Day 5
Let's do some journaling.
When I was 23 years old I had a fight with my then girlfriend that resulted in our break-up. I FEEL this way about it: sad. That's the first word that comes to mind. She had been in trouble for months, struggling with depression. (She was living with me) We were living together and I saw that struggle daily. She would go to bed really late, like 5 AM, while she stayed in bed on her laptop. I slept next to her. Then she'd wake up like 3 PM, (I'd sta) I'd help her get lunch and in the afternoon we'd get out to get some sun like her doctor said to. I'd always go with her and often I was the one to remind her that she had to go, because she didn't really feel like going. Anyway, I forgot where I was going with this. Oh, the fight. She was irritable for a while. But wait, I'm describing facts and not feelings. Okay, so how did I feel during that time? I can't say that I felt much. I guess at the time I felt a lot of compassion towards her, because I loved her and wanted her to get better. But I don't think I was particularly sad. One memory I remember from this time was that I'd get home from work and see how weak she was. Not really physically, more psychologically. My students were very lively, witty, could stand up to themselves, it was a high-functioning environment where I had to keep my ground and really perform in the social interactions. Then I came home and that was a huge contrast with her, because she was very weak psychologically. Not always, but at that time yes. I felt like I had to protect her and make up for that. I felt like I had to take care of her. How did I feel about having to do that? Not great. I felt responsible, burdened. How is it to be burdened with something like that at that age? It's heavy. It's pressuring. It's demanding. I was certainly stressed from that huge responsibility of living for both of us. I don't think I told her that, but how could I? At that point, it wasn't a relationship between equals, I had to shield her from things including my feelings. Not that I'm great at sharing or even knowing my feelings at other times. I'm grinding my teeth again. Anyway, yeah, that was stressful, a lot of work. And I was going to talk about her irritability. She was snapping at me sometimes. Dumb things. She'd get mad for very little or for no reason, small things that shouldn't ruin your day. But they ruined her life, ruined her image of me. I'd later identify this as BPD quite easily. The black and white splitting. I felt sooo bad when she snapped at me. This I told her, because it couldn't go on. I told her I even felt bad physically when she did it, because I did. I felt nauseous. It sucks not being treated with respect. I didn't quite get mad at her, though. Why wasn't I mad? Maybe I was angry and just denied that. I don't remember being angry, though, just hurt. Like I trusted someone a lot and they betrayed that trust. Shouldn't you get angry when that happens? Anyway. The big fight was when she snapped one time. It was another little thing. It was money, very little money. She had been buying too many shoes. I didn't say shit, she was my girlfriend and not my wife. It was her money. Maybe I made a remark with irony. I think she knew she was buying too many shoes and not growing new feet. But she didn't care, she was buying out of desperation. I guess it lessened her pain, made her feel better. Anyway, she had no money. She borrowed some from me but hadn't used it yet, she was going to but there was some issue. She was feeling really bad that day. She said something about life being shit. I wanted to make her feel better, so I invited her to go out. I didn't want to go out. I just wanted to make her life less shit. She dyed her hair. She hadn't dyed her hair in so long, so depressed she was. She loved dying her hair, she was just too depressed to do it, I guess. That day she dyed it. And when we were about to leave, for some reason I asked if I could take the money and put it in my wallet. I don't remember if I forgot she hadn't used it yet, or something, but she replied saying that the money was hers. Like, she had payed for some other thing before and the money was hers. She borrowed it from me and that night said she wasn't going to pay me back because she had already paid for a cab or something another night. Now, the thing is that I had always had a secret resentment for paying most things. That was a huge mistake, I should've talked to her about that. I had decided at some point that I wasn't going to pay more than her, that we were going to split expenses evenly like supposedly we did. She was a feminist, she was fine with that in theory. And I am really really fine with that, because it couldn't be more fair. Anyway, during all of our relationship I paid for sooooo many cabs more than she did. It's unreal. And not just cabs, but also food. Takeout. She'd never pay for that. Never ever. We'd order at least once a week. I'd go get it, too. She never got it for me. She never went with me. She was just served, and I was dumb for serving her. Now I feel that anger coming. The anger is at her entitlement, her using me. In small ways, but still using me. I would like to say "fuck you, go get your own food, pay for your own food, I'm not your maid". But I didn't. I just did things for her because she was so weak. Because I had to be strong for her. I had to be the responsible one. Because she'd snap and get either depressed or irritated. I forgot where I was going with this. So there was the depression, the irritation, and with that, of course, a lack of intimacy and sex. A lack of a relationship, really. By the end, we were living together but not interacting much with each other. In fact, I was purposefully avoiding her so that she wouldn't snap at me. Or start crying for no reason. All of those things made me go back on something that I said to her the night of the fight: that I'd pay for dinner. I said that when she said she had no money. I wanted to go out and cheer her up. I'd pay. But then, she wanted more. She said the money she borrowed from me was hers. That was unfair. So I backed out on paying for dinner. That was a shitstorm. We ended up not going out and she was mad as fuck. She wouldn't talk to me. I layed on bed next to her and asked if she wanted to talk. No. So we went to bed mad at each other. I remember that night. I remember really hating her. I slept as far away from her as possible. It wasn't really about the money, it was about her not wanting to sort things out. Stonewalling. That I could not tolerate. If there's one thing I can't tolerate, it's unwillingness to solve problems. So I slept with one idea in mind, break up with her. Because of the shit non-relationship we had been having for months, for her snapping at me multiple times and not stopping when I asked. In fact, she'd just talk about her own emotions when I brought that up. "What about me?" You were insensitive, that's what about you. You should apologize, that's what about you. There were never any apologies, only blame shifting. I was always somehow as bad as her, even though she was the one that snapped and was disrespectful. Fuck that. Fuck her. The next day, I woke up and tried finding something to stop me from breaking up with her. Nothing convinced me. The idea was unshakable inside me. I felt like it had to be done. I didn't think I was going to cry. I didn't think she was going to try not letting me. That was more sad than mad. I felt really bad for abandoning her. I'm sure she felt terrible for being abandoned as a BPD. That's their worst feat, worst enemy. Her reactions were extreme. She cried and tried to convince me to work things out. She'd move out. It didn't work, so she snapped. She accused me of being stingy. Namecalling. Whatever. I cried after that, when she was a mess. I was scheduled to go see her therapist with her, because her therapist requested it. We agreed I'd go before the fight. My last compromise was agreeing to go see her therapist anyway, and figure it out then. But in my heart I knew I was just going to have the therapist mediate our breakup, maybe that would help her. She brought me chocolate. That was supposed to be a nice thing, that she liked me and was willing to do something for me. But it was calculated. She figured that if she did something nice I'd be more inclined to stay, I guess. Worse, it made me realize that she had never brought me chocolate. Or ever done something nice to me. Maybe a few things, but still. Her bringing me chocolate was like a once in a life-time event, and only after our imminent breakup. Why not before? Made me realize how shitty it was before. How she could've been nicer all this time, she just wasn't in danger. Anyway, she changed her mind after the chocolate. I asked her something, I don't remember what. It was something about going to therapy together, or maybe about her brother. She snapped and packed her bags. She was a wild animal at this point. I was scared. I was talking to her from far away and not wanting to touch her because I feared a physical fight, like she would slap me or hurt me. I called her brother to pick her up and she left saying that I shouldn't want her back after she recovered. You're never going to recover, honey. That's evil for me to say, but whatever. You might get less depressed in cycles, but I'm pretty sure your BPD is forever. Anyway, I'm sure that's not a great world to live in, your head. Good luck with that. But I'm not going to be a part of your storm. I thought I'd leave it that day, but it seems your final blow was staying in my mind. I'm pretty sure you are the cause of this pain. Well, fuck you. You're not going to win. It sucks that this is the universe that we got. That this is the life that we lived, that our past was so awkward and sad. It sucks that you have hurt me in so many ways. That I allowed you to. That I wasn't better. That I didn't live perfectly. But that's just my perfectionism, nobody lives perfectly. I'm sure we had good times as well. Anyway, you're not gonna win. Even if you did hurt me for much longer than you should have, and cut me deeper than I would've liked, you are not gonna win. I'm going to overcome the feelings, the pain, this life. I'm going to get better. I'm going to be happy. Then I'm going to die one day and forget any of this ever happened. You, the sadness, the anger, the happiness. So here's to that. But I'm not going to give up yet. I'm going to keep fighting. One day this universe will take my life, but I'm not going to make it easy. I'm going to shake the world first. And you, fuck you. You're not going to stop me.
I'm crying, so I guss that was successful journaling? I'll count it as a win.