Funkified...

Wow. December 1st cannot come soon enough. I need my medication.

I'm finding it really difficult to get out of this funk. Everything is getting to me. One minute I'm crying. The next I'm angry and yelling at everyone. The next I'm "Mrs. Everything is just fucking great" at work laughing and goofing off with the girls...and for a few minutes, I forget that my life sucks and my heart hurts, and I let down my guard and say way more than I should. I end up feeling like a dumbass...placing both feet firmly in my mouth...desperate for someone to talk to, and I put waaaayyyy too much of my personal business on display. I would love nothing more than to be so comfortable and so safe in an environment that I don't have to watch my words and actions.

But. I hate being fake or having to mask any part of who I am. It's that whole "fuck off if you can't accept me with the good and the bad and the positives and negatives of my personality, because that's what a true and loyal friend would do." For two years, I've been saying that very thing and trying to live my life by that philosophy.

If I had to prioritize all of the things that are important to me, it would top the list. It's also the one principal on which I CANNOT compromise. The primary reason?
My fear of abandonment surpassed any need to have my own identity. My needs and wants were the price worth paying if it meant that people didn't leave.

But after Dad died, it became increasingly difficult to mask everything. Matter of factly, I got angrier and angrier till I finally reached the point where I just couldn't hide it anymore. I felt detached. I shut down. I wanted to die. But I couldn't. I'm not mother of the year, by any means, but I will damn sure lay down my own life to make sure that they never experience this pain.

The place I went at that point scares the fucking hell out of me, to this very day. My parents are/weren't the only ones with self-destructive tendencies and impulse issues. I don't trust me as far as I can throw me. I can't trust that I'll be able to recognize my feelings and limitations before I act on my impulses. I'm afraid of making the same choices he made...and also like him, that I won't have enough of my faculties to stop.

I'm fighting for my life here. If I can stay far away from my "breaking point," in my comfort zone, go at the pace that I need to go...that I know I need to go, I'll be okay.

I'm pissed and frustrated and hurt and angry, because now I'm fucked if I do...and fucked if I don't. I either compromise and take the risk. Or I shut the fuck up and explore the real possibility that I have to live in the bed I made.