The dreaded tomorrow

Tomorrow brings another Tuesday. A 2 hour therapy day…and one that I desperately need to NOT completely fuck up again.

I have something along the lines of…hope(?) that maybe I can just like…be normal? Which, of course, means going in there and being sarcastic and light and not serious at all about anything because I’m trying so hard to get back on track…

But honestly? That’s so much better than the alternative.

I really think that if tomorrow were a “normal” Tuesday…I’d be able to pull it off. I could walk in there, and just force it. Tell stories about today, my sons birthday (apparently not ready to talk about that yet?)… the obvious struggle that my life is/is becoming, and so on.

But tomorrow isn’t a “normal” Tuesday. No.

It’s the day she gets here. My “sister” is coming, and she’ll be staying here until early January.

There’s only a few ways I refer to my sister…usually just “her” or “the devil”. She’s tortured me enough during this lifetime to earn that sentiment. I know what true hatred feels like because of her. So, to say her existence on this planet…in my fucking house is triggering…it’s an understatement to say the least.

It’s been brought I my attention (last week in therapy) that I might consider “forgiving” her. Although not exactly “forgiveness”…because that’s not the word I would attribute to it. But something to that effect.

She doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. She deserves nothing at all from me. Not even fakeness or a forced smile. I don’t owe her anything.

She has her issues, sure. But that doesn’t mean she had to target me. A child, 9 YEARS younger than her to be the scapegoat to her life. My life would have been…tolerable? Yeah, at least tolerable, had she left me the fuck alone. My physical issues would remain, but that’s it.

I would have at least had a fucking chance.

This post isn’t about her. I hate her. She doesn’t deserve a post. (Shit. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be horrible.)

It’s more important to me than anything that I leave therapy tomorrow feeling better. Not about life, but about the…other? Part of it? The strength of the relationship part of it? I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying.

I’m saying that I don’t want to mess it up. I’m saying that, like I’ve said in previous posts, how secure, or safe, or whatever word it is that applies, in the important relationships in my life have a massive impact on everything.

If my husband leaves for work and I don’t feel good about us, my whole day is ruined and I’m on edge until I feel better about it. If I have a hard therapy session and I leave feeling like I fucked it up and she hates me (yes, I know she doesn’t literally hate me), it ruins my week and gives me insane anxiety before the next time I walk in…which makes the situation even worse.

I’m never safe. No one in my life has ever been safe. I grew up in a home where every SINGLE fucking thing that I did (good, bad or indifferent) was met with explosive anger and torture from her.

Shit. I could be so bold as to say the only reason I started drinking and cutting and all that shit when I was 15 years old was because of her.

Nothing in my life has ever been stable or healthy. So I panic and I freak out and I blame myself for every little thing that I assume leaves others disliking me, or on unstable ground.

I live in fear. And I have since I was born.

I never had a fucking chance to be okay in this world because of her.

Tomorrow I have therapy. And the devil is coming.

Tomorrow, I need therapy to go well. Yet I’m triggered. And I’m upset. And I hate her. (The sister, not the therapist.)

If the past few sessions had gone differently, I may very well have walked into therapy tomorrow spewing anger and hatred and hostility towards her (the sister 😈). But I can’t do that, because I need to leave there feeling safe and not having shut down and fucked it up.

I’m not going to let her (😈) steal another day from me.

She will not be the reason I dig myself further into a hole…making myself feel worse.

Tomorrow will be better. No matter what it takes. Even if I fucking walk in, sit on the floor and start coloring and drinking my coffee… it will be good.

That is, of course, until I pick up on her (therapist) vibes, assume she ‘hates’ me, and I shut down instead. And hate myself even more.

It’ll be good. It’ll be great. I’m not worried.

Everything is fine.

I’m always fine.