Lonely Hearts Won't Break

TWENTY - THREE｜VIRGO'S GROOVE

When left alone for too long, I have often wondered what I did in my past life to deserve some of the random acts of bullshit that occur in my present one. At some point, I determined there was a root on me. Who conjured it up and decided I deserved it is still unknown, but if I meet that hating ass hoe in this here physical realm, I'm swinging.

I told my psychiatrist this a little over two weeks ago, literally two days after I was robbed, and she laughed but I was dead serious. I wanted blood from whomever took it upon themselves to make such a permanent decision, and the only people I could think of who fit the criteria were my parents – including the one I didn't know. I told her slapping the dog shit out of all three of them would relieve me, she debated only momentarily, and internally I agreed. We both knew that the weight of, what I deemed ineradicable pain, would quickly trammel me and all those slaps, punches and maybe even kicks would no longer suffice.

She claimed that I needed to combat my thoughts - all of the stories, that over the years, my anxiety and depression made me believe were true, and all of those Sonia and Kevin led me to believe about who I was with their dishonesty. I was warned that the first step to doing this, simply being frank about e v e r y t h i n g, would be the hardest, but if I remained consistent it would be worth it. 

In response, I told Dr. Leslie I'd do anything that would bring me enduring relief because I didn't want to die as sad as I was born. I wanted to encounter peace while I could still feel it, but sometimes the opposite felt like the final verdict. 

Casually mentioning death as if it was around the corner and gladly accepting it ended all of the joking between us, and it made Dr. Leslie sit up and begin asking me a series of questions that ultimately began our first exercise. She handed me a moleskin journal and a pen, then began with the following:

Who are you? 

What do you know to be true about yourself?

What can be debated?

On the first try, what I wrote felt superficial. I listed all of the qualities people had awarded me  throughout my life. The most simplistic adjectives and labels that encompassed me as a whole: imaginative, witty, tactical, inquisitive, rebellious, gentle, anxious, mildly aggressive, zealous,  compassionate, melancholy, an ever-changing wanderer, sneaker collector, artist, and recluse. I was multifaceted, and when being dissected, complex. And underneath them all there was a reason. That thing that made me all of the above.

They were my truth.

I am a product of Kevin's infidelity and I was not intended to be conceived. 

I do not know who my birth mother is. 

I do not feel loved by my parents. What they deem as love is contingent on specific terms. 

Because I did not live by those terms, I was abandoned by them as well. 

As well meaning, my birth mother abandoned me first.

I have been battling anxiety and depression since adolescence. 

On two separate occasions in my life, I contemplated how I could exit stage left. 

Despite all of Sonia and Kevin's errors, and all of my trauma, they always made sure that I had everything I needed growing up and more. It is partly because of them that I was allotted the luxury to explore the expansive world of art and eventually uncover my love for painting and storytelling. 

The private school they forced me into was good for something. 

However, it is also because of them that I do not count on a soul to support or protect me. Because of them, I struggle with accepting help and building intimate relationships. When I do, I sabotage everything.