The H-bomb

I imagine by now, I'm probably what's known as an 'oversharer'. And just as that, and the word 'burglarized' are wholly unnecessary, so the word 'ruination' is appropriate (even though in my opinion, a simple 'ruin' is enough).

Maybe it's just the amitriptyline, but lately I've dreamt incessantly of those from the past - my past, to be exact. Those with whom I have unfinished business. The ones who are the least likely to be reading this, as I mentioned a post or two ago. There's a small part of me that wishes they would bloody read this, so at least we could have it out, once and for all. There's nothing I hate more than leaving something incomplete; having no right to reply. 

I'm not unaware of the chaos that followed me around for almost 20 years. My 'emotional mind' (or Lucy, as she's otherwise known) had a tendency to unashamedly stomp on young maleable hearts in what would've appeared to anyone not forced to live inside her to be a callous and generally shitty way. If you've loved her, you sure as hell know about it. I know it sounds like an elaborate excuse, but for every single iota of ventricle stabbing they felt, I was being waterboarded and then hung up by my toenails whilst flames licked at my eyeballs. Nobody got off without at least second degree burns.

Some of these ex-loves and ex-friends still refuse to acknowledge me over a decade later; and not through a lack of trying on my part. The idea that there are people who refuse to even be in the same room as me really hurts. I remain convinced that those who've decided to erase Lucy from their lives completely have not only thrown out the baby with the bathwater, but they've probably been dealing with some pretty messed up shit themselves. Drugs were always a running theme in these relationships and some of them were fuelled entirely by intoxication of one form or another. 

Lucy was like a giant magnet, attracting mess like flies to shit. I'm sure those who inadvertently got involved with her at the sharp end thought she did it on purpose, but that really couldn't be further from the truth. I don't feel I need to convince anyone that I'm not capable of malice - I know in my heart that I never went out to hurt anyone, as does everyone who knows me (the de-lucified version). I also understand that my actions almost certainly didn't reflect my intent. All those addages about 'actions speak louder than words' are written to reflect the neurotypical person, the person who is able to reason things out rather than always being subjected to the whims of the alter ego occupying their body. At her behest I behaved like there were no consequences - and of course, the consequence of that was a trail of the dead and dying. That's the stuff that band names and song titles are made of.

Another popular addage is that 'opposites attract'. Hmm. Well, let me blow that one out of the water as well. These people were all just like her. They had painful pasts they couldn't face. They needed to have power over someone more vulnerable, just to prove they weren't vulnerable. When she wouldn't comply, they had to face their own faults and guess what? They didn't like it. Most of them still don't like it.

Am I a little bit bitter? Hell yes. And why shouldn't I be? Nobody has the right to deal with their demons by controlling somebody else. Lucy may be many things, but she never punched holes in anything, or anyone, but herself. The problem with bottled up anger is that when finally released, it tends to unleash a side of someone nobody's ever seen before. Less Sodastream, more hydrogen bomb - complete with fiery burning ribbons falling from the sky on to an unsuspecting world below. Even when it wasn't physical, some of the emotional abuse cut deeper than anything else. 

I have a habit of intellectualising everything in order to reduce it all to facts and make it make sense, even when it doesn't, and sometimes I strike chords that are a little too 'on the nose'. It's amazing how people react when you've found a chink in their armour. The desire to appear strong is in all of us; maybe it's an evolutionary defence mechanism; actually it definitely is. One of the most stupid ones in my opinion, which belongs consigned to the past just as 'big girls don't cry'.

Right now it's virtually impossible to imagine how I'll be able to find any peace from these perpetual nightmares, or picture any resolution to those relationships. It's funny how after all these years, I'm still the one reliving it all every night. I have a feeling that perhaps they do too - but of course they'd never, ever admit it.