Cloyde had me watch this show, Never Have I Ever. I said, I'm sorry. I don't do fluff. I'm into HBO dramas like The Wire or miniseries like Chernobyl or witty comedies like old-school Arrested Development. I don't do what looks to be teen fluff. But I said I'd give him one episode. I watched the whole damn thing in two days and ended up sobbing. I loved it. Loved it.
I could relate in some ways. I mean, my friends were those girls. We were the so-called AP outcasts, that "UN"--the unfuckable, only I just so happened to be the tiniest, nerdiest white girl in my class. I could relate to going to my best friend Priya's in my junior year of high school and having her mom prepare dinner knowing I was going to be in attendance (basically, dinner for me pre adding in a lot of additional spices for the rest of the family haha--she did this without my asking, I think she just knew having moved to the States from India so many years beforehand). I would have done anything to have a cool boyfriend, but really not...because when push came to shove, I let another girl give the boy I liked a blow-job. I wasn't ready and that was okay. My girlfriends were really amazing, and made me strong and determined, and fuck. I think I actually learned a decent amount of shit in high school. So I did actually really enjoy that show. I could relate to a lot of things even though it centered on a different culture and focused on a girl experiencing a big loss. I dealt with my own losses in different ways I suppose. And had a lot of fucking anger and a temper too.
Still do. I lashed out at the person I still love. Who in fact hates me. Who only reads the texts I send when I send the ugliest, nastiest texts ever in life. Yesterday was the one year anniversary of a favorite patient's death. I still have a hard time thinking about it. I still remember bathing her and putting on these really ugly pajama pants and being upset that it didn't feel right, that everything felt so wrong and what I would have done to see her smile one last time. Mostly I always remember the good memories obviously, but this was that one day. So I was angry. And even a year ago I didn't really feel like my ex was there for me when she died, it was odd. So I sent him this beautiful photo his mom posted to facebook. With an amazing remembrance. And of course he didn't read it. And then crazy ramblings that became more and more angry and pissed because I'm so hurt that he hasn't ever talked to me since September really and I basically just broke up with myself since he said he needed a break and a week later I said it doesn't feel like a break and he said no after I called many times blah blah blah and I basically dumped me. Cool. Anyway, I drank last night and was an asshole. A major asshole. No excuse for bad behavior. Whenever I hurt, I do not allow myself to be sensitive and hurt. I lash out and get so. very. angry. I am mean. I am like a wounded lion. A wolverine. A gray wolf. I am ill-tempered and cruel. I will say the meanest fucking thing and I do not understand why because I want to howl at the moon, I want to cry, I want to bleed. I do not allow it of myself.
I do not know what's wrong with myself.
I asked my psychiatrist this week if it's normal to be so sad. She nonchalantly asked if I wanted to be on medication. I said the last time I was on it was years ago and I was afraid because I had not felt anything. And is it better to be heartbroken and desolate or unfeeling altogether. She looked at me and said I have a hard time believing you were ever unfeeling you are one of the most feeling people I've ever met. What the fuck kind of response is that. If I tell you that is the very thing that petrifies me then believe it.
I love you, Daniel. I am so sorry. But you should be too for all the fucking bullshit you have put me through. And why can we both not say sorry and actually talk and deal with this. Do you not have feelings the way I do?
