questioning

this is going to be hard for me to write today. i feel myself not opening up, but forcing myself to stay in front of my computer, when all i want to do is make some coffee, grab my book, and read.

i should be cleaning my apartment. it's pretty nasty in here.

i woke up today feeling out of sorts; i couldn't exactly figure out why. yesterday was sort of strange for me in lots of ways. it was the first time i felt that balloon of optimism that's been growing in my chest as of late deflate a little. reasons why it might have deflated a little:

• had my first talk with banane since the events of last week transpired. told her everything - about the psych ward, even about me being on medication again. and she asked me some questions that i'd been thinking to myself. she said, "do you think you're bi-polar?" and i said, "oh, i know i am."
• had my second counselling session with the counsellor i was referred to last week. she commented on how well i seemed to be doing, but also to not be too hard on myself if i couldn't do all i was committing myself to doing.

these two events made me feel strange. strange because i've noticed this being a pattern with myself before - i get very depressed, then i get very optimistic. i plunge, i skyrocket. over and over. it made me start questioning myself - my good mood, my healing process - and wonder if it was just a trick of brain chemistry, instead of actual change. which made me feel kind of shitty.

so i got home from my appointment and realized that i had only a few hours to transform my i've-been-writing-essays-for-too-long apartment into something that would look date-worthy, as met was coming over at 6 to hang out for the night, for the first time since the day before my birthday. (seriously. that is dangerously close to 2 weeks.)

my mother instilled in me a while ago that a person's living quarters were a direct reflection of their mental state. maybe that's why i get freaked out if people come over and it's not spotless. but he showed up early at 5:30 and i...was totally unready. i had a clay face mask on. (yup. dried green goo all over my face.) i hadn't done dishes in a week. i felt sort of panicky, for a while, and then i just told myself - no. you are not going to let this bother you. but it still kind of did.

i don't know if this will make sense to anyone, but i worry that because he's so clean that he will never be able to actually live with me.

we had a wonderful date. we needed it. he left at 12, and i promptly crashed, then i woke up and that feeling was still there. that all is not right with the world feeling. so i told myself, "take thee to a yoga class!" even though i very much didn't want to.

the yoga class was kind of humiliating. my body was stiff, we did all sorts of postures i felt shaky in...it was good, in a way, but not the release i normally look for. it was a painful one.

i have to admit something here: every so often, i have a certain health problem. it's too embarassing to admit to anyone, even met doesn't know exactly what it is. when it occurs, i simply take care of it the best way i can, as privately as i can, and try to get on with my life. this particular problem was caused as a result of a particular rape.

i have it right now. and no matter how much i try to be gentle with myself, i always feel ashamed. and dirty, and angry, and tearful. i wish it would just go away so i could permanently heal, but it just won't.

then on the way back from my class i realized what day it was. today is the day where 8 years ago, i started dating my first serious boyfriend. we were 19 when we met in residence, and he was with me throughout my mother's last illness and her death. he couldn't reconcile the person i became immediately afterwards with the person i had been before.

i tried to tell him things were not good between us for a long time, but he could never accept it. he would always tell me, "all couples fight" and that i was just over-reacting. he wanted the old me back.

things went sharply downhill in year 2. the end came quickly, in january, the day i found out my aunt died. (i want to tell the full story, but something, some exhaustion, is just not letting me). i tried to break up with him, he told me that because i was still sleeping in his bed that he had certain "rights" and used that excuse a few times. i tried to disconnect from my body.

right before i moved out, which was months earlier than i should've, we got into a huge fight. i came home from a night out with friends and found that he had rummaged through my 'office', the place where i did my homework and had started sleeping. it was the one small room in a house full of men where i felt safe, and could be myself. things were flipped over. diaries were open. i had drunk a little beer beforehand and so stormed downstairs and turned on the light and started screaming at him, how dare you go into my room? that was my space! and then...he got angry and he beat me.

it ended - everything ended - when he was straddled on top of me on the bed with one hand holding my good arm down, the other hand strangling me. then i saw his eyes clear. and he let me go. and it took a while for the air to come back in my lungs and when i did i started to cry and i went up to the kitchen, called my friends who lived around the corner and promptly left.

my best friend took me into her kitchen, forced me to take my clothes off and took pictures of the bruises he left, in case i ever wanted to press charges. i never did.

today is the day when we started going out.

i'm crying, just a little, right now.

p.s. i just tried to blog-surf to see people and say hi, and i just can't do it right now. maybe later...but if i don't show up today, i'm sorry.