It scares me and sickens me and angers me. You've been added to the list of people (now 2 people long) that I enjoy imagining punching straight in the face. Because you are so fucking wrong.
So why then? Why does it bother me so much that she hates me? The simple answer is that because it means I'm hateable. Now, with people like her in the world, i.e. with BPD and other distorting illnesses, anyone is hateable. Apparently anyone who doesn't worship science as the only way of looking at the world is hateable. But just in general, if someone hates me, it means I'm hateable. And I'm already unconvinced I'm loveable, or even really likeable. I know she hates me, she's demonstrated that undeniably, so I'm definitely hateable. Not only that, but I'm contemptable, pitiable, and disgusting. Nobody's ever looked at me with a mixture of anything and disgust before. It is shocking, to say the least, since hours before that I was golden, pristine, and untouchable. No one has ever been able to convince me they love me as clearly as she has convinced me she hates me. Or what she sees as me, because she stopped seeing me the moment she was triggered. It doesn't matter that it is not really me, because she's out there, hate-directing my way. She's out there, possibly thinking about how much more she wants to hurt me, possibly conniving ways to do that. If I bump into her, what is going to happen? Tuesday I was at College Park Dollarama - a place she frequents, and I kept preparing for her to come up to me and snarl "nice pants" - because I'd put on the hot pink comfy pants I bought on Spadina at Dr. Saul's office after my appointment. I was tired and wanted to be comfy and didn't care. So I was ready with "Nice attitude", or "thank you God bless you" which would have tore her up because, well, she hates God, and she hates me because she's convinced herself that I love God. Yeah, I think she really hates God, despite adamantly insisting he doesn't exist. I didn't bump into her, but next time I might. I'm not going to let the threat of her stop me from going wherever the hell I want. Part of me even wanted a confrontation with her, so I could maybe finally score one back at her, since I let her say whatever horrible things she said to me without fighting back. I even imagined gushing at her "Oh, you were so right, you are so smart and perfect and successful and happy, I should never have said what I said. You are far far better than me." Fuck her. And I think she enjoys having people hate her. It serves a few of her purposes. Poor me. People are dumb ignorant assholes. I'm superior. She's happy about that. Me, I mourn every reminder of stupidity and ignorance. I'm embarrassed to death of the less intelligent and humane and polite and self-aware members of the human race. I can't watch. It's the real reason I've never watched Trailer Park Boys. It's embarrassing. I guess that means I have some pretty unrealistic idea(l)s about humans, and maybe it contributes to my being unable to believe people can be so warped and cruel.
It's just wrong that someone out there hates me. I don't deserve it. I guess it mucks up my 'belief in a just world'. It taints the earth. It's a black spot on what I considered the world of possibilities. A do-not enter, a you-don't-qualify, a never-gonna-happen. The door has been closed and there's no chance of it being opened - that would require her examining and realizing and taking responsibility for what she's done, not just to me, but to everyone who's been a victim of her rage. She's never going to be well enough for that, not in this lifetime. And so, because of it, my own world is not quite as pure and free. I have a real reason to watch my back, a pin-point for my usually generalized anxiety. That's the only way I can answer this question right now.
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