Get Over It

My name is Cristina D. Johnson.

Some things I have enjoyed my entire life. I can think of two, really: music and writing.

I mean, I have enjoyed doing other things and going places but, as far as things I've always loved consistently, I can think only of these two things.

There are feelings I have enjoyed. I love the feeling of helping someone.

I have an affinity towards minorities and have been known to randomly hug strangers because I felt compelled to do so and, I admit, I actually feel better when I help an Arab or African-American than I do when I help a white person. I don't know why, really. I guess I always seem to go for the underdog. Maybe I'm just a self-righteous narcissist. Who knows?

But I know the feeling of having the opportunity to take advantage of someone, and, instead, making sure the situation is right. I like that feeling. I like the feeling of helping. Of knowing I have done something helpful for someone.

But music and writing have always been there. Always.

I suppose they're similar: Both express, for me, what I can or could never say. My son - my oldest - is the same way, as far as music.

I enjoyed those things and those feelings. I still do.

Why would I choose to be so afraid so much so often of so many things?

Too many people say "get over it" or "stop living in the past" or any manner of such things.

As if I am choosing to be this terrified bundle of nerves every day. As if I enjoy being terrified of being too loud when I open the silverware drawer in my kitchen, or stand in front of a window. As if I prefer or somehow choose to tremble before I even step out my door.

I know what it is to live in my head. To be in in denial. I know what it is to say "Fuck all you crazy psycho-babble idiots. My past doesn't affect me and I don't NEED your fucking help," as I carry on every day as if nothing ever happened. As if I had the perfect cheerios childhood.

Sometimes it feels like you're being admonished for yielding to the agony that complex trauma causes. It hurts. It hurts and it confuses to hear these messages.

You think you're doing the right thing by seeking help - and it is so fucking scary, let me tell you - yet people say things like, "Aren't you allowing yourself to be trapped by your past?"

Well...yes. Yes, and no.

But if I don't get help, I will forever be trapped by my past because my existence will be nothing but a lie. My being will be a fraud. I will never know who I am nor what I can do... I will never know those things that I truly enjoy besides music and writing. I will never know my voice. I will never know a man's good touch. I will never know authentic love. I will never understand what it is to have someone do for you, just for the sake of doing for you. I will never know what it is like to not go a minute without thinking I owe someone sex (or sexual favors) in return for their gifts (whatever they may be).

So, am I stuck in my past?

Yes. I am trying so hard to dig out of this crater that fate handed me.

Please don't judge or chastise me. It is so bloody hard to do. It hurts more than anything I have ever known and opening up, trusting, being vulnerable is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.

I am just now learning...crawling... reaching and trying.

Get over it?

Dear God I am trying.

Confused in the Kitchen

My name is Cristina D. Johnson and this is just a run-down of how I'm feeling right now.

I'm feeling exceptionally depressed tonight. Thankfully it's not accompanied by that dastardly suicidal ideation curse.

I feel inept, to help someone who is dear to me. She needs so much support and help and needs to believe that people love her, but I feel like a failure in that regard. All I have are texts and occasional phone calls to comfort her through a situation most people would never know. A situation even  I don't know and cannot comprehend. There is absolutely no consoling her and there's nothing more I can do, although I've sworn to do all I can... is that enough?

My son attacked me last night. Bad. I had to turn off my phone, I was so distraught. I burnt Trevor's dinner but was able to play it off, thankfully, and he ate every bite. It was my special treat to him for being so helpful and understanding while I was sick.The dinner was ruined - for me, at least inside - although I managed to keep a smile on for him. He deserved it. He's a super child and even though he never says it, he loves me.

Relationships are burying me, as well as my schedule. I was standing in my kitchen tonight, just vacuumed the living room, and I was suddenly lost. I realized the date. I started getting flooded with overwhelm....when do I have to do what? I am confused. I stood there utterly confused and that made me feel ashamed. "Normal people don't do this. Get over it," I scolded myself. A residual effect, I'm sure, of my son telling me I was throwing a pity party for myself. He was taught that by people who don't know pain and he ran with it. Oh God if he only knew....if he only knew what it's like to stand there in the kitchen, alone, afraid...afraid to do anything...and not even able to keep track of the things you have to do. Like you're missing part of your brain. Like there's something wrong with you! You should be FINE! Get over it! Get over it!

Yeah this is a real fucking picnic, son.

And relationships....
I miss Bill desperately, yet I also know his absence helps me because it forces me to not be distracted from the agony (AGONY) of my ordeal with Gary. Today, yesterday, the day before...I cried...I cry almost daily, realizing things...looking back on things. Not just things Gary did, but things I did as well...but mostly how, in the end, I was just garbage which told me a whole lot, about the entire relationship. I was so blind. I was so stupid. I neglected to protect Trevor and the few times I tried, I was shot down for it. But God forbid I rock the boat, right? (No pun intended). I still wear the ring he gave me. I don't know what to do with it. I also have the pet pillow he bought me - a pink unicorn. "Here. It's the antithesis of everything you've ever believed about yourself," he said to me. I took this as a sign that he was with me, was trying to help me, wanted to go through this with me.....would not leave me.

What do I do with these things? The pictures? I wonder what he did with all the pictures. Oh we had so much fun that day, taking pictures...I have the envelope with what's left of them in it. Plus I have two framed pictures. Two 8x10's. What do I do with them?

I also wear the ring of a man who terrifies me. He's tall, powerful, and frightening. I have had it for years. I took it off for awhile, but put it back on about a year ago. Our relationship went sour....he's my adoptive father. Back then (about five years ago), things got really bad and he became a huge trigger for me. Now he and my adoptive mother are back in my life, although he, not so much. More my adoptive mother, Cindy, who's been like an angel...more than I  could ever ask for in a mother.

And Bill....
God.
Nobody who knows us and our relationship would ever say anything BUT that we are soul mates. But I'm so terrified - still so wounded from the brutality of my last relationship - that I don't trust myself. For five years, Bill waited for me. Our relationship was always pure, always loving. He has been with me through everything, done everything. And now he works a thousand miles away, to help me and Trevor (and himself), but mostly me because of his growing understanding of how important stability is to me - something I repeatedly told Gary, but which went entirely ignored. Now I have this wonderful, faithful, loyal, honest man who adores me, helping me, believing in me and encouraging me....learning so he can help me and I am terrified. What if the same thing happens, as what happened with Gary? I didn't expect it from Gary, but it happened. I don't know.... I just don't know. I know that now - tonight - I am lonely and I miss Bill.

I got a lot done the past few weeks. Things have been moving forward with the help of Bill and Cindy yet somehow, tonight, something has a hold on me...like a shadow or a ghost and I just can't shake it.

Tony...My Tony. This is the thirty-thousandth time he's broken my heart.

Probably won't be the last, either.

Hopefully tomorrow will be better.