I am not a switch…

I have said it so many times… I picture myself Nixon-esque in my denial.  And maybe equally dishonest…  Although not as intentionally as he was.

I am not a switch.  But maybe I am.  Why should the thought of it terrify me?  Why is it bad?  K is a switch and I respect the crap out of him.  MJ is a dominant sadist who… has his own reasons for taking a serious beating every so often.  Why… when it comes to myself… do I flinch and shudder and deny deny deny…  I am NOT a switch.

Would it matter if I was?

Does it matter if I’m a dominant sadist who for my own reasons takes a serious (for me) beating every so often? And slightly more frequently a less than serious one?

Should I care if people say, “Ah ha!  Proof!  You ARE a switch!” as if they have uncovered a government conspiracy…  It’s Shadowgate!  Sorry no Deep Throat this time…

I don’t know what I am.

I’m not totally sure why I care.

I am what I am, as Popeye so wisely once said.  Why isn’t that enough for me?  I have so much bigger character flaws than this (even if I give it the status of character flaw… which… gets sketchy when I go beyond myself.)

I have serious flaws.

Serious, profound, friendship-killing flaws.

I wrote a journal entry about my day but to reveal it is feeling too…  too difficult tonight.  I told one of my best friends what I had done and he… was rightfully displeased at it.  Told me what he’d have done if I’d done it to him…  And he would have been within his rights.  Completely.

I did it to K, though, and… he chose different methods.  In the dark and twisted alleys of my broken mind I almost think M’s way would have been better.  It would have hurt more.  Perhaps K was easy on me not doing what I truly deserved.

I’m not sure.

I have wandered into a dark place and now I don’t know which way is true.

K says if I’m still confused he can punish me some more.  He says he doesn’t mind.  He is smiling, but I feel guilty causing him to exert himself to correct me.

I can worry about anything.

K says… “Except for your own ass, keep talking, girl.”

He’s supervising tonight.  I haven’t been completely well.  Hell, I haven’t been at all well.  Most of today I’ve been better, even considering the breakdown and punishment in the middle of it… cognitively I was able to rebound and hold things together the rest of the day.  There are still some pretty serious issues, but objectively I can say that my mind is functioning better than it has been.  Treatment seems to be helping…  I can only hold on by teeth and fingernails and hope for it to continue to work even without my assistance because… I have… nothing left to offer to my own recovery at this point.

I obey when they give me instructions.  I swallow pills, I take injections, I get in the car when they say it’s time for an appointment.  When I can, when I possibly can, I stop my mind when it starts wandering into dark territory.  Or at least hunker down as another friend suggested last week… at least hold onto your ground, step up, not back (he’s British…) Yesterday and today I even did chores of my own volition… moving slowly, but steadily making progress at things that need doing…  It is progress, but inching forward, and disrupted by moments of complete failure that seem even worse for cropping up exactly when I am making progress.

I took a switching today.  I hate switches (the implements not the people…)  It still hurts.  It’s been hours.  K thought having me sit and write in my blog while I waited for an appointed meeting with M would reinforce the lesson…  I guess I’m giving it away now…  I wanted to sit…  It hurts.  When I squirm I wake up the pain in the welts and make them sting…  I deserve it so I do it often.  K thought I was squirming because it hurts…  I squirm to make it hurt more.

Things are darker right now than they’ve been for a couple days.

I feel unlovable, though they both keep saying they love me.

I feel unforgivable, though they both keep saying I’m forgiven.

I hurt M tonight and I don’t even know how…  I read our conversation over and tried to…  I see places I went wrong, but…  I just…  I don’t understand how it all went the way it did.  I feel like maybe… like maybe I’m going crazy all over again…  That I’m not seeing what’s really there.

I hurt R last week.  I was crazy then.  I literally did not see what was really there.  Later when I read back what we wrote to each other I felt a moment of complete disconnect.  My mind wanted to come up with some kind of explanation like… someone tampered with the logs… those aren’t the words that were said…  But…  They were.  They were there.  I said them.  And he didn’t say the words I thought he said…

I don’t know how anyone can love me.  I don’t think anyone should.  Even as healthy as I am, there is…  there is so much wrong.  And this is… this is an improvement over what I used to be…

I don’t feel lovable.

I don’t feel forgivable.

I feel that I should have been left alone when I died as a child.

They brought me back and I don’t feel anything good has ever come of that.

But my stupid brain is getting healthier even without me.  Even now, as I am in despair and disgrace and agony, there is a whisper… a whisper that wasn’t there three days ago… a whisper that says…  “It might not be as bad as it seems…  The future is still unwritten…  Perception is a changeable thing… You never know what tomorrow will bring…”

I almost hate that whisper because I don’t want to get well enough to forget what I really am…  that I am worthless and wicked and horrid and deserve to be alone and live and die the worst, loneliest, bitterest existence…  I don’t deserve hope.  And I certainly don’t deserve the escape of being “well” again when I will put it all in perspective and say how I made mistakes but I can only keep moving forward and try to figure out what went wrong so it doesn’t happen again…

How dare I?

Do you ever forgive a serial killer?  Even if he says, “Oh but I’ve analyzed where I went wrong so it won’t happen again and have worked really hard to get perspective on my actions and not blame myself or wallow in guilt because I know that is counter-productive…”  No, you put them on death row and kill them because they cannot be trusted in society.

I’m not a serial killer.

I didn’t do anything close to that.

I am just trapped in a dark place in my head right now.

Things will probably look better tomorrow.  The treatment is helping, even without me.

I hate this stupid voice.  I want it to shut up.

I can’t even hate myself right…

K says he’s going to punish me again for comparing myself to a serial killer…

I wish they would give up.

No I don’t.

I don’t wish that.

But I feel selfish for not wishing it.  They deserve better than me.

K says I’m tired and it’s time to stop.  Things will be better tomorrow.

I don’t want that.  The sick part of my brain that doesn’t want to be killed off by the treatment is having its death throes…  It wants to keep me up all night, smash my medicines so I can’t take them, starve me so my blood sugar crashes… make me ill… ill… ill…

M is having his own life difficulties even aside from me.  I know.  I understand it.  I love him, he is my friend, I want to be well for him, so I can be his friend, truly and fully.  I want to be well for K and J and MJ and R…  I want to be well for me…  I want to… stop living every day of my life feeling like I’m a primed grenade just waiting for my grip to slip and destroy everyone around me.

I want to be loved someday…  I want to be worthy of love…

I’m not there yet.

I will take my medicines.

I will take my punishment.

I will try again tomorrow.

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