(no subject)

As I woke up with a sinister headache this
morning at six o'clock, I called out of work.
This always manages to make me feel guilty
for some reason.
I shall now rub my eye for ten seconds, as it
pleases me to do so.
No word from Richard, even after the email
I sent him last night, telling him how I felt
I was falling apart.

Trust

This was brought on by a conversation with
Wee Heather the other night, as we sat in her
car.

Trust is a strange and fragile thing. It's also very difficult to give to someone, no matter
how much you care about them. And especially
in the case of being spectacularly hurt by
others in the past, it's hard to trust another.

To get past your programming is the biggest
step. To take out all of the nastiness which
has been ingrained in your psyche. To realise that
the person you are dealing with today is NOT
the one who stuck a knife in your back so many
years ago.

I have to be one of the most least trusting
people in the world. I don't even fully trust
my closest friends who I've known and loved
for years. Why? Because I've been kicked down
one too many times by people who I believed to
be trustworthy. People who I did know and love.
The ones who took my innocence and naietivity
as stupidity.
I'm still naieve. I'm still innocent, to a
certain degree. But, it's all been tempered with
the complete fear of being kicked in the face.
Again.
When the subject comes up in recent days, I'm
told that I'm loved. That I've no reason to be
scared. That my trust is being placed into worthy
hands.
But, it takes everything within my power to not
retort with "Yes. I've heard this all before."

Because I have heard it all before.
Infinite times.

Things I've been told before:

I'll never hurt you.
I'll never leave.
I will always love you.
You mean everything to me.
I'd never lie to you.
If you left, I would be lost.
I never want to lose you.
I'll only go if you tell me to.
No, there's nothing wrong.
Yes, I still love you.
I couldn't forget you if I tried.

And I, being the sick and foolish girl that
I try so hard not to be, swallow this all with
nary a comment. Not even with sugar to soften
the blow. I take in. I take it down. And I keep
these words to heart.

To what end? I still wind up being hurt. Three
a.m. still finds me curled in a ball, crying
my heart and wishing that the voices would
just SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE ALREADY.

This has turned me into a shivering wreck.
Into a person who doesn't like to give their
heart to anyone, but still winds up doing so.
Being schizophrenic and having delusions doesn't
help matters any, either.

I could have the most trustworthy person in the
world standing in front of me, offering me
reassurance and love. But, past experiences and
delusions force me to believe otherwise.

How do I get past these things? Will I ever
work through them?

I surely don't know.

Kicking against the pricks

When some people are depressed, they eat.
Some people drink alcohol.
Some people drown their sorrows in drugs.
Or sex.

Me?
I buy books.

Though, for once, I had the money to buy
as many books as I pleased. So I bought
four of them. Totaling $70.19.
These should last me about five days, really.

I bought:
*The Annotated HP Lovecraft (I'd read
the second in this series and liked it).
*More Pricks than Kicks by Samuel Beckett.
*Perfido Street Station by China Mieville (he
wrote King Rat. I'm obsessed with this book.)
*and a retelling of the Snow White story
by Tanith Lee (the title is escaping me
at the moment and I can't be bothered to walk
the ten paces into the other room to check
the cover).

Wee Heather drove. Dav sat in the back.
He and I bumped into each other during the
book store hunt to compare finds. He showed
me his armful of possible buys which included
books by Satre, Camus, and Wilde. I teased
him by saying they were all 'smart guy' books.
When I showed him my handful, he remarked
that they were all 'goth girl' books.

*laughs*

I'm still feeling out of sorts, I don't think
this is a state that I'm going to quickly pass
through. I bought a calling card and rang
Richard as soon as I got home, since we hadn't
spoken in a quite a few days.
Being that the time difference is five hours
apart, he was long in bed and I woke him.
The phone call was only five minutes long
and I'm once again left with an uneasy
pit in my stomach.

Today on alt.gothic, I read a post by a girl
named Kris. It was all about how she's come
to the realisation that the relationship she is
in just isn't going anywhere, despite how much
she loves the other person. It was about her
decisions and thoughts of breaking this off
because love just isn't always the binding
force between two people. That sometimes it's
just not enough.

I cried after I read it. It strikes me home in
so many differing ways. Though I'm not entirely
sure if it's a replica of what I'm going through
right now or not. In some ways, I just want
to give up my fight. Just lay down and die.
In regards to my relationship with Richard as
well as every other problem in my life.
There's so much pain involved in everything and
I'm really not all that strong of a person,
despite the horrid events that have transpired
in my life. No matter what anyone else says about
me, I am very weak and easily led by my emotions.
I'm not a logic-based life form.
And then in some other ways, I never want to give
up. I want to keep fighting. Struggle through
my problems with Richard and immigration. Beat
back all the difficulty of my schizophrenia
and depression. Ignore the nastiness of my job
and living situation.

But, those things /hurt./ And quite badly.
I bear enough scars from all the other fights in
my life. Self inflicted and otherwise. I'm
not sure if I want more to add to my collection.

Or if I can survive more.