Fitting Accidents

"So What" by Pink
...so, so what / I'm still a rock star / I got my rock moves / and I don't need you...

Amy [Winehouse] has this song, "Back to Black" whichis kind of the place I am always returning to. I feel as though I awaken everyday to give it a try although I am consistently disappointed.

At this stage, it feels like I awaken just to have the comfort of Black. Someone did the cliche thing of "breaking my heart" again. And I don't mean it in the metaphorical sense. I really feel, sometimes that something, most likely my heart, is really broken.

I keep too many secrets, primarily because when shared, they come back to haunt me. I told someone all my secrets, all my passwords, all my pandemonium, all my embarrassing idiosyncrasies and he blew my cover.

I thought, for a little bit, that I was possibly worthy of having good people in my life who loved me and would help and protect me. He made me think that was possible.

But skip all that sappy business. The bottom line now is I am pissed, infuriated, livid, red with rage, and all that. Not that I am blameless because I allowed my naivete to guide me despite the fact that I know I can be naive, especially about people. Other friends warned me but I always had a response, a defense ready that quieted them, even just temporarily. I did more than that, but he can write that blog if he wants.

I learned the hard way instead. He broke all of my confidences and meddled in my family life in a way that he never should have. He reinforced the mistrust, cynicism, and fear I already had for people. And it made me feel inadequate all over again.

The letters in someone else's name, logging into my shit, the mean emails and messages addressed to hurt my feelings, scouting for my number, telling people my business, and whatever other shit I may not be aware of is just the basement of the problem. The problem is the awesome skyscraper I have built to distract everyone from the crumbling city it is surrounded by. I will never show my damage or my vulnerability again.

But like an invaded country, I wear the scars, suffer the broken infrastructure, the casualties in the street, the debris, and all the signs of invasion, while he and his troops walk away, a little bruised, but back to a home that is intact as mine is burning to the ground. I feel like he gets to return to his life while I struggle to live mine.

So he lost a good friend. So what? I lost the progress in a relationship with the woman who made me. I cannot "quit" my mother. I have to deal with this ravaged country that is our relationship no matter how inhabitable it is.

And as if to add insult to injury, I get correspondence asking about how I am doing. Do you really care? I have to say I don't think so. Guilt and a search for forgiveness are possibly bigger motivators than your genuine interest in how I may be doing.

For I am not doing well. I am not doing anything. All the things I was ashamed of myself for are now common knowledge, but continue to go unacknowledged. I still feel ashamed. I never really forgave myself for the things I did that I told you in confidence, but you somehow felt it appropriate to share them with others, whose opinions really matter to me, whose approval I really need, simply to embarrass me, not to help me.

Yesterday came the text messages (when he shouldn't even have my number). And although I thought it a good idea to call and ask for a cessation of correspondence and say my piece, I didn't really feel any better afterwards. I cried so bitterly (again) to the girls because no matter how much time passes, I just don't understand how things went so wrong. I am mad at what was done but I blame myself, instinctively.

Simultaneously, I don't understand what I did that was so bad to deserve such a thing. I try to be a good person because I've had a crappy life and I don't want anyone to live as I have. But maybe I didn't do such a good job. Maybe I didn't show the love I said I felt. Maybe I'm just not a good person. I don't know.

But leave me alone, whatever you do sir, because it isn't fair that you pop up in my life whenever you want and make me relive the whole thing again. Things are no better. I am still angry and I still hate you. I'm sorry to hold a grudge but I ain't that good of a Christian. So to answer your question: No, life is not treating me alright.