Tuesday, January 26, 2016
And so my brain is so squirrely.
To the point that I'm questioning whether or not my relationship with my fiancee is healthy. Yesterday, she started yelling at me as soon as we walked through the door, and then she broke down crying, making me feel like it was all my fault. And then other things happened and I was talking to my mom who doesn't really like her, so her opinion is of course going to be leave her. And my mom's all you act like someone who's been abused and I don't know when that started.
Could it be that it started when dad moved in and called me fat multiple times a day? Or stinky or thunder thighs or any of the other names that he called me?
Or witnessing him throw plates in the sink? And him yelling at you?
Could it be having to deal with all of this from the time I was eight until I was fourteen?
Or maybe it was the neglect that happened every weekend when we went to his house? Because guess what? He works weekend nights. So he slept through weekend days, and then was gone at night. And his house had ants everywhere. We would watch them fly off the curtains.
But maybe it is her. She's never hit me, which I know is not the only kind of abuse there is.
But there are times where just...yells at me for days. And when she's not yelling, we're not talking.
So I brought up me leaving last night...and she told me to go if I thought she was abusive. She told me that she wanted the best for me, and if I thought I was being abused she wasn't the best. But I was using it as a test. I figured she'd scream and hit me if she was abusive, tell me I was worthless without her. Make me stay somehow.
Sorry, I didn't mean for this to be like this. I meant to give y'all an update on weight and food and things.
I've been thinking about cutting again. I know I can't without someone noticing, but it's so tempting. Especially when I lay down at night.
Most of my scars are gone from when I was younger and it was a big problem. I have one that I use as a reminder to not go down that road. It's from a bread knife when I was sixteen. It was serrated. It was a really close brush with death. I should have called 911 that night, but I told myself that I could do it myself. And eventually I did. Probably way after the fifteen minutes your supposed to try at max before calling them. And then I showed my mom because she's a nurse, right, so she had to know how to make all better. And she asked if I wanted to go to the ER, and I should've said yes, but she told me they would probably lock me up. Anyway, we slapped some butter fly bandages, the ones that hold things closed, and covered it with another bandaid so it looked not nearly as bad. And it left a huge scar and I'm sure there's a lot of scar tissue and I'm sure something is not good in there, but I don't ever want to talk about it.
I'm so sorry.
I'm so emotional right now, and this is the place where I can just, unfiltered, spill everything out. And like you guys might judge me, but I know a lot of you have been through the same or similar things so I don't really worry about being judged here.
Lots of love,