#i should rewatch house sometime since i havent seen it since it aired as a kid but yknow. i remember This enough to two nickels meme it

[autisticjoshrusso]

if i had a nickel for every time my favorite character on a medical drama potentially had Huntington's disease, i'd have TWO nickels-

[mixeddoctor]

Breakthrough- and not the good kind

Yesterday was a shitty day. Today was a shitty day. I think this is what they call breakthrough depression. I made the call Wednesday. I felt shitty. I even felt like I did something wrong. Like he wasn’t picking up the phone to respond because I messed up and he had a right to be mad at me. Which is crazy. This man raped me and is making me feel guilty about it? That is literally insane. But it’s what I feel. And Thursday, after sleeping some 16 hours, I went to class and my friend came home and spent the night here. Which was awesome because I didn’t think or feel anything about it. But then she left the next day. Well, I went with her on her first leg of the trip because I needed to return a dress to Banana Republic that my mom ordered for me that was too big. Well this Banana was across the street from the Nando’s we met at the night he raped me. I kept feeling weird looking at the shops. Looking at the ground that I was walking on. Looking at the Trolley knowing it went to the waterfront where he convinced me that I should go drink with him instead of going home like I wanted to. It made me feel some type of way being there and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I came home and instead of studying, I don’t even remember what I did. I literally feel like I was a ghost walking in my place doing everything I could to be there, but couldn’t manifest myself. I know I watched shows. Oh. I rewatched the shows from Thursday and I watched my Friday show and I watched Showtime at the Apollo. Showtime had a couple artists singing a few songs that I put in my spotify including Praying by Kesha Bust the Windows by Jazmine Sullivan and some others. But Kesha killed me. I caught up on the show and was just laying there because I didn’t want to move. I played Praying on my spotify and within the first 10 seconds I was literally sobbing. I cried....hard...for an hour. I can’t even deny thinking that I wanted to die. I was balled up on my bed on the floor. I was crying so hard and loud I swore my neighbors thought something was wrong. At some points I couldn’t breathe and had to slow down to blow my nose and clear my sinuses and throat because I literally was not breathing. I was rocking back and forth scratching my legs which is something I’ve never done before but it was this weird reaction to like idk wanting to feel something? I don’t think I’ve ever, in my entire life, cried that hard. I didn’t cry that hard when my grandfather passed. I didn’t cry that hard when my biological dad dragged me across my front lawn. I didn’t cry that hard after having auditory flashbacks of my stepmother’s screams. I have NEVER cried that hard and for that long. And everything just hurt. I couldn’t seem to do anything but just cry and cry and cry. I was pulling my hair at some points. At some points between sobs, I forgot, like legit forgot to breathe and gasped for air remembering that I wasn’t breathing anymore. It literally felt never ending. I can’t even describe the pain, the feeling.. it was like a hurricane or a tornado just ripped through me. The pills have worked up to this point but the catalyst was that stupid phone call. I thought I was strong enough for it. I really did. I reassured myself, I reassured my friends, I reassured them I could do this. I thought for sure these pills have been protecting me from feeling anything and I havent been able to cry or feel anything but evenly content since I started them so this should have been no problem. But the phone call, hearing his voicemail, leaving my voicemail, going over what happened, walking the street, seeing that Nando’s, hearing the songs, and just feeling... it all just came through me and rocked me like and unreinforced house in Katrina. Ripping the roof off my cool, flooding me with every emotion after the dam, those pills, failed. And completely destroying me beyond repair from the inside out. I sat there in my head asking God to send me something. Some kind of sign. Some kind of anything. I knew it was dangerous for me to sit there like that. I needed to talk to someone. Anyone. Because I knew if I sat there for too long, in that feeling, with my thoughts as wrecked as they were... I had already seen where I was going... But God answers prayers and my mom called. She had no idea what I’ve been up to, how I’ve been feeling, that I’m on pills or pretty much anything. I want to shield her because I heard it in her voice-she was guilty that she didn’t see it in him. She liked him. She thought he was great. She didn’t see it coming and I didn’t see it coming so she couldn’t protect me from what she had already lived through and she felt guilty. So I don’t tell her anything. My dad knows, which most people would find odd but I would say I’ve always trusted my dad a little more than my mom and now I trust him pretty much completely and he knows everything about me and what’s going on. Well... I kind of shield him too. He doesn’t know how bad my depression was and apparently after Wednesday still is. He has no idea about the side effects of the pills or obviously what happened yesterday night because he also feels bad. Because he warned me about him-said to stay away from him at one point. And he feels almost responsible which I told him is ridiculous but I know first hand, sometimes you can’t control the way you feel, despite what you know. Anyway. She called and we were on the phone for a long time and then I just fell asleep. 

I woke up today feeling better but still shitty. To be honest, had I not scheduled a call with a prospective student this morning I would have laid in bed all day, because I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to think. And the crappy part about that is that yet again I am not studying. I need to get over this hump. I am debating on taking 2 doses of the pills for the next few days just to get me through but I know that messing with these dosages can mess you up more than just staying consistent. 

Breakthroughs are normal especially with triggers. But this is just terribly timed. I need to be studying. Not laying on the floor in a pool of tears with swollen eyes, lips, and nose wanting to disappear. I am trying to be patient with myself and still have faith that God will get me through this. 

The other day someone said that breaking up with someone sometimes feels just as impactful as someone dying. Granted we weren’t together like that... sort of... sometimes I feel like we were even closer and then after the rape because of my stupid lack of coping skills, I did let him in that way...so I guess in a way, I feel like I’m grieving someone dying. I’m grieving him, my perception of who he was, and myself because in all of this a piece of me has died too. I guess when I put it as someone dying, it almost doesn’t feel as ridiculous for me to be feeling so terrible so much time afterwards or so easily triggered. I still feel stupid sometimes though. I feel stupid for not seeing the signs. I feel stupid for not trusting my gut that night. I feel stupid for grieving. I feel weak for grieving. I feel weak for being affected. I sometimes sit and try not to think but find myself wondering if he’s thriving. If he’s moved on to his next victim. If I was just a 2 year challenge. If he went back to his boys and said he finally hit it and just didn’t say how. If he said he was finally getting out of the friend zone and was enjoying all the confusion it was causing me. If once I cut him off, and he realized I wasn’t budging, if he just said fine, she didn’t mean that much anyway and moved on to the next challenge. And if he is thriving and manipulative and that evil... then I feel stupid and weak and idiotic and cheap and worthless. And maybe my grief and grieving for myself is me grieving my strength and pride. Somehow, I just can’t seem to get it together. And it again makes me feel weak. RIP to my strength and sense of worth because I never in my wildest dreams would have thought I would allow someone to take this much from me. I hate to admit that he broke me. But he did. And I am just trying to glue back the pieces together enough to be able to hold water but I keep springing leaks and falling apart all over again. How many more times will I have to put myself back together? Will the glue ever really stick?

  My friend back home had her baby yesterday. She found out the day after she announced that she was pregnant with her second baby that the baby had anencephaly and she chose to continue the pregnancy hoping for a miracle and just putting the whole situation in God’s hands. She went into labor Wednesday and had her baby Friday and he passed away either yesterday or this morning. She posted something today about it and responded to someone and said that She knows that she did everything she could to honor God and that God knows all and never messes up in His plans and perhaps she can help someone else later with a similar situation. Her strength in this astounds me. And today I found myself wondering if I will eventually just help someone else. Not that I would ever wish this on anyone, not even my worst enemy. But it makes me feel like the pain has a purpose. And where there is purpose, there is direction and maybe that’s all I need.