And now she's kickin' me out of my own house because - you know, because I fucked up a little bit. Which I totally admit. I was like - totally ready to admit that.
I’ve been thinking about that line for a year. When you see him say it, it's so real, you know, somewhere out there that happened. It might be the line from a movie that most encapsulates my life. I just fucked up a little bit. What I've learned is that a little bit is only a lot when you fuck up. I can be mean, judgmental, and at times can be incredibly mean. I'm starting to realize I can be mean in a way that no one has ever been to me. When I'm mean to people, even when it's unintentional or maybe sometimes even a little justified, they simply stop wanting anything to do with me. I become this unforgivable figure. No one has even been mean to me in a way that's made me deem them unforgivable. Now here I am in a house full of mirrors, really trying to look at myself. To see myself for who I really am. To understand what I've done and who I am that has made me so unforgivable.
No matter what I've tried, the therapy, the medicine, trying to be as honest with myself as I can be. I can’t see myself. The distorted image that seems to follow me through the hallways of this house looks evil, and that's how I’ve started to describe myself, and now I even believe it. I thought there’d be some kind of power in being evil, like the acceptance would bring something else, something I could use. It brings me pain and loneliness. Those two things make it hard to do anything I don't have to do and sometimes make it hard to do the things I have to do. I'm lost; I don't know what to do to make the rain stop at this point. How does one put out a fire in hell? I don't want to be evil; I want to be good, but that doesn't even exist.
I hate when my phone vibrates; I open it up and immediately begin to have a panic attack while in pubic. While the Seahawks are throwing the game away, and my laundry is only half dry in a house that is not mine. No one has ever been able to tell when I'm freaking out inside. That my voice is changing, and I'm gone behind the eyes that I'm there, but I'm not. I left as soon as I could justify bringing home a hamper full of damp laundry. In my car, I cried, so overwhelmed by it all, by this evilness. Overwhelmed because I simply did not and don't know what to do. Who do I call in a time like this if it feels like I have no one, like I have no good to offer?
My laundry is still wet, and it’ll probably smell when I wake up tomorrow. I will let the beautiful older Mexican woman whose name is escaping me into my old apartment to clean the past 3 years of my life off the walls. I’ll smile and nod and say that I've been good since the last time I saw her. I will play pretend tomorrow and make believe all weekend long. I’ll probably remember on Monday. Remember who I am. I am evil, unforgivable, bad, unlovable, someone you should avoid at all costs.
I'm heartbroken that they made me evil. I'm heartbroken. I'm in boundary hell. A no-man's-land with no way out, nowhere to find conversation or closure. A place where your vulnerability and earnestness are erased the second you make one mistake. I thought this was something special because your actions didn't match your words.
