#fucktard 8000

[hotteaandoversharing-blog]

FUCK a Ravenclaw

Let me explain. Lawyer Boy (I am so tired of calling him that. It’s too dignified. He shall heretofore be referred to exclusively as “fucktard 8000″) done gone and FUCKIN TRIED IT. (He also happens to be a Ravenclaw, hence the title.) 

Son of a bitch ghosted me, again. Haven’t heard from him since December 30th, and we’re now about 17 minutes as I type this into January 4th. His texts got even creepier than what I’m about to read, but how the HELL do we go from “bending me over and showing me how a real southern man takes care of business” (V O M I T) to reaching the day that our date was supposed to be, and being nowhere to be found? I’ve heard nothing, and I even sent him a “good morning/happy new year” text on the 1st, to no avail. He’s a creepy asshat and a damn Trump supporter who’s punched a DOG in the FACE and BRAGGED about this fact, so honestly I’m dodging a huge bullet, and I recognize that. It’s just... I just... 

This whole situation is just really screwy, and I get that. But I HATE not knowing what’s going on, I HATE not knowing if people are mad at me, and I H A T E. Being. Ignored. The original title of this blog was “The life and times of your favorite attention whore” for a reason, people. 

I wish fucktard 8000 didn’t have this kind of power over me. I realize that me getting as angry as I am means he still has that power. But, I guess I’m entitled to negative emotions. Truthfully, it sucks to feel rejected and left out in the cold. It sucks to have had even vague plans for today, only for him to completely disappear. The best terminology I can put to the situation is that I got Stood Up, and it’s a shitty feeling. 

Even worse than the fact that I’m mad is the fact that I’m mad at myself for being mad. That, for me, is one of the things I feel like I most need to work on - for whatever reason, I never feel like I’m allowed to experience, let alone express, negative emotions. 

Unlike some of my other weird-ass brain shittinesses, I actually know where this one came from. Growing up, my parents would always get upset, sometimes REALLY upset, when I was something other than sugary and chipper. Sometimes, they would try to help, but if/when their “help” didn’t fix me right away they just got even more frustrated. My mom especially was bad about doing this, but though my dad didn’t always get so angry with me, he tended more to just ignore me. I don’t really resent them for this - I kind of totally get the reaction. Any parent hates to see their kid upset, and it’s understandable that they would get frustrated when there was nothing they could do to remedy the situation. The truth of the matter is, I was just as anxious and far more sensitive as a kid than I am now. I was upset kind of a lot, and more often than not it was without any real or tangible cause. My anxiety is, by nature, irrational - so their efforts to rationalize away my fear and sadness were usually fruitless. And that’s so terribly frustrating! If I had to guess, they were (and still are, this still happens now) frustrated with themselves for not being able to change my mood, and that frustration got channeled towards me seeing as I was its main subject anyway. What’s more, when I was unhappy in public, I’m sure they saw it as me acting out or causing a scene. I’m sure that on at least a few occasions, my unhappiness was, indeed, evident to strangers around us. I do maintain, however, that past my toddler years, I’ve never been a tantrum thrower. Suppression, manners, and the whole “seen and not heard” thing were all skills I perfected early on.

Anyway, I can honestly say that that entire prism of experience is what’s led to this fear I have of being unhappy at all. I feel extra anxiety just from the fear of anxiety itself. I let people, fucktard included, treat me like shit, because I suppress away any anger and apprehension and give myself a thousand reasons why it’s completely unreasonable to feel it in the first place. I end up having overwhelming bursts of unbearable sadness and hopelessness that lead ultimately to self-harm, not only because I feel compelled to bottle everything up, but when a negative emotion finds its way into my consciousness, I’m woefully unequipped to deal with it in a healthy way. I’m unequipped to even feel it properly without beating myself up for feeling it in the first place. 

It sucks. A lot. I’m sure I can’t be the only one with these kinds of experiences, so dear hypothetical readers, whenever you read this, if you want to vent to me about it, feel free to reach out. Even if it’s months from now. 

Back to my original point. FUCK THIS SONOFABITCH. I’m letting myself be mad, and sad, and confused, and all of it. I’m alone at the moment anyway - my family’s asleep. I kinda just wish I had a friend to talk to, though, but I feel like I’ve exhausted my resources with this boy by now. Everyone’s just gonna get annoyed with me for talking about him more. I accept that reality, it’s just that this feeling of loneliness in combination with everything else really isn’t helping. 

Someone, please - convince me not to text him. The struggle is real, y’all. 

Birdie out.