I haven’t drank I over six months or so, since I’ve been fighting for my health for so long. This morning as I’ve been alone, because I’m always alone, I started looking through my notes.
Anyway I I’m sitting here with tears streaming down my face, not sure what to think or feel; where to go or what to feel. I came across something I wrote that talked about me drawing on Kyle’s painting. For about ten minutes or so I could not remember drawing on a painting. Where I drew on a painting and frankly I forgot who Kyle was. I knew I had, because obviously I had written about it. But I could not remember where. I don’t remember what painting. I do remember you being mad about it; but I don’t remember where, how, nor what the painting looked like. it took me finally after wracking my brain to remember who Kyle was. I still don’t remember the painting or drawing on it. Was it in a white gallery. Was it in your home. I can’t remember.
Tragically, I know I drank a lot, but I didn’t know I needed that much help. To the point where I can’t even remember anything. It makes me feel lonely and scared within my own self and shame.
When I was at the physical therapist last time it was a new guy and I told him I couldn’t stand up straight ans he told me to stand up straight, to just relax. I told him I couldn’t relax and started crying. He asked me if I could sit with him and try meditating. I thought he was being patronizing but I said ok and humored him. He told me to feel a drop of water going down my head and feel it travel down my body on the way , feeling the sensation of it going down. I said I could only feel it until I got to my neck , and at that point I could not feel the sensation of my neck. Nor my chest, nor ribcage. He told me that’s normal and said ‘when our body’s are in pain so long, our brain shuts off the perception of the parts of the body that have been in pain after a while, and you lose the ability to connect with your own body or feeling the sensation of it at all’. He told me to practice it over and over until I could feel myself again. I just end up crying every time I do. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember the past. Or the bad parts. Or maybe i genuinely needed help. Or both.
I don’t know what I was running from, or scared of to drink that much. But I can’t remember any of it. Only bits and Pieces that come and go. All I know is I don’t think it was really me. It’s a horrible thing to be in that state with no one to help me, I was so far gone I can’t believe I’m even alive now. I’ve managed to remember all the things I didn’t feel any pain from. And lost control over all my memories. Which is a sinking feeling. I’d ask for forgiveness from the things I’ve done but I can’t remember them. And I can’t remember why no one loved me enough to help me so why would I expect forgiveness. I desperately wanted love. And help. But I guess it’s easier to hate someone when you see someone drowning than it is to save them. There was no way I could have saved myself I was too far gone and I can’t even remember it so maybe that’s the only way I saved myself, by forgetting the pain of it.
You walked by me and laughed the last time you saw me, but don’t you think I paid the price of being me enough ? My body won’t even let me feel itself or remember my own life. And when I saw you, could you not see how afraid I was? That was not the look of someone who was feeling safe in the world.
It’s like I loved you so much and so purely. And I see how I was sacrificed and abandoned for being unlovable, left to die. To be laughed at for surviving that situation, with nothing to my name, not even love. Sometimes I think I should kill my self because I will never not be afraid. That I’ll always be afraid . That I’m unlovable. Not worth saving or caring about. That I’m worth abandoning on the side of the road.
But when I have been alone I started singing to keep myself company and the things I sing about that come out of me without thinking are love. So why do I feel love inside me if I’m so unlovable. Why do I love if I’m unlovable. That was all so long ago but I’m destroyed by it in ways I don’t fully understand. Days like this I think about killing myself because I realize no, things will never be better inside me. I can’t even remember my own painful life.
And it makes me afraid. Like there’s no hope. No point in even making money. No point of making friends. No point in anything since I am not worth loving. Or that the pain has been so great that I can’t even feel myself or my memories. So what point is there in anything? I’ve clung on to the beauty of things to ‘save myself’ but under close inspection there’s nothing there, no one there and I’m still abandoned. Because maybe everyone actually hates me for the things I have done and I didn’t even know it because I tried to protect myself. I can’t even remember what I did. But protect myself for why? Maybe if the truth and pain is actually so bad I can’t even remember it maybe I should die and not try to protect myself . Or maybe I’ll keep living my delusional life some more and convince myself there’s hope of being loved like I feel love. That’s why I’m not online , that’s why I’m not happy to be me. Because I know, no one actually loves me and I’ve just been lying to myself like I’ve been lying to myself with my own memories. It is really terrible that I hadn’t even been drunk when I fell, but I feel like the scars from my drinking are worse because they make me realize how alone my life is and how alone my life will be from actions I can’t even fucking remember. So while I don’t drink anymore and don’t ever plan to, I am just keenly aware now how scared I am without being numbed. And I’m keenly aware of my fears more, and I probably think death might be a real option for me because I don’t think I’m able to heal the internal things that happened to my soul when I was conscious and unconscious to them. I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again. And life feels like a cage where I’m just constantly talking myself out of feeling the pain of it. Like I feel like I ruined my own life. What’s the point of living when you feel like a failure. I know I lie to myself all the time, I tell myself love is great, I tell myself you love me, I know there is actually NO reality for that. I know you laughed at me. I know you don’t. I know I’ll never have love. I know I’m too afraid . And what’s worse is I know the shape of love, I know what love could be, I know what it is. My brain is clever and I distract myself with a mirad of things. Projects after projects . It’s all pointless shit. My life isn’t actually going to get better. I wake up in the morning and sing about love. And then I sit there alone. And I play death cabbbb for cutttie ‘transatlanticc’ and I sit there alone in my house with tears streaming down my face and then I go make lunch and try to forget I have a heart. I want to be so numb I don’t feel anything anymore. And the only way to do that is to die. But death can be a slow one like a slow apathy of doing nothing until you completely fade away. Death to my heart. Death to my feelings. Death to my memories. Death to my hopes and dreams. Death to it all. Because is there actually hope? Oh absolutely not! It’s all a horrible horrible frightful thing and I’m a scared little girl and want it all over with. That’s probably why I drank in the first place. You’re probably not going to hear from me again after this I’m too confused about life and myself. Well maybe not confused, more knowing nothing good will ever be for me.again. It’s so hopeless. It’s all so hopeless . I’m so glad you’re happy as a clam jack. I’m so glad you have everything. Love, friends, money. Fame.happiness . I saw someone gave me a public ‘ review the the other day. It was around the time we broke up. It said ‘I would not be Caroline’s friend’
Is that why I have no one now? They read that about me this whole time. I just saw it now. I must be such a Terrible person. See? My life is ruined anyway. Ruined. You know what’s funny? I’m still paying storage on that mirror in Philly! Because I wanted it to be okay! And not in a landfill! Who cares if I go in a landfill? Who cares?
