i’m only comfortable eating when i take diet pills before my meal. i truly feel like it’s only “okay” to eat normally if i’ve taken xenadrine; i can enjoy my food. if i don’t take it, i still eat and i still like my food, but i feel unsettled and nervous.
I can’t wait to do my homework, because I need to fill up space in my head. That way I stop thinking about Young and my relationship paranoia and my newfound trust issues and commitment phobia.
"Too many unknown variables." - BBT.
I need to fill my head with chemical formulas and conversions.
I don’t believe in falling in love anymore. I don’t believe it’s possible for me. Emotions are transient. Nothing lasts.
School is more important right now. I want a new job by January, a good job, a proper grown up one that I can still work around a school schedule.
Too much in my head. And heart. Fear and rage and paranoia all swirl inside my brainpan. Worried about me hurting him, him hurting me. Us hurting each other. A lot of insanity.
I need a drink. A strong one.
I need to work on my novel. And start working out again.
There is an episode of Bones where Booth tells Brennan he wants to be with her, he loves her, and then he kisses her. She pulls away, tells him no. She tells him she has to protect him from herself.
I feel like I understand how much it must have hurt to do that.
I won’t lie and say this is Love. I would argue a strong case for infatuation and platonic love. I would argue that because I don’t trust my own emotions anymore. It’s too hard to explain past that.
And I feel like I need to protect Young from that. From the broken parts of me that are sharp and can wound people without meaning to. He says I can’t hurt him, but I know all too well what human beings can do to each other. Young is so good, so sweet, so RESILIENT to have been through all the things he has. I want to protect him from anyone and anything that could try to hurt his spirit, break him down and turn him bitter. And while once I was like Young, resilient and sweet and still hopeful for true love after being devastated, now I’m not. I’m not, because I let Trout destroy me and when I rebuilt myself, there were only scraps from my original self left. I let Trout break me down and turn me mostly bitter.
I know I wouldn’t do to Young what Trout did to me, if only because I am not much like Trout. Still, I could cause damage. Because I have the kind of trust issues that make me doubt every word someone says to me. Even if I believe them, I doubt. I look for holes in their stories, for inconsistencies- My father taught me that, taught me to listen to time frames and see if there were jumps. And while I recognize that many people are not detail oriented, especially when it comes to dates, I am. I am also incredibly insecure about my appearance, and I know it’s hard for people to cope with the self-hatred I have. Because I am insecure, I get defensive very quickly. I have a quick temper, and I don’t always think before I say something meant to cut deeply. None of these things qualify me for Antichrist, but it doesn’t make me a good girlfriend. Don’t believe me? Ask Punkass, the most recent ex. He’ll be happy to tell you about my obsession with sex, how I don’t use my grownup voice, and how violent I am. Ah, there’s that bitterness I mentioned.
My point is, I think I understand how much Brennan must have hurt, telling Booth she had to protect him. I think I could understand her fear that she would taint him in some way. Because I don’t want my old wounds to bleed onto someone else, and I don’t want to cause anyone else to bleed as I do. I want to believe one day I won’t be like this. That one day I won’t question every word that comes out of my lover’s mouth. That one day I will look in the mirror and be well and truly pleased by what I find there. That one day, I won’t want to cut anymore. Won’t want to vomit after meals. Won’t date dead-ends to avoid something real. Will be able to heal.
Because I don’t believe in a Love that will hold me after I lose control and make thin lines on my arm or drop to my knees sobbing when I see my reflection. I don’t believe in a hero who will handle my mistrust with tenderness instead of frustration.
I’m not a child, and I don’t believe in fairytales or fairygodmothers or charming princes or midnight curfews when the bar doesn’t close until two. And I definitely don’t believe a woman who writes and feels this kind of shit-
Get the idea?
This post brought to you by: two weeks without sex, physical discomfort and pms. Many apologies.