Well, instead of sketching, or paining, or even writing, I ended up sleeping for hours.  At least now, when I fall asleep at an unreasonably early hour, I don’t end up sleeping until morning. I woke up at 3AM feeling well rested and had to read for a while before I could fall back asleep.  That’s an encouraging sign that I don’t actually NEED the 10-12 hours of sleep I had been getting.

I’m continuing to struggle with finding inspiration to start any of the projects I had envisioned.  I’ve collected the pieces for the jewelry, I’ve purchased the paints and canvasses and brushes for painting, I’ve splurged on interestingly covered journals for writing, and I’ve filled my apartment with frames and sheets of matboard.  Yet it all sits untouched.

I used to be able to just draw and draw and draw without even pausing, really.  Inspiration? It was always there. Perhaps most of what I ended up drawing or painting or sewing wasn’t that original, but the ideas never ceased to flow.  I wonder to what extent this is a side effect of my medications.  How much is my personality and mind being suppressed? Not a question I’ll likely find an answer to soon, as normally my doctors’ opinions are to add more medications, not take away.

My mind just feels…. Stuck.  No ideas come out.  No words even, right now.  It just feels like a ball of tangled yarn.

Father’s day is tomorrow.  Normally I don’t post anything of my own, but I like my family members’ posts (without commenting, but still, I acknowledge. And my silence feels like consent).  Not this year.  I resent that I have to be in a position to forgive him for such atrocious actions and such callous attitude towards me. I resent it because I’m not sure he was sorry for his behavior during his life, only worried that he’d be found out.

Sometimes I wonder what things would have been like if I’d been consciously aware of what was going on and had been able to tell someone and stop him.  If he’d gone to jail.  We would have had to move — mom wouldn’t have been able to afford the house on her own. I would have wanted to move.  Not only was that place a source of anxiety and negative memories, there’s no way I would have been able to stand going to school with people who knew what had happened to me.  We would have ended up moving in with my mom’s parents. My grandmother would have been really emotionally and energetically…. Challenging.   I don’t know how I would have survived that either.  Is this really the family I picked?  I can’t imagine consciously deciding I needed to experience these horrible events and that this was the family I needed to have. Perhaps I knew I’d get good siblings out of the arrangement, but that almost doesn’t seem reason enough to have picked this.

A couple of years ago one of my friends said something that immediately felt true (even though I felt guilty too) — that my life would be better, freer, after both parents were gone. He meant this in the sense that I would no longer have to be concerned with appearances, wouldn’t feel obligated to feign interest in religion, and could drift away from extended family. Now I realize it’s not that simple. My siblings are only becoming more and more religious and latching onto the ideas my parents put into their minds, and the legacy of the abuse will outlive my mother.

Why is it such a struggle to put my thoughts down onto “paper”?  Am I that afraid of them? Am I running from my emotions that easily? I guess I am.  I need to admit that I am really down in the dumps again, that I don’t have the motivation to try to fix anything in my life right now, that if given a choice I would just stay in bed all the time.  I don’t know what to do to fix this.  There used to be ideas, activities, for which I’d feel a spark of interest.  That spark is gone.  Everything feels like a chore.  Lately even eating feels like an obligation.  You’d think that would have me losing weight, at least, but the opposite is true.  It feels like I am holding everything in me.

I did a quick tarot reading and pulled two runes today and both referred to having a healthy sex life.  Whaaaat? How is that even possible? I never meet anyone.  I feel very set in my ways of not meeting anyone. I don’t want to end up alone forever, not really, but when I SEE myself in the future I am alone.  What a solitary, lonely life I am leading and am intending to lead.  Do I really believe I don’t deserve to be loved? To be made love to? To make love to someone else? I can’t believe that.  I don’t deserve to be punished for HIS sins.

I am living what he told me I’d live.  Letting no one love me. I know he meant it to be hurtful and never really believed that no one would love me, but I’ve taken that to heart and am living it.  How can I break this cycle? How can I stop poisoning my body and leaving it to rot? How can I be happy with the way I look and feel again? How can I believe that there is someone out there, perhaps many someones, who’d be able to love me?  How can I even approach dating or sex with these memories always in my mind?

What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me? Everything. Nothing. Who knows? I sure as hell don’t.  Why do I feel so broken? Intellectually I don’t really believe I am, but emotionally…. Whew. It’s as if I am living as two different selves.