#feliciarambles

[thisoneiscozy]

Welp that's a thing

[thisoneiscozy]

I’ve worked really hard not to let my anger and bitterness about the world consume me. Some days are easier than others, and sometimes, when it’s late and I’m tired and I’ve been fighting a losing battle with the overwhelming beast that is my anxiety, sometimes then I’ll snap and I’ll become that person who’s so angry and so bitter that it oozes out of them and infects everything and everyone it touches.

I spent so much of my life burying every negative feeling I ever had about myself that now I don’t really know how to confront them. When you bury your self-hatred that deep, it grows these thick, almost impenetrable roots and it becomes the center of your very being. But I’m tired of that. I’m tired of being this person who wakes up every day and hates themselves. I’m tired of having people literally yell in my face about how much they care about me, and me being incapable of believing them because, in the back of my mind, I don’t think I’m worth caring about. I’m tired of being so afraid of getting hurt that I don’t even try to form connections with people anymore and I cling to connections that aren’t good for me.

This job has been a godsend for me (and not just because I’m broke af). I’ve made so many new friends just by working there and being myself and I’d honestly forgotten how easily I make friends. I forgot how likable of a person I really am when I’m not weighed down by anger and bitterness and self-hatred.

It’ll be three years this September since I was raped. Three years since I stopped trusting people, three years since I stopped dating. Three years since I was able to be alone in a room with a man who wasn’t related to me without freaking out. I was always angry and bitter, and I always hated myself, but three years ago I was raped, and those emotions took over. Those emotions became the security blanket that I have clung to for three years, the barbed wire fence I erected around myself to keep away anybody that might be interested in even trying to get close to me. I’m not gonna sit here and act like I woke up today and suddenly I’m not angry or bitter anymore – because I am – but those emotions do not control my life anymore. I may never really get over being raped, and I may never fully trust people again, but I’m not about to spend the next six decades being angry and bitter at the world because some guy three years ago decided that what I wanted didn’t matter.

What I want matters. I matter. It may have taken me three years (and an entire lifetime before that) to realize it, but I matter.

[thisoneiscozy]

today was a good day.

[thisoneiscozy]

bi erasure is when a canonically bisexual character is only identified as a lesbian by the fandom and everyone sits on their hands like “condoms?????? why does she have condoms??????????” because she’s bi, guys. she’s obviously bi. 

[thisoneiscozy]

well i feel really stupid

[thisoneiscozy]

I feel like I’m suffocating, like I’m falling into old patterns too hard and I’m drowning. It’s like I know how to swim, but I just… forget how to sometimes. He walks into my life and I forget how to breathe. I don’t even know what he wants; I don’t know if he knows what he wants. I just know that I can’t breathe around him and I have too much going on in my life to suffocate right now. And then other men want a piece of me, want to be a part of my life, and whenever they tell me that, I choke on my words because I can’t be around them. I’m afraid of them. Men who’ve done nothing, absolutely nothing to me, and I’m terrified of them because they’re men and the thought of being alone with a man is enough to freak me out for days. I’m not getting better. I’m not really getting worse, but I’m not getting better, and this isn’t a good place to be stuck. My mom is concerned, and she should be, because a couple months ago I broke up with a guy who made me feel like saying no didn’t matter and all I wanted to do that night was slice into my skin again. I didn’t, because I was lucky and someone was there to talk me down, but I’m twenty-two years old and I think about hurting myself on an almost-daily basis. This isn’t healthy, this isn’t normal, this isn’t how I want to be, but the thought of getting help is equally as petrifying. How much help do I need? I was in therapy for five years. From fifteen to twenty, I was in regular therapy, and here I am at twenty-two and I’m still a fucking mess. I’m at an age where I feel like I can’t be this fucked up anymore. I need to have my shit together, and I don’t. at all. I have nothing together, and it feels like I’m drowning. how can I function as an adult in society if I can’t even convince myself to get out of bed in the mornings? I want to stop, to pause, to not be at this major transitory period where everything is changing and everyone is telling me it’ll get better if I just give it time but I gave it time, I gave it two and a half years and nothing is better. I’m really good at pretending it is, but nothing is better. I can’t go grocery shopping without having panic attacks in my car afterward because my brain thinks that anyone walking behind me is following me. I can’t get gas by myself because I’m afraid to leave my car unattended. I’m just afraid all the time. I spent my birthday alone because I was afraid to walk the thirty feet to my car in the dark to go home. My birthday, my favorite day of the year, and I was alone because I can’t quiet the fear even for a few minutes.

[thisoneiscozy]

Do you ever make decisions about your love life and then regret them later because you’ve had time and space and ou don’t feel the same way now that you did then but you’re torn between trusting your initial intuition to leave and trying to maybe possibly repair things? because honestly i feel selfish and dumb and even though my reasons for ending things are still reasons, i come across these posts like “you deserve someone who’s gonna treat you like you matter every day. Not just when it’s convenient for them.” and I think about how I had that. I literally had that for two years. For two years I had someone who cared about me so genuinely that even when I was in the middle of the worst mania of my life, I managed to get through it because he stayed up all night talking to me even though he could only understand every third word I said. When I ended up in the middle of a PTSD episode with the guy I dated after him and I messaged him at two AM even though we only talked maybe once every two weeks at that point, he stayed up with me and talked me down because honestly that night I thought I was going to hurt myself. My reasons for ending things are still reasons, and I keep reminding myself of that, but I think I am was in love with him. And I know, people say that if you *think* you’re in love, you’re not, because if you’re in love, you know it, but I think that’s bullshit when you’re talking about a person with such severe intimacy issues she can’t even date, let alone actively recognize love. I’ve only been in love once before this, and that love nearly destroyed me. That love took teeny tiny parts of me every single day until I wasn’t me anymore, and that love regularly tries to come back into my life when it’s convenient for him. This love though, this love never really left. This love fought with me, but he grew with me, too. It’s so easy for me to sit here and talk about the flaws of the people I’ve dated because it justifies how often I’ve run away from relationships. Sometimes, my depictions are fairly accurate, but most of the time, I paint a very narrow view of the men I’ve been with, as if they didn’t make me happy while I was with them, as if I wasn’t equally as flawed as they were, equally as stubborn, equally as combative. He is flawed and I am flawed and my friends think I deserve better and maybe I do, but I miss him every day. I have missed him every day. I don’t know if I’m in love with him, because it’s a different kind of love than the first one. He doesn’t take pieces of me, doesn’t expect me to be more than I am. I was enough for him, and I don’t know if I’ll ever have that again. 

[thisoneiscozy]

It’s my birthday, I’m 22, and I’d like to stop getting older pls :)