Confessions & Some Self Shaming

For the past week or so, I have felt compelled to think about, in great detail, some of my worst behavior during my relationship with Ex-Fiance.  Some of the meanest and most ridiculous things I said and did to him that ultimately contributed to our relationship ending.

I honestly believe that recognizing these things and seeing them from a more mentally healthy perspective is something that I was meant to do during this time of self improvement.  I needed to realize that I was truly horrible, and not just here and there, but over and over and over again.  And I think I finally have.  I mean, objectively, I've always known that I wasn't the best girlfriend/fiance but I feel like for the first time, I've seen it through something closer to his eyes.  And it's not pleasant.  Not in the least.  I feel so ashamed and disgusted with myself.

Since I finally feel like I get it, I thought a way to make peace with it, in some way, would be to put it out there.  To get it off my chest.  Let people know that I'm horrible.  I think it's a really concrete way of acknowledging how wrong I was and admitting to my mistakes.  The worst things are tied to very private matters so I won't share those out loud . . . but these are some of the worst of the shareable ones.
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If I wanted to have sex and he didn't, I freaked out and gave him the silent treatment.  He told me at one point that he was afraid to say no.  (This got better once we lived together but still).

Once in Kingman, Gatsby, one of our cats, peed in my bathroom sink.  And instead of calmly cleaning it out I completely melted down, and screamed and cried and caused a huge fight.

Moving to Kingman and being in a new place was hard on me, and I would often stay up crying, go out driving when we had no gas in the car, etc.

I routinely made plans to leave him in my head.  When we came back to Flag a few weeks after we moved to help Jerbs move I told her beforehand that I was staying with her.  Then in November I did the same thing, and planned to leave.

When I wasn't planning to leave I'd threaten to move into the NERD room (our spare bedroom).  Once I started throwing my clothes in there while bawling . . . don't even remember why.

Once when we were first in Kingman we went to see a movie at the theatre in Laughlin.  All was good and fine and we were having a nice time until Ex-Fiance didn't offer to buy/ask me if I wanted a drink or popcorn or anything.  I didn't speak to him during the movie and I spent the whole time thinking about how inconsiderate and horrible he was.  I was a total bitch as we were leaving too.

When he lived in Chinle and I lived in Flagstaff, I routinely insinuated that I didn't know if a long distance thing was worth it.  I also would frequently--and really for no reason--stop speaking to him.  Just ignore his calls and texts altogether.  There really was never a reason for it.

I'd say nasty things online about him.  Specifically on Twitter.  I'd tweet about being disappointed in him and stuff and he'd always end up seeing it--it was so hurtful and awful of me.

The summer he lived with Jerbs and me and worked at Office Max, I'd always be in a bad mood when he came home.  And I never understood why because all day I'd miss him and look forward to him coming home, then he'd get there and I'd totally shut down, and either lash out at him or completely ignore him.

There's a lot more, but some of it's private and also, I'm just kind of making myself sick writing these down.  Suffice it to say I was pretty damn awful.
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Yep.  That was me.  That was what Ex-Fiance put up with almost every single day.  I'm not saying we didn't have some genuinely good times, because we definitely did.  We definitely definitely did.  But still, I was never very good.

There really is no excuse for all of that behavior.  I think my mind was just such a mess over being in a relationship and things changing that it completely rebelled and the mental illness constantly tried to sabotage the thing that could have made me better.  Not that that is in any way a defense.

What I can say now is that I look back on those things, and I truly feel like I do not recognize that person.  I do not know the girl who did those things, who acted that way.  I remember, though, how that girl's head felt, and I shudder at the thought of what a freaking mess I was.

And I can say, too, that I'm better now.  That I am profoundly different from who I was then.  Mentally I am functioning in a completely different, much better way.  My thought processes are not remotely the same.  Sure, I still have my bad days, but my worst now hasn't been as bad as I was then.  With consistent treatment (Lithium/Paxil) and some breathing room, I have truly gotten better.  I know that people (Jerbs and my family) can see a positive difference in me, but I can't even begin to describe the complete change within my mind.  It's amazing.

I know that the now me would never, ever do those things within a relationship.  I really do.  And I know that if I were to get a second chance, I would be so grateful.

Either way, I will use this as a learning experience.  What I've learned is how not to act in a relationship you expect to succeed, and how very important it is to stick to my treatment, because it does really help.  I've learned not to take love for granted.

And should I decide I don't want to be single forever, I know that I'll be able to be mentally healthy for my next partner, and that I'll be able to be a kind, comforting, stable partner for them.

And even if I do stay single, I am now mentally healthy for myself.  And I know now how much better I can be when I'm healthy.  That's the most important thing, I think.  Before I've always used others as the inspiration to get better (my family, Austin, Jerbs, and of course, Ex-Fiance) but now I want to get better and stay better for myself.

Boxes

When I went to Kingman, I didn't take much of my stuff back to Flagstaff with me.

I took my violin, which I'll probably sell, both because I don't really plan on playing it much and because it was a gift from Corey and therefore a reminder of him.  I took my sewing machine.  And I took three boxes--one of my winter clothes (which I really needed!), one of notebooks and books (mostly because it had the hard copies of the writing samples I want to use for grad school in it), and one that is all of the sentimental things I accumulated during my relationship with Corey--dried flowers, stuffed animals, photos, love letters, our engagement rings.

The only one I'm going to unpack completely is the one of winter clothes.  I'll take what I need out of the notebooks/books one and throw the rest into storage, and the last one I just wanted here because it's comforting.  I'm not going to open it yet.  I thought I'd want to pull out my engagement ring but then I realized that I don't really want to see it on my finger again, unless it's given back to me by him.

Right now the boxes are just sitting on the porch and I've been putting off unpacking/storing them for a week.  I don't know why but the thought of going through them makes me incredibly anxious and I don't want to do it.  I am absolutely dreading it.

It's silly, really, because it's innocuous stuff--clothes, socks, books that I've owned for years.  I have a few theories.

A) I think the stuff in these boxes are all reminders of the old me.  Not just the me that was with Corey; not just that life (although I'm sure that's part of it).  It's a reminder of being sick and lost and unhappy.

B) It makes me feel cluttered.  One of the most significant symptoms of borderline personality disorder is issues of identity--people with it tend to feel like they don't know who they are.  And I spent years feeling like that.  And when I lived with Corey sometimes I felt . . . like there were a bunch of my identities lying around and I would panic because I wasn't embracing any of them.  Like I'd walk into our NERD room and see my flute and violin, my sewing machine and fabric, my notebooks, and I'd have this sense of panic, like oh yeah, I'm supposed to be a musician and a seamstress and a writer and I'd feel like I didn't know which one was the right me.  It was horrible.  It made it difficult to just live and do what I wanted, because I'd wonder if what I was doing was actually who I was.  (This was going on before I met Corey, too).

But when I moved back up here, I only took what I absolutely needed.  And that was refreshing.  I think not having all of those extra things helped with the identity stuff, and seeing the things in these boxes is like being reminded of other things I'm supposed to be, if that makes sense.  I feel more like I can just do what I want--like I can go hiking and go to grad school and have a job and write and read and whatever and it's all just part of ME--and I really don't want to undo that progress.

(Have I mentioned that being borderline absolutely blows?  Because it does).

C) Seeing more of my stuff here makes it feel like I really do live here.  And obviously, I do live here but . . . I don't know.  It makes it seem more real, more permanent.  It also reminds me that I don't have my own space right now to put all of my stuff, and that's a little frustrating and depressing.

D) I'm a pack rat and have been my whole life (which is probably borderline related) and being here with only what I needed has kind of made me realize how little I need so much of the stuff I have.  But at the same time I can't bring myself to throw things away (probably also borderline related).

Anyway.  I'm determined to suck it up and get to it tomorrow, since I'm off.

After all, they're just boxes.