Got back yesterday morning from visiting J’s extended family for a week and a half. Apparently now I’m officially part of the family, so now I “can’t leave” (J’s words) not that I was planning to anyway. It was nice, peaceful, but boring. There was no wifi and hardly any phone service there, so I spent most of the time reading and trying not to binge but not always succeeding very well .
J and I were also talking about the whole engagement thing again. Then looking at rings and stuff to show him what ones I really like and all that. So who knows, maybe by next year I’ll be engaged, or maybe by Christmas with the way J is.
As much as it scared me at first, I really don’t mind the idea of being engaged. The actual wedding/getting married part is a whole other story. But that’s not for a while.
I’ve told J a dozen times that he is the only person I’ve ever been able to see a future with, like a long term possibly marriage future, and it’s entirely true. I knew with all my past relationships that they were only temporary things. This was always different. In the beginning when we first started dating it felt like a longer term thing, maybe not quite marriage, but long term nonetheless.
I don’t being an adult is weird. Especially when I still look like a child and get mistaken for one often enough. It’s just weird. I don’t like being an adult.
I can feel myself breaking, I’ve been saying it for weeks. But it’s not that sudden shatter of dropping glass on cement. It is the painfully slow decaying that goes unnoticed by so many until it is too late and it’s collapsing under the pressure. It’s the kind of breaking that will drive you insane if you notice it because no one else will see it and no one else will believe it.
But when it finally collapsing, everyone will see, everyone will know. There will be no hiding it. It will be out in the open for every one to gape at. Most will not stick around to help pick up the pieces. Even more will leave when it comes to putting everything back together again and rebuilding. Will there be anyone left when my time to rebuild comes? Will there be anyone left when I need help to strengthen the withered supports? Or will I be alone again to try and fix things haphazardly and as quickly as I can manage to make myself appear presentable again? Will I be able to rebuild myself this time around?
I don’t like this new layout. it’s weird. and in other news:
All food is too much food. All I want to do is eat sugar, sugar, and more sugar. I want to stuff myself silly with candy and ice cream and chocolate. But if I eat, it’s too much. I grow massive in an instant. My skin swells and expands with fat. I can’t take it. I can’t stand it. And yet, I eat too much every day. My skin stretching. My mind creaks like it is about to bust open, break apart, and sink inside the dark sea of my mind. I am trapped.
I constantly think about how things would be right now if I had dive something different. What if I really did run away and live in the streets like I wanted to/should have? Would I have been worse off than I am now? I hate to say that I have a feeling that I would have been beret off on the streets than in that house or the other one. I think there would have been less emotional trauma if I had just left before it all went to hell. But how was i supposed to know that my mother would snap and disown her own child and send her off to be abused and stand back to watch the abuse. What if I had told someone? What would have become of myself and my sisters? How would my dad be? What would have happened if she did put me in foster care like she said she wanted? What if she thought it was worth the effort and filed those papers? Where would I be? Would I be more broken than I am now? What would have happened if I didn’t get out when I did? How would I be if I didn’t experience a world where my mother had no rule? Would I even be here to contemplate this? What would have happened if the doctors put me in hospital when they wanted to without my parents decision? Would I still be there today? Would I still suffer from this awful disorder? All of these questions I will never have answers to. And maybe I’m thankful for that. Because I wouldn’t want to know what it would be like to be more broken than I am and I wouldn’t want to know if I’d be happier either. The choices I’ve made have made me become the person I am now. Even if I don’t like who I am just yet, I’m constantly working on improving myself and trying to love myself. Maybe I am here because this is where I’m supposed to be.