I got a little bit tipsy last night and fell asleep watching a movie. I didn't feel sorry for myself. I did have pangs of feeling exceptionally angry, but not the way you might suppose. I felt angry at people who give me sympathy. I posted about being raped on Facebook a few days ago. My intention wasn't to get attention, or to have people engage me in conversation, but perhaps I should have expected that. When the sympathy comments flooded in, I didn't feel gratitude, I felt annoyed. And angry. Don't get me wrong, I know that these people just want to let me know that they care, and that they support me. I know they have no idea that their sympathy makes me angry. And under different circumstances, a good deal of the things people said to me would have made me exceptionally pleased. But not in this case. I just kind of wanted people to read what I had to say, and be aware, and then to move on with their day.
I didn't cry yesterday, but I'm crying now. Andes had a stroke this morning, and now he's in death pose, breathing in a very labored way, and I know he's going to be dead when I get home. He can't move. I took him out and sat with him on the floor, bawling my ass off, and that just broke the floodgates. Now it's everything. Everything that's been weighing on me lately is coming up.
I think the thing I'm most upset about is how disappointing people can be. I try and have little to no expectations of people, because I know the second I do, they're going to let me down. That's just how life goes. But every once and awhile, I think that someone is actually going to come through and do what they say they're going to. When they don't, it ruins me.
I'm supposed to go out tonight, but I don't think that's going to happen. Perhaps that's for the best. I can just hole myself up in my room and do my homework. Or drink myself into a hard sleep. I don't care. It doesn't ultimately matter.
On the positive side, it is important for me to recognize again that it;s been nine months since I was raped, and I am ok. It doesn't mess with me nearly as much anymore, and I can go weeks without having a nightmare, or thinking about it, or feeling paranoid. Getting the texts from him fucked with me a bit, but that was a couple of months ago, and I haven't heard anything since. I don't feel sorry for myself, and I don't feel like it was my fault. That's quite the accomplishment. If I can jump over the hurdle of occasional fear, I'll be happy. And that day will come, I think. A fortune cookie Dan opened once said, "The Great Wall didn't got build in one day", and as hilariously bad as that sentence is, it's become my mantra, just as it is. I constantly tell myself that the great wall didn't got build in one day, just like that, and it both makes me giggle and calms me down. I don't have to be 100% over it. But I'm working on it.
I might go out and take some photos this weekend to clear my head. Perhaps I'll go creep on people at Starbucks. I do miss that.
It's this kind of morning. I've been listening to this on repeat. Fun fact: I got a tattoo because of this song. A very literal tattoo. It's one of my favorites.
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