It has been some time since I've needed a hug quite this bad.
And I'm over-reacting, as usual, to simple words that shouldn't have the ability to hurt me this bad.
But I was on my way to seek comfort for a general depressive malaise when that hope went rent from me.
So while I'm angry that the only way to communicate these pains is through an intermediary, and I'm angry that such things cannot just be said aloud to be remedied immediately so that we can avoid further pain... I'm more overwhelmed by this raging hurt of sadness and the sudden pain of a broken relationship.
And it took me awhile to wind myself up (or down, I'm not sure which) and even begin to discover my loathing for the idea of further interaction. [And I'm certain, in that way that my depressive self will interpret things, that she finds herself superior and hurt, and finds me to be a cretin unworthy of attention for a mistake I didn't understand to be a mistake at the time (that no one would point out, or complain about for a good twenty-four hours, mind you, and then she couldn't bring herself to speak to me, but brought me all the hurt she could anyway). So I am worthless, she is superior to me in every way, and I'm completely incoherent about it.]
I am angry and my instincts offer two reactions:
(1) Withdraw from all contact; fear, cower, loathe; nurse my grudges silently
(2) Retaliate; return hurt for hurt, pain for pain; induce suffering and then gloat over it (silently, of course)
Neither of these reactions is helpful (nor particularly healthy), so I am at a loss as to what, exactly, I can do about the situation. I want to rend her life limb from limb and leave her crying in the shambles (as per instinct two), wanting nothing quite as much as normalcy and a return to unreachable previous times. I want to punish by withdrawing all contact, all support, all positive interactions, so that she can conclude over time that it is a terrible thing to damage me thus.
But more than anything I want to cry and rage and cry and rage and sleep to never wake up to what is essentially a broken reaction in my broken brain that is doing nothing so much as breaking me into smaller and smaller pieces.
Soon, I fear, there won't be anything left of me but dust.
And I'm over-reacting, as usual, to simple words that shouldn't have the ability to hurt me this bad.
But I was on my way to seek comfort for a general depressive malaise when that hope went rent from me.
So while I'm angry that the only way to communicate these pains is through an intermediary, and I'm angry that such things cannot just be said aloud to be remedied immediately so that we can avoid further pain... I'm more overwhelmed by this raging hurt of sadness and the sudden pain of a broken relationship.
And it took me awhile to wind myself up (or down, I'm not sure which) and even begin to discover my loathing for the idea of further interaction. [And I'm certain, in that way that my depressive self will interpret things, that she finds herself superior and hurt, and finds me to be a cretin unworthy of attention for a mistake I didn't understand to be a mistake at the time (that no one would point out, or complain about for a good twenty-four hours, mind you, and then she couldn't bring herself to speak to me, but brought me all the hurt she could anyway). So I am worthless, she is superior to me in every way, and I'm completely incoherent about it.]
I am angry and my instincts offer two reactions:
(1) Withdraw from all contact; fear, cower, loathe; nurse my grudges silently
(2) Retaliate; return hurt for hurt, pain for pain; induce suffering and then gloat over it (silently, of course)
Neither of these reactions is helpful (nor particularly healthy), so I am at a loss as to what, exactly, I can do about the situation. I want to rend her life limb from limb and leave her crying in the shambles (as per instinct two), wanting nothing quite as much as normalcy and a return to unreachable previous times. I want to punish by withdrawing all contact, all support, all positive interactions, so that she can conclude over time that it is a terrible thing to damage me thus.
But more than anything I want to cry and rage and cry and rage and sleep to never wake up to what is essentially a broken reaction in my broken brain that is doing nothing so much as breaking me into smaller and smaller pieces.
Soon, I fear, there won't be anything left of me but dust.