It's been a while.
I broke up with M the day I uploaded log 38. I apologized to A two days ago for treating him so bad.
I realized that I missed A more than I thought I did. I didn't realize because I've been pushing it down so much. I still am. Since me and A broke up, I've been thinking of smaller things that reminded me of him. Neon green reminds me of him.
I was attracted to M because he was something new. Something exciting. I should have known. Ever since me and A broke up, it felt like the way I love someone—the way I show my love to someone—changed drastically. I began to feel disgusting a month after me and M started dating. I didn't like the amount of physical affection I was recieving, despite recieving so much from A and being perfectly fine with it—even happy. I don't know what happened to me. But, when I think about it, M didn't respect the boundaries I had placed. When I said I didn't like PDA, he would apologize, then hug me in public a week later. Maybe it was my fault for not pushing it enough, but I feel like telling him I didn't like it two times should have been enough. But, I didn't push it. I hope he never finds this. He'll feel so guilty, and I'll have nothing to say to him.
A, you must have changed so much. I progressed in healing backwards. I ended up worse. My memory has gotten worse, I've been sleeping more, oversleeping despite the nightmares I keep facing. I don't want to get back with you, but only because I know I'll hurt you again. I've already done it twice. Maybe more, but I can't remember. I need to push you away again and again, I can't hurt you more than I already have. My friends been saying to ask to be friends again after we talked. I can't get myself to ask, not after everything—even if I truly miss you more than everything, even if you pass my mind more times than I can count. I need to disconnect my mind from you, I don't want to think of you. I can't help but wonder if you think of me too. But, you're happier now, aren't you? You said you're doing really good. You didn't ask me how I was. I would lie to you anyways, but I wish you asked despite it. I can't stay near you. I wish we could take another walk out.
I have two exams tomorrow to try and recieve credit without taking the class. I haven't studied at all. I've delved into my interests, but I know it was only to distract myself. It's worked really well, too well. I haven't done anything this summer. I think my problem is I label every bad thing I do as proof that I'm evil. I know I'm not all that bad, but I wish I could stop doing things that I later add to the list of reasons why I should have killed myself a long, long time ago. I don't want to miss A. I want him gone from my memories. I don't want to love anyone more than I loved him. I don't want to think about him. Me and M are friends still.
I can't live like this. I don't mean missing A. I mean the way my brain works. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't even know what I want most days. Most days I can't even remember. I feel like scrap pieces. I'm only good for some things—but most things, not really. I wish I was involved in more things, more communities, more events. I don't volunteer often. I'm scared I won't get my diploma. I'm anxious all the time. I haven't gotten my license yet because I've developed such horrible driving anxiety. I've had genuine panic-attack level reactions from just thinking about driving. I've had nightmares about getting into an accident. It's gotten so bad that I'm thinking of asking my parents to see my doctor to get anxiety medication. Whenever I bring this up to my closer friends, they go: "Lily, why won't you ask them right now?". Asking my parents for something relating to my mental health is like gambling if I will get what I need or if I'll feel scared around my parents for a month because they'll either yell at me or ask themselves where they went wrong with me. They did do things wrong when raising me, but I don't want them to think about that. I don't know why, but I don't want them to ever know that they hurt me. That I didn't like it that they put cameras in my room until I was fourteen. Maybe there are still some in my room. I've become desensitized enough to ignore that. I just change in my room anyways. Maybe not true, but I've exposed my body too much to even care if there is videos of me undressing floating around in the internet. There is sexual photos of me on the internet somewhere, even if I asked S to delete them. I never talked about S before, not to anyone. I'm scared to talk about him. I don't want to talk about him. Maybe some other time. Well, maybe I care a little if there is videos of me somewhere. I'm actually really scared there is. But, I don't like admitting it just in case someone out there is actually pleased that I am scared.
I ruined my life. I just want to leave this place. I want to erase everything about me off from this world, from everyones memories. But, it doesn't matter. What matters is getting my IB diploma, not dwelling on past trauma. The past is passed, and there's nothing I can do about it. So, we move on, hopefully quicker.