Here we go.

It looks like it’s actually going to happen. My relation ship with Robert is over and we’re going to go our separate ways. It’s going to fuck a lot of people, including myself (my credit especially), but apparently this is the way he wants things to go down. I can’t get any other avenue out of him. I asked him directly if all he wanted to do now was lay in bed, smoke meth, and masturbate and all I got in return was an affirmative nod. There’s nothing left here for me if he’s unwilling to put any effort in himself. Not even superficially.

Oh god this is actually happening.

I’m 41 now, almost 42. I’ve been with Robert since I was 30. Before that I was with my family. Always with family. I got away from them when I was 29. Not long before I turned 30. I ended up at a room and board in a co-dependent relationship with the owner literally the day after I got away from my family. Less than a year later, I met Robert.

What am I supposed to do here? I can barely type. My head is so fuzzy. I’m spending more time correcting errors than I am actually writing. Everything is scary. I feel so lost and alone. Someone needs to tell me what to do. I can’t make decisions. They say people have two reactions to fear: Fight or Flight. That’s wrong. There are three: Fight, Flight, and Freeze. I tend to freeze. Oh I flee often as well (fight is simply not a possibility for me) but when it comes to decisions freeze is my best friend. I just… stop.

I don’t want to think about this anymore. Something else has been running around in my head. When I was in junior high or middle school or whatever people want to call it, I kept being placed in remedial classes. It wasn’t because I couldn’t do the work, because I could. It was because of my excessive absenteeism. So I would be put in remedial Math or English or Science or whatever, spend a few weeks there, be evaluated by the teacher and wow the other students by breezing through the brain-dead easy class work, be told I shouldn’t be in said remedial class, be sent back to regular class, and finally a few months later be sent back to said remedial class to begin the cycle over again.

Most of my self-esteem vanished during this period. Not only was my school confusingly telling me that I was unworthy then worthy then unworthy again but my mother began to tell me that I was damaged, that I was a retard, and that the best job I could hope for was working for the county in a “special” job picking up trash on the side of the freeway. She actually went so far as to contact such a program for me. What do you think that does to someone during their formative years? I went from being a straight A student in elementary school to hoping I could get a county job with all the other retards.

I knew I wouldn’t fit in there ether. I knew I wasn’t slow or retarded. It was just that my anxiety and depression, which I didn’t even know existed at the time, had made it nearly impossible for me to function. I wasn’t behind the other students. Often I was excelling and far beyond most of them. I just couldn’t show it in the environment I was expected to.

The thing is, I enjoyed being in the remedial classes. I enjoyed not having pressure on me to perform but when I did was showered with praise for it rather than simply treated as if it were expected. Often we had access to resources that I would have never had access to in regular classes, like being able to use a computer daily or being able to actually interact with the teacher because there was only a handful of other students in the class. In total I think there were maybe nine of us? It let use have a much more intimate learning experience than I was ever privy to in regular classes. If I had been more cunning, I would have continued to under-perform so I could have continued to remain in said classes. But, being the idiot and fearful perfectionist that I am, I didn’t and had to say good-bye to said class after a few weeks before being returned a few months later for another vacation.

I’ve told people before and I know they’ve never really believed me but I wish I was slow. I wish I was oblivious. I wish my mother had gotten me that job with the county picking up trash on the side of the freeway. I don’t need money or things. I need peace and quite.

This world. It screams. It screams in my head relentlessly. Often all I can hear is the shrill cacophony of shrieks, my heartbeat pounding out a background rhythm. It makes me nauseous, dizzy. I can’t keep the fear at bay. Run! It screams. Run away! Far away! Hide! But I can’t run. There’s nowhere to go. My feet, glued to the ground. My arms begin to tingle. My breathing, quick and shallow. I can feel my body covered in sweat. My skin feels so tight. I’m going to burst at any moment. I have to. I have to do something.

And then the high-school nurse called an ambulance on me because she thought I was having a heart-attack leading me to be pretty much exiled from that school. Oh, I still went to class… sometimes, but to the staff I was persona non grata no matter the situation.

Everything’s jumbled in my head. I can’t focus. What was I talking about? I can’t remember what I was going to type. Sleep is calling. What is it? About 6:00 pm? Well, I didn’t fall asleep until like 4:30 am and was up by like 9:00 am so I probably should let my body sleep if it’s telling me to.

I go away now.

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