Scared Bunny

I am so tired of being like I am.

I hate being like this. I hate how it makes me feel. I hate what I do. I hate what it does to those who love me. I just hate it.

My life has been like a perfect storm of how to end up fucked up. Take a childhood that was a mess and filled with drama. Add in a college breakdown. Mix with a therapist who decides to see what rage episodes look like on a weekly basis, and let stand for 10 years. Then mix in a cheating wife, cheating girlfriends, one psychotic thief and a pathological liar. Stir with one guy who doesn’t ever really do what he needs to do to get past the pain and stops treatment before he’s ready. What you have with all that is what I am.

See, the thing is, all of the fucked up shit that happened to me wouldn’t be a problem if I had at any point really worked at getting healthy. I had 10 years where I knew I was fucked up. But I was too busy being angry to do anything about it. 10 fucking years. All that time wasted. Not only did I hurt the people around me, I wasted a shitload of my life because I was too busy being hurt and angry. What could I have done with that time? I will never know the answer to that. It’s hard for me to not just drive myself nuts when I think about that question though.

Then I had a moment of clarity brought on by my first real panic attack. I just could not keep living angry all the time, and I had to do something. I took a drastic step. But in retrospect I am not sure it was the right one. Getting help was a good idea, but the help I got wasn’t right and wasn’t enough. See, what I did was basically trade one fucked up mindset for another. And while the new mindset seemed so much better to a lot of people, it really wasn’t. I am still scared to death, except I just hold it in for a long time instead of venting it. The way I vented was wrong, but internalizing is too.

Tricia is an amazing woman. She can see I am holding stuff in. She just usually thinks it’s about her and her wonderful kids when it’s not. They don’t stress me out. I love having them around. They have all worked to show me that I can live a full and happy life and not hide away from the world. And they have also showed me how I wasn’t letting Casey enjoy life to the fullest. While I can keep myself from really living, doing that to Casey just isn’t right. And if I am able to give Casey a more fulfilling childhood, that will be because of Tricia.

What stresses me out is all inside me. I am scared of and by the past. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, but so are those who obsess about it. I could have driven the love of my life away just because I expected her to hurt me anyway. I could have guaranteed I’d get hurt by acting like I was going to get hurt. Anxiety isn’t a defense mechanism it is like self-mutilation. In my case all it does is hurt, and usually not because anything has happened. I could accept anxiety if it was fear of imminent danger. But fear of the possibility, no matter how remote, of potential harm is crippling.

Yet, strangely, tonight I sit here alone at my home, but calm. See, the fact is that if Tricia really didn’t want to be with me, if she really wanted to be with him, she would be. And while I still need help because I am not healthy, the feeling is amazing. Hell, I am a little anxious only because I keep expecting to be anxious. I am so accustomed to getting anxious, especially when we are apart, that I expect it to hit. But it doesn’t, because I can still feel her arms around me. I can feel her fingers in my hair. And I know she does that because she loves me.

I admit it will be hard every minute until she is back home for good. But before it was always because I was scared of losing her while we were apart. All of you that know her don’t understand why I thought that. You never really could understand it, and I respect that. Now I understand why you said what you said, and felt what you felt. Because now I see and feel her love in a way I never did before.