x115 (so. damn. hard.)

I try so hard.

I really don’t mean to sound like a martyr. But I try so damn hard. Taking self-esteem classes, reading books that paint housewifery as a radical social movement, making promises that I won’t go through with it.

And yet,

When I’m there,

In the dark theatre,

The thoughts come.

You’re worthless

You should end it

You’re not contributing anything

So just do it

And get it over with.

And then I wonder if the reason I feel this way isn’t my fault.

I had a nightmare Sunday night.

It left me incapacitated most of Monday.

I heard her ask him,

“Did you molest her? I need to know.”

And then I felt myself slipping into a flashback. But as usual, the full-on flashback never hit. I was terrified, so I kept repeating over and over again

It’s 2014 and you’re safe.

It’s 2014 and you’re safe.

And then the nightmare.

He reached over, grabbed my chest, and grabbed my crotch. And I could feel it. The body memories were strong.

“He” was a big scary monster with red eyes. So I know it wasn’t a flashback. Not really.

But I could feel it. I could feel him molesting me. I tried to push him away, screaming

It’s 2014 and you’re safe.

But I could feel it.

It would be so easy to say that my self-esteem issues stem back to that incident. Except I don’t even know if that incident even happened, or when it did. My therapist seems to think something happened. And I now officially have PTSD. But I still don’t know. And in the meantime, those nightmares, which happen about once a month, are pretty much all the trauma I can cope with. Maybe that’s why the suicidal thoughts came. I had a rough week and I just need to work more on the self-care. Try a little harder.

But I’m so damn sick of trying.

I just wish it was easier to convince myself that I’m worthwhile. That I deserve to take up space and waste oxygen. Or, you know, whatever the nice way of saying “take up space” and “waste oxygen” is.

Sometimes I want it to be true. Other times I don’t. I remember someone telling me that I have every right to feel bad, and that I shouldn’t feel guilty for feeling bad. And when I feel guilty for feeling bad? I wish it were true. So it would explain why I’m so fucked up. Or, you know, if I’m being nice to myself, “so it would explain why I feel so fucked up”. So I could say it’s not my fault and I have every right to feel bad. So I could have a convenient excuse.

Hi, my name is Aurora, and I feel bad.

Hi Aurora.

Hi, my name is Aurora, and I get suicidal thoughts sometimes.

Hi Aurora.

Hi, my name is Aurora, and I have nightmares where I can feel it happening.

Hi Aurora.

Hi, my name is Aurora, and sometimes I don’t want my writing to have a point. Sometimes I just want to complain. Or get things off my chest. Get a little release.

Hi Aurora.

Hi, my name is Aurora, and I’m not going to kill myself. Or even cry. Fuck it, I’m just going to eat a bunch of cookies. Because downing an entire box of Oreos is totally appropriate self-care.

Because when you try so damn hard

It uses up a lot of calories. However many calories are in a package of Oreos.

(And maybe a couple of spoonfuls of Nutella.)

7 responses to “x115 (so. damn. hard.)

  1. You Are worthwhile.
    You Oh–Sooooooooooooo–deserve to take up space & oxygen.
    Not only that, but you make the space BETTER, sweeter.
    You are valued.
    You are beautiful.
    You are cherished.
    Believe it.
    Believe it.
    Believe it.
    Love flowing from Minnesota. xx

  2. FYI, housewifery is not a radical movement. It sucks. Cleaning sucks. Cooking can occcasionally be fun and creative, but come on, three meals a day, EVERY day!? The demands are relentless.

    If taking care of yourself means eating Oreos, then go for it; unless, of course, you are diabetic or morbidly obese, in which case it’s time for another guilty pleasure. Rant. Rave. Rage. Curl up into the fetal position and cry. Just don’t stay there. Let it pass. Take care.

    • Kitt – I definitely value your opinion on housewifery; that being said, what I was referring to is explained more in depth here: http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/07/feminism-and-the-new-domesticity/. In some cases housewifery/homemaking are considered radical in that we’re talking about folx who, say, are into disaster preparedness and insist on making most things themselves and they have a desire to go back to a pre-capitalist, pre-industrialist society where we can really rely on ourselves instead of corporations. Mostly though they’re referring to the idea of homemaking or housewifery being “radical” in that you can still be a feminist while doing it, and that in some ways it can be a feminist act. I’ve read both the books in the above blog post and I found them to be really interesting!

      I am neither diabetic nor morbidly obese, and I don’t actually eat the entire box in one sitting, so… 😉 Thanks for your comment!

      • Actually, I am a stay-at-home mother and if I had taken the time to research what you were talking about, I would have agreed. “Women’s” work is work and is just as valuable, if not more valuable, than what was traditionally considered “men’s” work. You are right, you can be, as I am, a feminist and still make a home. I just ruffle my feathers a bit at any expectation of June Cleaver perfection, which was not what you were talking about. I do what I can as well as I choose or am able, whichever the case may be. Thank you for setting me straight and teaching me something new.

  3. You deserve to live. You deserve to live. You deserve to live.

    I will keep repeating this until you believe it in the moments when you don’t want to.

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