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I'm just needing a rant tonight. First of all, I know I'm an awful person. I've done bad things that I can't be forgiven for. I've been recently trying so hard but right now I don't know what to do.
I felt so happy earlier. Even at work, which in the past has brought me down, but today I loved it. Now though, I'm not sure. What the fuck am I even doing?
You're disappointed in me, and I know you are. You all are. I'm not what any of you hoped for. I'm not a good person, or a good worker, girlfriend, sister, daughter, person.
Even the clients are disappointed. I'm a fucking alcoholic and I don't know how to stop. I'm depressed and I'm scared of what will happen.
I've been trying to be better. I go to therapy, I take my meds and I go to the gym almost daily. I'm happy on the outside. But half the time I'm so spaced out that I couldn't even tell you my own name. I want to be happy and perfect.
I know perfection is hard, but I'm not asking for much. I'm not asking for the house, the white dress, the perfect job and kids by 25. I'm asking for another perfection, to me, which I don't think can ever be achieved. I don't even know what it is, but it's not that idealised lifestyle. Fuck kids.
I lost my virginity to a 29 year old when I was 18. I never realised at the time that he took advantage of me. He had a kid, and a long term girlfriend. I met the kid. I took care of him for a few days. And yet I still had sex with this guy. Constantly. Aggressively. While I slept, I felt him inside me. I didn't understand what was happening. It was normal, at the time. I never questioned waking up to a man fucking me in the bed I'd offered him. I let it happen, and was fine with it. I was 18 and ready to explore my sexuality. I didn't realise that I needed to consent or to feel okay with what what happening. He drove me into the countryside while we were stoned, and half of me wished he'd crashed while under the influence. He nearly did. Half of me wishes that I'd died. I deserved to die when I was 18. When his girlfriend found out, I tried to unalive myself with my mothers' pills. She told me how much of an awful person I was. I still am that person. The pills were strong, a couple knocked me out but a dozen nearly ended me. I never told anybody this. I lay motionless in my bed, breathless, seizing, scared. I woke up the next day. It's funny, because he kept messaging me every other month, looking for some reconciliation. I wonder if him and his girl ever worked it out.
I had a colleague a few years later who I had a crush on. We flirted, we dated, and I eventually realised that he wasn't for me. He still insisted to come to visit me. I told him in advance that I wasn't going to sleep with him, because I was no longer interested in his younger persona, that I was going to remain sober and that I was happy with this.
He disagreed.
He made me drink in my own bed. He made me drink until I couldn't control my biological urges. I'd told him for months that I didn't want this to happen. He was my friend. I loved him. I trusted him. And yet.
At least he was bad.
"You need to get that pill thing because the condom fell off."
Okay.
"Anxious, get it."
Okay
"Why won't you get it? What aren't you telling me? What haven't you said?"
Nothing. I'm socially anxious. I can't walk into a pharmacy and order the morning after pill. We kissed goodbye, and I spent £30 on the pill that night. I felt sick, and lonely. I've never felt so alone.
He hadn't even finished.
He's with our old boss now. Well, my old boss. He still works there. I hate that they can be happy after what he did. After hurting me. I hate that he gets that.
Again at 22, after I gaslit my newest person, blamed him for everything, my existence and pain. I really did nearly die. I phoned an ambulance as my body shook. I couldn't breathe. They arrived quickly, but not so empathetically. Probably their 8th suicide attempt call of the night. I was alone in that bed as the nurses whispered about me.
"This is a really sad one", I heard somebody say.
"You've got so much to live for," another one said, as I was half conscious, vomiting, shaking, dying.
I remember being strapped up to the heart monitor with my sister who had joined me in the morning.
"I don't know what to say," she said. I cried. I still cry when I think about that moment. I still don't know what to say.
Valium is my newest friend. Turns out, if you have severe anxiety then they encourage you to take it. I take it just to get through every day. Mostly through my work days. They aren't even bad, or horrible. I just need something to help. I need something to help me forget about what an awful person I am. Booze and valium get there eventually.
I love my boyfriend. He's a dream, he loves me for everything I am, despite everything I am, and more. He is the definition of perfect. I really love him.
I'm so scared about how he feels. I'm scared about what he thinks of me. He loves me. I can't see it, I never can. I need another drink. He loves me more than I can realise.
Sometimes I hate it. I like being alone and subdued. It's so late right now and I don't know how to handle this. I want to keep writing so I guess I'll grab my drink, my pill and my charger.
I have a dog over tonight, and he's so lovely. I feel like he hates me. How can a dog hate me? I don't know, but he does.
Should I sleep? You'd like that, wouldn't you? I'm not crazy, just a bit insane. I've seen crazy. I'm not quite there. Give it a few years.
Let us end this.
I'll be back. I need to talk about this I think. I don't trust anyone. Wonder why?
All my love,
R
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