Lancing Emotional Boils

Okay, it’s been two days of NaNo already and I’ve written nothing. Like not a damn thing.

The short story I started and tried to write last month is still staring at me like an angry specter in the closet and I even went so far as to outline a new one to jump into and… nothing.

So I just need to get this out and maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to process this and move it out of my system. And I don’t know. Maybe I will just count these words for NaNo since it is writing and I’ve already declared myself as a rebel this year and just write something, anything, everyday until I feel fucking well again. I haven’t been myself for quite some time and now it feels like a total system failure.

First day of the month, Golden Knight broke up with me over messenger. I feel like I’m using every spoon I’ve got in my arsenal just to keep the beast of rage at bay.

It’s easier to be angry than feel pain. It’s easier to be hurtful to create distance than feel pain. It’s easier to utilize that fire as energy to pull yourself out of depersonalization and disassociation in order to have some semblance of function. It’s easier than sitting with it, naming it, claiming it. I can’t invite it for tea.

I think the thing that enrages me the most is seeing his total lack of emotional display. Like I don’t matter. Like I’m not human. That I’m nothing to him. This causes me the most pain.

Even when he apologized for breaking up with me over messenger. Even when he showed up in person to tell it to me to my face as I asked. He remained stoic. The emotional wall was there, miles thick. It was suffocating and crushing. And I desired nothing more than to do something, anything, just to see some kind of emotional reaction from him. To prove I’m real. To prove I matter. That I’m right there and that I exist.

Such an angry, hateful, and toxic dynamic in moments like that.

But I don’t want to be the angry person either. It’s destructive. And I don’t even know right now what it is my system is trying to destroy. Like it’s not even aimed at anything specific. It’s just pain with no where to go. Just boils of hate filled magma randomly bursting open and then I have to use every spoon I’ve got until I’m in tears to keep that shit in check.

But I swear to god it’s so hard not to be abrasive when you’re scrambling for air. When you can’t breathe.

Don’t tell me I’m lazy when I’m drowning.

Don’t tell me I’m clingy when I’m drowning.

Don’t tell me I’m too loud when I’m drowning.

Don’t tell me I don’t need air when I’m drowning.

Fuck. You.

There is nothing gentle about drowning in burning gasoline. Try it sometime.

This is what Bipolar rage is. All consuming. Not enough sedative in the world can stop this shit, I know so why the fuck bother? I don’t feel strong enough to ride my own shit out sometimes.

Can’t focus on Reiki. Can’t focus on a game. Can’t focus to write a story. Hell, I’m not even writing these paragraphs in order – just bouncing around them and putting the thoughts where I think they make sense.

I need to lance these emotional boils somehow and let the energy flow out. The tears leak but the dam hasn’t really broken. Not sure if it’s even supposed to. But I desire a release. A purge.

Three fucking years of chasing the carrot. I know this is what my anger is focused on.

Three years and he’s only now decided that I’m not the one. I know this is where my pain is coming from.

To be fair, that time hasn’t been a complete waste for me. In that time I have been able to remember and recover myself. I’ve been able to put into practice and strengthen the skill sets I’ve gained from therapy. And for the first time in my life, I ventured into the realm of being authentic in my relationships. I’m mastering the art of setting boundaries, regulating emotions, managing triggers, and expressing needs as well. So for all of this, I am grateful for the experience. I believe I’m coming out stronger and better. I feel I have a more solid idea of who and what I am.

Okay. So I also know one problem I still need to address and work on is the sunk-cost fallacy. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have stayed married to Little Bear’s father for 8 years of hell like I had. So that’s something for me to master. To recognize when the cost out weighs the benefit and be willing to exit at that point.

I don’t need to chase a carrot anymore when I have my own jar of happiness to fill.

I have my own table with my own feast to sit at. It’s not my fault if someone else wants to sit on the floor to eat scraps. I can’t make them sit in a chair with me and I don’t need to join them on the floor.

My soul tribe is out there. I don’t need to squeeze my square self into round holes to please people that don’t like me unmasked or unfiltered. There are people out there that will celebrate and delight in me, and my children, just the way we are, unmasked and unfiltered.

I need to start curating my social circle the same way I curate my internet feeds. If it’s not uplifting, supportive, informative, and nourishing then it needs to go.

I need to go where a Goblin Queen belongs.

Tall rumbling mountains that touch a sky painted with thunderous clouds spiked with lightning. Mighty winged beasts swoop over the landscape. Swaying pine, ash, and oak grace the cliffsides and carpet the valleys. Deep below lies a dark and turbulent ocean, fraught with creatures unknown in its waters.

I will seek those that live there. A land of the wyrd.

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