I have been much more offline lately. Which is sad but has given me more space to analyze myself and how I react to things.
I realized I have a hard time accepting good news. Celebrating seems like I'm challenging the destiny to fuck it all up, tachycardia takes place and when I come back to my senses, anxiety owns me.
I do believe people are envious and they can ruin it, but how can I dare my own energy?
Well, huge shoutouts for @chicbangs.eth for making me realize I am permanently in survival mode.
This made me think in all the reasons my brain has rewired to not accept victories.
It's like a curse. When I signed my master contracts, I got anxious. When I packed to move out of my parents house, I was in panic. Getting home and realizing I was far from them? terrifying. Going to the place where many dream? Gave me nightmares. I didn't enjoy any of those.
And I wish I had.
So let me tell you how all of this started.
When I came back from the US, I started dating someone from a different social class, religion and even color. And, she hadn't come out to her family yet.
It was complicated. My ex before her also didn't come out and I was so tired of being called a friend. But ok.
I was 21, finishing my bachelor's, living my best life. We were dating for two months when her mom said she could choose between me or her home and she didn't think twice.
Afterall, in her house they starved her and locked her, she couldn't go out or even have a phone.
Yet, this was the worst choice of my life.
I had no option but to tell my parents she was coming over to live with us and ask them if they wanted me to rent a place (even though I had no job).
I brought her home the following day. with all she had, which fit in a backpack, as opposed to my middle class life in which I could choose among many.
Our relationship started to become more maternal than romantic. I had to provide her with food, college fees, bus tickets, clothes and attention. It was overwhelming.
I felt like we had no option. Where should I put her? in the streets?
She had epilepsy and 6 mo in, she got her first crisis. It was the scariest thing I saw in my whole life and I couldn't help myself but yell for the three minutes it lasted.
At that time, I didn't love her anymore but she wanted to move states with me. She thought she could make me love her again.
We moved.
The episodes started to become more frequent. But that time, I was alone, 4h away from home, and couldn't do a thing but wait for it to end while I cried on the ambulance hotline.
I became afraid of every second.
Anything weird she said was enough to trigger all my alarms. Many times I wished I was dead so I didn't have to live with this emergency all the time.
She had no fault. I just couldn't deal with it. Aware she could die at any moment, even sleeping.
So I stopped sleeping.
I had to take pills to rest, my university performance was ruined, I barely ate.
She soon developed OCD, making it even more stressful because anything could trigger her and she would repeat stuff three times, check if the door was locked 3 times, avoid public bathrooms or simply decide she wouldn't step on black tiles.
This made us late. This made me desperate. This made her suffer. And so I suffered.
She also had pica syndrome and ate bricks whenever she found them. Aside of having bloody periods that almost got her killed twice.
"how unlucky you were"
I wouldn't say unlucky. I was brought to this by my own, huge, need of taking care of people.
None of this would've happened if I didn't accept being with her the moment she said she didn't come out yet.
I also didn't need to put my parents into the struggle of feeding one more mouth, even though they liked her.
I always had to be ready to defend her. For her color. For her origins. For her family history (drugged mom, homicidal dad) and all she brought with her.
This is who I am.
And I was ready to defend her even when I didn't love her. And I wished so much for her to find someone who could deal with all of that.
It just wasn't me.
We eventually broke up because I fell in love with someone else.
But I made sure she got home safely, she fixed her relationship with one of the families she had, they were ready to receive her.
She still thinks I cheated on her. I didn't.
But I may have cheated on me. I ignored all my warning signs, needs and wishes.
I hope talking about this helps.
Because now I'm always afraid something bad is following something good.
I have huge and frequent adrenaline rushes. And I stopped celebrating things.
It's been eight years and I'm still waiting for her next crisis. And she isn't even here.
