Site icon Something Worth Fighting For: Life Goes On

Can I vent for a minute here?

Can I just like…yell into the keyboard for a second here? (Heads up: I’m going to curse. I can’t be genuine if I’m filtering myself, and I just need to be real for a minute here.)

Can we start with a small level of honesty?

I’m sort of struggling. More than sort of. This shit has absolutely gotten to be too much for me. And I am just so over it.

I’ve fucking been through this shit before!!! Not under the exact same circumstances. Actually, under quite different circumstances…but I’ve been here before. And it has continued to absolutely fuck me up even years later.

So…why the FUCK am I at all shocked that these recent events have fucked me up to the extent that they have?!

I fucking hate labels. I hate words that finitely describe things. Because I’m not even good enough for, or worth that. Not even good enough for descriptive words or definitions. Excuses.

Because descriptive words imply grace. Forgiveness. Helplessness? I don’t know.

But no. I don’t deserve that. Everything that has happened to me is my fault. I have to take ownership and responsibility over it. Therefore…I get no grace. I don’t get to say that anything “happened” to me…because it was probably my own fucking fault and I deserved it.

I hate words like “abuse, addiction, rape”….anything like that. They don’t apply to me. They don’t. I am not the victim of circumstance.

I’m just a piece of shit. Therefore, I deserve and fucking brought on absolutely every bad thing that has and ever will happen to me.

I sort of have a mini rule. Before I blog about it, (if it’s something of a more serious nature) I have to talk about it in therapy first. I don’t know why. I just feel like it has to be that way. I want it to be that way.

But the problem is, before I can actually talk about it in therapy, I have to write about it. Probably because whenever I have heavy shit to talk about…words never seem to be able to form. I can sometimes give her something I’ve written though, and that helps start a more vulnerable conversation.

And writing about some of this shit is so hard. It’s so draining and exhausting…and I just… I don’t know. Maybe blogging about it helps with writing about helps with talking about it. Or something like that.

I’m having a fucking hard time. I’m so angry. I’m just so angry.

At him…at the world….

But mostly at myself.

Because I just feel worse and worse. Time is not healing this. It just feels so much fucking worse.

And I need it to stop.

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