Me again

I stopped writing for me again. This isn’t ok. I need to keep it to just here. No one else needs to see the train wreck that I have become.

Because it’s just me again, I can go in any order that I want.

I need to get out of this town so I stop seeing people from my graduating class. It is jarring to see people that I used to ignore in the hallways come into Lumber House, to have to check them out. It’s awkward. It’s weird. In some way, I don’t want to be seen by them here. Being back in Abilene, working at the same store, stuck, feels like I’ve failed to show them. I guess I wanted to be the one who did the coolest things after high school, and working as a cashier in the same town as my old school is not that. It doesn’t matter that I have most assuredly done more in the past year of my life than anyone that I graduated with has done with the whole of theirs. They don’t see that. They just see me working a mind numbing job.

I shouldn’t really care. Why am I placing so much value on the opinions of people that I would avoid if given the chance? I guess I’m not really. But they see “Kiah-cashier-didn’t-go-to-college” but I’m not her. I’m “Kiah-making-money-to-go-back-to-Thailand”. Hmm.

I was writing some of the notes that I had taken during Mary Margaret’s week in my journal. (There weren’t many to write down). I think that I got the image bearers thing from her. I hadn’t realized. That concept changed a lot of my life and the way I did ministry in Thailand, the way I interact with people now. Maybe I discounted her too harshly. I do wish I had the opportunity to go and sit through lectures again. I’m sure I missed out on some cool things because of my trepidation. If only I had trusted God to keep me on the right path at that point in the DTS.

I’m doing poorly again today. It really is that damn job. Every time I think about work, a pang of pure dread fills my whole being. I was so happy, so refreshed yesterday, but today, knowing I have at least five days of work in a ROW is causing me to quite literally want to die. I so do not want to do this, to work there, that I would opt for suicide or serious injury to avoid going. I can never tell mom, but that alone is enough for me to not return after camp, regardless of if God brings me another option or not. I can’t keep living this close to the edge. I’m scared of what happens when I allow myself to feel worse than this, and work perpetuates those feelings.

I sound like such an ungrateful bitch. At least I have a job. And a decent paying one at that. Not terribly hard, not late into the night, with ok people. I don’t have to pay rent or for food. This life is likely some people’s dream life. Why can’t I be content with this? Am I selfish? Am I envious or greedy? I don’t know. Maybe I’m lazy? I don’t know. All I do know is that this job is causing me to be more suicidal than I feel is safe, so no matter how selfish stupid lazy greedy dumb entitled brat of me is would be to leave, I fear it could become a matter of life or death. Maybe not. But I can’t take showers on the nights that it’s really bad. The urge to cut is stronger on the nights that I have to work the next day. I only get really sad and break-down-y when I have work the next day. That is not ok. I know its all those previous adjectives of me to leave, but I also know that if my current lifestyle is not only bringing absolutely no joy to my life whatsoever, but actually rapidly sucking what little joy I can find away, then there is no reason for me to stay.

I can’t come back. To this town maybe. It’s killing me. Where can I go? I don’t have the money to travel really. I like to pretend that Trevor or Mama Sarah (mostly Trevor) would let me stay with them if I asked. But I likely know the answer. Trevor won’t and Mama Sarah can’t.

Something will change, I’m sure.

Reading my old journals was the worst idea ever. Trevor asked why, and I couldn’t tell him.

I am terrified to be how I was with Warren. I read my journal of that time. Every entry was about him. Every. Single. One. I lied to myself. I victimized myself at every turn. I was obsessive. I used my mental issues as excuses for him to text me more. I made him the center of my life. I could see how I spiraled into madness. But a lot of it was the texting.

His texting (from the many, many interactions I jotted down in that stupid notebook) mimic my conversations with Trevor, almost to a T. I am still spam texting with things that don’t matter, the replies of “sorry, I was busy”. His replies even sound like things that Warren said. I am treating him the same way, but the only difference is that I’m aware, and yet do nothing to stop it. I am the same horrible person from before. I ruined Warren. The reason he is how he is now is directly because of how I used him.

Is that what I’m doing with Trevor? Spam texts, he’s busy, trauma dumping, just in new and improved ways. Am I doing what I did with Warren, calling him my best friend, but treating him like my boyfriend against his wishes?

Reading that journal unlocked so much anxiety about how I am interacting with people now. I am a worse person than I realized.

The parallels hurt. If the trend continues, Trevor does not care, stopped caring a while ago, and puts up with me because if he didn’t, I would have a mental break. Sooner or later, I’ll do something horrible to him, cause him to have a tangible reason to hate me, and I’ll never get to talk to him again. I’ll look back years down the road, the memories smoothed and distorted with time, and blame everything on him, hate him, when in reality, I am incapable of having friends, of being a friend, a best friend, anything. I am incapable of being anyone to someone I like/d. I convince myself so thoroughly that I am someone who ruins everything every time, it’s always inevitable, that it becomes so, by my own hand.

Brooks is a bad friend. Something I deserve. He’s just a me that I am forced to experience.

The parallels to Adam and Trevor are similar as well. Despite knowing that reading my journals was a terrible idea, I chose to anyway. Again. Reading about Adam standing me up for hiking, never responding, standing me up and standing me up. I know I KNOW that isn’t what Trevor intended to have happen today. But he promised. He promised we would call today. I told him that I was free all day, to call when he could, and he never did.

Maybe I’m not the bad person that my mind likes to convince me that I am.

I have grown. I have changed for the better. It’s hard to see that sometimes. I fall back on old ways sometimes. But I’m not irredeemable. Jesus still chose me.

Maddie will call me later. The reason she didn’t was out of her control.

Man this post makes me look more obsessed with Trevor than I am.

The phone call stuff is current, and the journal stuff. Well. Is as current as past memories can be.

I am terrified to become the girl that i was then.

so seeing even small little patterns sends me spiraling.

I think I won’t read my journals for a while. Old Ramblings posts and DTS journals are different. (I’m still apparently grieving. I ate an orange today for the first time since leaving, and the smell made me freeze for a solid 20 seconds. For a little bit, I was there. Eating an orange on the couch in between lectures. Hm)

I’m tempted to show parts of this to Trevor. But he left this site for a reason.

I want to better verbalize why I am the way I am. The patterns I picked up, and the hurts, that formed me.

But probably not.