This is a too-personal post, but few people read here anymore, and this is the first time I've had any impetus to write in a very long time, so be it.
I've always had a knack for being able to put depression into words. I've been dealing with it on and off through most of my life, so it's a necessity for me to put it onto paper (or a screen) in order to make sense of it. And as a result, I've had more than a few people over the years tell me that I've helped make their seemingly incoherent thoughts and feelings a little more coherent and easier to cope with, or helped them to finally be able to understand what their loved ones were going through, making it easier to empathize and assist. And yet somehow for the past 15 or so months, I have been completely unable to enable my own boyfriend to understand me at all, the person I'm arguably closest to, which feels like such an unfamiliar failure on my part. Feeling perpetually misunderstood and likewise treated with a lack of empathy, however unintentional, has not been easy. For either of us, I'm sure.
I've always psychoanalyzed my own behavior, because I know I do things all the time that outwardly seem completely contrary or illogical. I've proved to myself repeatedly that I have little control over the actual actions when they're occurring, but if I didn't at least try to make sense of why I did them, I'd have gone a lot more crazy a lot longer ago. In terms of interpersonal relationships, I know that I do everything I can to push people away, more often than not to see if they'll chase me and fight for me, or likewise to prove to myself that they won't as a self-fulfilling prophesy of sorts. I won't ask for help when I'm feeling unwell, but I'll send up a million red flags to see who will notice them, and then rather than taking responsibility for my own resulting terrible behavior, I'll blame who I'm with for not noticing the red flags and helping avert the situation. I'm melodramatic, I send out pathetic, attention-seeking cries for help, I burn bridges at the drop of a hat, and I sit back at the end of the day feeling totally alone in the universe, even though I created the scenario, because it's what I feel I deserve.
I've tried to explain all of this to my boyfriend, partly because I'm a verbose broken record, and partly because I feel I have a duty to wear my crazy on my sleeve just so everyone knows what they're dealing with. But being a (truly unbelievably) completely normal person, it just never seems to register with him. I've been in an episode of sorts the past few days, I knew full well my boyfriend didn't have time for me due to a very important obligation at work, and if anything needed my support. So in typical crazy fashion, that's when I come unhinged, pushing him away, testing him, knowing he can't and won't come to the rescue. No matter how many times I expect him to come bursting through the door to save our relationship, or to even recognize why this is all happening and even just ask me if I'm ok, it's not going to happen. It's such a strange feeling to have spent so much time with someone and know that they still don't understand such vital things about you..
But I can't blame him. And I don't blame him. I like to blame other people, but it's a lie because inwardly I always blame myself. I make everything about me, but at least I'm consistent and direct the punishment to myself as well. I create the situations that hurt me, because I'm a masochist. And I push him away because I know he deserves to be with someone with way less baggage, and that I deserve to be alone. But goddamn it hurts. Every other time I've pushed him away, and he didn't push back, I eventually told him I was sorry, and that I'm fucked up, and that I'd do anything to make it work. But I have to wonder if this time, something that started as part of another embarrassing episode, isn't actually for the best, because how can it ever work with two people who are unable to ever see eye to eye? That's so much easier to write than it is to grasp, though. I already miss him so much. I'm miserable. I didn't go to work yesterday, I couldn't get out of bed, I drank two beers on my lunch break today, I've eaten Xanax or Advil PM the past few nights just to sleep. All I want is to run to him and bury my face in his chest and pretend like we won't end up back here again eventually.
But I'm broken, like a vase. And all this psychiatry and therapy and antidepressants and support and effort is just the glue that holds the pieces of the vase together. No matter how meticulous of a job you do fixing it, it's just never going to be a proper vase. I'm broken. And he's not.
6 hours ago