Truth

What am I supposed to say?  Hell, what can I say?  Nothing.  Just simply that.  I can't put things down in words to explain them or express them in any way.  I can pretend that they don't bother me, that I don't know, that I'm alright, but who am I kidding?  Well, the rest of the world, for one thing.  I've given up on pretending that for myself, though.  In the end, I don't blog to tell pretty stories or talk about my life, I blog so that I can put down the truth and make myself understand.  Or at least try to, because I really don't understand.  I don't write things for anyone else, I write them for myself. 

People are going to read this and people are going to ask me questions, and I don't know if I can answer any of them.  Because this post isn't something I want to talk about, it's not something I'm writing for people to learn about me or for me to discuss with them.  I'm writing this for myself.  This past week has dragged me back into the past, pulled me back to last year, and it seems to keep forcing me harder and harder until I can't resist anymore.  That makes this hurt.  I've started writing longer posts again, more vague and obscure ones, more incomprehensible things that I don't want inquired after.  I'm falling back into the patterns I was in then and feeling some of the same tensions I had experienced at that time.

One year ago today (oh the irony), I wrote Regression.  And it's odd, because now, sitting here as I am, the  most fitting word to describe my condition would be one and the same.  There is so much for me to scream at the world, so many emotions I want to shout.  I'm not crying, which is perhaps progress, but I am in approximately the same mental state I was then, only for entirely different reasons.  Because despite all of this, everything that has happened around me, I still feel as though I am living a lie, as though this isn't mine, as though it's only a grand illusion I have created and really things aren't any different in my life than they were a year ago.

This isn't a post for today.  It's more appropriately a post for tomorrow.  More appropriately still, it is a post for one week from now.  This is something I should not be putting down into words, generally, but if I have to, god knows it shouldn't be today that I do.  And yet it is, here I am, typing.  And all the while, I'm thinking, this is going to be a stupid thing to post today, I should just leave it and not post it until tomorrow, or better yet, not post at all.  But that's not happening.  I know myself well enough to understand that this is in fact something I am going to finish writing, after which I will hit the "Publish Post" button and wait for the consequences to mess everything up. 

It's not that I don't care.  I care.  I care one hell of a lot about this, especially right now.  I care what happens as a result of these words, and I know it's not going to be pretty.  But hell, I'm writing more about the consequences of this post than the post itself.  I'm trying to avoid putting to words everything that I want to say.  Because I am firmly of the belief that somethings really are better off not known.  I likewise know just how much things bother me when they shouldn't and how much it hurts when I let it all affect me to that extent.  These are thoughts that have been going back and forth in my mind for a while now; this isn't anything new.  This is just me finding words suitable to match what is in my head, or approaching that, at least. 

This is me trying.  This is me attempting to work out my issues.  The problem here is that I'm doing it all in the wrong place.  I know what the outcome is going to be of writing this post, I know that the words will come out of me...and in part, I'm writing this because I want that to happen, even though I really, really don't.  This would have worked a year ago...the cryptic post that nobody would ask about, which would let me put everything down and let it go.  But now, it's going to start something and something is going to escalate and I'm afraid of where it might go.  Regardless, I'm going to write one paragraph now that will effectively be the entire purpose of this post, because the following words are all that I meant to say:

I feel as though I am in the same place I was last year.  The sensation that none of this is mine and all of it is just a lie is overpowering.  It is as though I am a temporary convenience in this game, and that ultimately, I don't matter, I mean nothing, I am worth nothing.  So yes, this does go back to self-worth issues.  But it also deals with how much anyone really cares.  And that hurts, because I find myself doubting things I hate to doubt.  Yet here I am, doubting.

That is all.  To those who wonder: it isn't as bad as it seems.  I have gotten better from last year, I have made progress and this doesn't hurt as much as it did then.  Don't take this as an indication of anger on my part or failure on yours.  It is merely my emotional instability taking advantage of me when I am most alone.  I'm deeply, sincerely sorry if this hurt in the least, it wasn't meant to.  However, it did accomplish what I had intended for it to do--I feel better now.  I put my thoughts down and so dealt with them.  I am happier than I was when I started writing this (signficantly so).  I am alright.  Everything is fine.  I promise.