#also trying to convince my parents to get this amazing piano I found on facebook marketplace

[daisywords]

for some reason I kinda thought I would have more free time this week, being home for thanksgiving and all, but. that has not been the case

[thequietoftheroom]

I need to start using this again. I’ve sort of been neglecting it and posting my personal information on Facebook and Twitter, probably because more people started responding. But if my mental breakdowns are on display, I’m doing everyone a disservice and editing myself to call for attention. This is supposed to be about therapy, about talking to myself via my blog. I don’t mind much on tumblr because people hardly read things anyway since most people have moved to tumblr mobile by now and anything resembling an essay scares them away.

I’ve definitely gotten myself together again since I last wrote here but I’m falling, and I need this. I need help. I’ve got so many things weighing on my mind lately. First of all, I still have not finished paying off my debt to Chase. Putting my faith in the wrong hands because I wanted so badly to have a job, cost me the entire past months of sanity, which was worth 3 thousand dollars. I only have 700 left to pay, and I’ll be paying off 600 of that come my tax returns. It’s taken such a huge hit on my because I’ve had to use Christmas money and every last cent of any job I’ve worked from August till now to pay it back, Bank Of America doesn’t treat its customers much better and I was told that all major banks pretty much have the same leaders in corporate so that if what happened to me at Chase happened to me in Bank Of America, I could be kicked out of all banks in the city. Full stop. It was a wake up call to how naive and immature I am. The cost of trying hard to find the silver lining in every situation. No good deed goes unpunished.

Then there’s the fact that I’ve started gaining weight again. This summer took an emotional toll on me that I haven’t fully recovered from and both my piano playing and my exercising took a hit. I escaped in games and in food and didn’t take advantage of my special shakes when I had them. Now that I’m ready to get back out there I don’t have them and I have to take care of all 3 meals and 2 snacks on my own and I neither have the money or the drive to do that. I ended up, this time around at the supermarket, buying large bottles of fruit shakes to use as my main meals. At least breakfast and lunch. I’ve also been drinking a lot of water and have gone running twice recently. I’ve also started playing piano more. I’m still behind on lessons but I’ve been substituting the lessons with tutorials on how to play some of the more complicated compositions I’m into. I’m starting to be able to write music just by hearing it and gain better hand independence. I even think my singing, which in all honesty belongs in the shower or drunk karaoke, has improved significantly. Because I’ve let myself go my self image is starting to shatter. In November I shaved my head to come face to face with my hair thinning. I’m not bald and my hair is growing long and fast, but it’s thin enough to notice many splotches of skin, a constant reminder that I’m not as young as I’d like to be. I’m almost 30.

I’m almost 30. This is the first time in my life i’ve been able to come up with a plan of some sort for what I’m doing with it for the next few years. The light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t fault my parents too much because they were raised with strict expectations and gender roles that they very clearly thought their children belonged to so they never explored my interests in the arts, minus guitar. I’ve always loved singing and writing. I used to play on toy pianos all the time and when my sister got a keyboard it was amazing. On the first night i played Joy To The World by ear. But my parents only ever gave her lessons because piano is a woman’s instrument. I tried to learn on my own and I had tried to get my sister to teach me, but I was always so eager to excel that I couldn’t concentrate. I still can’t to this day but since I’m my own teacher I let myself explore chords and harmonies and things beyond the lesson that I’m currently in because that’s a sign of passion. Of love. And my depression almost took that away from me. With music I always find my way back.

Except with Christmas. The little elves that once constantly and painstakingly (to others around me, at least) converted my heart into a Yule Hall have vacated the premises. I didn’t feel anything this Christmas. Not even happiness. I kept searching in all the songs, the films, and the decorations for hope, for my heart to grow as the Grinch’s did. But it never came. For the first time in my life this December was just that: December. i was terrified. Never has my mental illness destroyed or taken from me something that was so important and pure, something that was one of my defining characteristics. And now it’s just gone. So i’ve been living with the constant fear since then that maybe my love of music will be next, or my love of films. Or maybe I’ll wake up one day and someone I love entirely will mean absolutely nothing to me. Not hatred or contempt. Just... nothing.

Then I’ve also been dealing with “daddy issues”. I don’t like my father for one second. He’s problematic in the worst way and a conservative republican whom in parties boasts about all the gay men he’s beat up or killed (that part could be a lie because he’s a pathological liar who can’t stand the spotlight being away from him one second so he’s well known for embellishing his situations to make him look favourable). He’s always been a negative force in my life who has done nothing but abuse me both emotionally and physically. He’s the sort of man that has a very specific idea of what his son should be and if there is deviation from that ideal, there is no love. To be honest, he’s like that with most people. You have to be someone he likes and meet him at his level or you’re a lost cause. There is no compromise for the egotistic. Unfortunately I’ve picked some of that up in my willingness to protect myself from the world and my depression; something that I’m actively fighting to tear down. I thought my “daddy issues” meant that secretly I loved him and wanted him to love me so I fought them. But I know better know. As the song The Living Years says “I know that I’m a prisoner to all my father held so dear”, I’ve come to realize my issues stem from me realizing how much of myself I’ve screwed over and changed to avoid having problems with him. Similarly, to quote Simon/Lola, “I’m not my father’s son”. I’m me. Gavroche. And because I live aesthetically and have romanticised the nuclear family through years of family based media, I was longing for the ideal father. I’ve discussed this already but what I was longing for was that. A dad. And life has given me a few dads. They weren’t my father, but they treated me for me in a way that he never will. And I’ll have more dads in life. 

Just like I’ll have more moms. My mother stopped being a mom a long time ago. My sister is still battling to hold on to her relationship with her because of Gilmore Girls but shes’ struggling. My mother has always been cold and judgemental. I just always thought her critical sharp words were reserved for my sister and I. But they were used for everyone else. To her love, compassion, and empathy only extend to the people she knows, and fuck all to everyone else. That’s not love, and love doesn’t have conditions. For such a religious person she always fails to love her neighbor. And in her own way she thinks she’s doing right but every time my sister, or my aunt (her sister) try to call her out, she plays the victim and never listens. Because she doesn’t need to. She’s convinced herself she just needs to pray and that will solve everything. But prayer won’t make me love her again. Nothing will.

So I’m finally alone in my family. Sure, people try with good intentions but no one will truly love me for me. Ever. Not in this family at least. And I find myself searching for one desperately and I realize fully why people throw themselves to have children and get married so early. Just like men have mancaves to escape their wives, people make new families to escape their own. But I don’t have a place to start. I have close friends. However, most of them don’t live near me. With me. And that’s my fault. If I had applied myself better in school I could have colleagues and maybe even a friend group. I graduated with honors with nothing to show for it but for the fact that I could do it. No friends or connections. No place to call home. And so I’m drowning and trying to force myself  to do things I wouldn’t like downloading grindr to try and make friends in NYC or considering eharmony. I want a physical friend circle. I want to feel alive. To feel loved and wanted. Online friendships are real but they don’t fill you. They are mostly full of routine. I need an adventure. And that’s not to write off the numerous and wonderful friendships I’ve had but to say... I need more.

I’ve got all this and more weighing on my day by day. I haven’t even begun to discuss the unapologetic jealousy I’m filled with, married to the happiness that I wish I experienced more of, when I see my friends in relationships. I’ve learned it’s not bad to be jealous, that’s human. It’s bad to be petty. It’s bad to write off other people that you hold so dearly because they’ve finally found a happiness you can’t experience. That turns life into a competition and it’s not. Someone, some day, will love me. And that’s all I can hope for.