The want is stronger than the ‘can.’
Just because I want to write doesn’t mean I can.
I feel stuck. The shit is in there but won’t come out.
Haha sounds like I’m talking about obstructive bowels and sometimes that happens. Correlation no doubt. Mind and body always connect.
My intention was to plow through all the hurt, all the proof of absence of love. The family toxicity is something necessary for me to work through, write about, feel the emotions it brings up. I start and even get some decent traction.
Not to get pity or even feel sorry for myself, but as a way of peeling off the layers of damage caused by my parents and later my siblings. So that I can be rid of the effects and heal. So I can find MY OWN damn voice and be the me underneath all the crud laid upon me.
But then I reach for something to dull or numb what I feel as a result of digging up the memories.
And then I get further stuck because I’m numb and then later angry at myself.
More waste, more wasted life, more of my life wasted.
I’m a failure and the thought of getting back on track feels necessary while at the same time overwhelming. I’ve been here before. I’ve done this before. The same ritual. Time to throw out the temptations. But then there’s only so much temptation I can get rid of since it’s not all mine to throw away.
I can’t throw out the pastries and cakes Mr. B brings home. My determination must be stronger and that can be difficult. Sometimes my resolve, dissolves.
The more I dig, the more the pain grows. I am so used to my habit of numbing or running, it’s almost mechanical.
I’m so alone. I’ve asked for support and to stop bringing the junk food home. But he won’t. Besides, as much as it would be nice to have such support, he isn’t responsible for my healing. I get into dark places at times and feel like he purposely sabotages me, and who knows, maybe that’s true. But I don’t think so..at least not in a conscious way.
I think he has his own pain, and yeah, perhaps he likes me where I am. It contributes to keep him in his own comfy place. But that’s not for me to control. It might suck, but the only person keeping me down now, is me.
I need to find a way to work through this shit. Stop nodding back off to sleep. Stop keeping myself small. Stop giving into my old habits.