It’s officially 2017, and people everywhere are making resolutions or changes to their life. A new them, a new life, a better them, a better life. If only I could take that advice for my own self and sanity.
My boyfriend, Bobby, is visiting for the first time upstate with me. We just celebrated our 4-year anniversary on January 3rd as we flew back on the same day. Weeks beforehand, I had gotten back into talking with my sister pretty regularly. It was fun and light, like old times. I figured maybe we could pay a visit up for her birthday (Jan 13th) some weekend. My parents didn’t care and my sister wanted to play Overwatch with us, anyways. I figured why not? They’re being civil. It’s a new year. Things have been . . . decent. Same as always. Even though I shouldn’t even be trying. It’s like I’m trying too hard for something that’s ever reaching. I still want to try. And it’s ridiculous. It suddenly feels like I’m just doing this for fun. Like I keep going back for more. More of what? I don’t know.
It’s freezing and I don’t drive. I figured if things were seemingly so decent, I would ask for a ride to the closest WalMart so that Bobby and I wouldn’t have to carry groceries onto the bus, then haul ass in the fucking cold to the house carrying like 30lbs of groceries. My mom told me she couldn’t until Sunday because of busy stuff and to ask my grandmother.
I refuse to do that or go anywhere fucking NEAR that option. Never. Not with the way my grandmother has no filter. It would be fucking anxiety damaging not only to Bobby with invasive questions and misgendering, but the both of us. I refuse. My parents and sister are honestly pushing it. But like I said. They’ve seemingly been decent and my sister seemed like she wanted us to come up.
Now. Now I’m having second thoughts about going up at all.
It’s this ridiculous, stupid game and cycle I cannot seem to bust myself out of. It’s a prison I keep tunneling myself out of, only to find my way right back into my cell. It’s too comfortable. It’s too familiar. It’s too much of what I want to keep in my hands. Yes, I want to dig my way out with a plastic spork, but at the same time I want to stay. I thought maybe going up on my sister’s birthday weekend, playing video games, joking around, talking about stuff might be the okay thing to do. Now I’m just feeling unsure and on edge. It wouldn’t be fair to Bobby or myself to try and go up and have a time then I feel miserable for three days straight later. Just like with Thanksgiving. I feel a disaster either way it works out. And I fucking hate it. I hate going back for more, more, more and hoping things change or things aren’t as tense. I don’t think anything will ever change, but I still keep slamming my head against the wall, hoping that if I bleed and bruise enough something is going to give.
I know I have posted about this several times before, and I repeat what’s here, like a broken record. But it’s true. And it’s so hard and terrifying to sort out. I have to seek therapy in February (yay wait lists) but I don’t know what that’s going to come out like. I don’t know if one therapist will be good enough. I don’t know if I would have to seek a LGBT+ counselor for that type of familial struggle. Why I keep doing this aside from them wanting to love and accept me. Why I keep beating my head against so many walls.
I was so confident about this visit. Now I’m just wanting to drop everything and run.
It’s a new year. A new day, a new month, a new week. And I keep doing the same old song and dance. A mistake repeated more than once, is a decision. I don’t know why I keep hurting myself and regretting everything later. I don’t know why I keep making these “mistakes”. I don’t know why I’m so deliberate and persistent. Or maybe I do. I know what I want from them. I know I want change. I know I want something out of all this. Something back. Something solid.
I said it before: my LGBT community and friends and Bobby are my family. But it never, ever, ever is the same. And they know that. I know that. I can’t tear myself apart from 25 years of knowing what I had, all religious stuff and crazy stupidness aside. I notice things going on that I wouldn’t have gotten away with growing up in the house. I notice a lot of things. And for whatever reason, I want back in. I want everyone back. I’m addicted to the toxicity because I want them to accept me and I want solidarity and somewhere to live and all of these other things. Even when I know it’s bad. Even when I know it’s going to literally put me in the ground one of these days. My dilemma is the addiction I have to them. Abuse, or whatever you want to call it . . . it’s an addiction problem. In the same instance of a romantic relationship that is abusive. You want out, but you love that person. You want it to work. You want to go back. You want everything you had once. You want more. You keep hoping, praying, hitting your head on walls. It’s addictive. It’s damaging. You want to see the good in them. You want change. You hope for it. But you never know if it will come.
I have a lot of things I want to do in this year. 2017 , I feel , will be okay. Maybe not great for a lot of people, but for myself personally I want to make it work. I want all of 2016’s bullfuck that happened to me to get long forgotten. I have plans, things I want to accomplish this year, things to learn, things to experience. Coming here with Bobby was an amazing first start to this year. A very happy, positive thing. I want that to continue. And in doing so, I want to know what I have to do about the relative situation. How to break my bind, how to avoid those walls, and how to embrace being okay without them. It’s not going to be this entire year and done. It’ll take me years to sort it all out and learn. But if I can start, then that’s all I want. I thought I was done. I thought I was going to be okay. I kept going back. I kept begging. I kept bruising myself. Kept bleeding out and patching it up with a bandage and going on my way.
I don’t know what’s going to happen in 2017. I don’t know if I will accomplish everything I set out to do. I don’t know if I’ll be able to drop everything and sort my jars again and clean out my closets and folders. I don’t. Nobody knows what the next day will bring. Nothing is guaranteed. But I can work. I can work on me. I can work on my mental and emotional health. I can work on being me. And I can work on moving forward from here, wherever and whenever that will be.
It’s a new day. It’s a new dawn. It’s a new year. And I hope it will be a new life.