It's hard to describe what all I'm feeling. There's a plethora of shit going on in my head and it all just seems to be compounding in on itself. Between the ongoing stress in trying to find a reason or purpose in my life, and then all this new found other stress from a polyamourous relationship is just starting to weigh on me.
Then, of course, there is a now renewed desire to start cutting again. Which, while I debated heavily last night is still yet to happen for various reasons. I'm still not quite sure what my plans are on that front. Part of me feels I need the emotional release and control that it would bring, but another doesn't want to go back down that alley, and the last few times that I have decided to, haven't been that great at granted said desires, or rewarded. So, it is, as of yet, undecided. The desire, however, remains.
The poly problems, which more or less started this week, revolve around the hurt from people being careless with my emotions. I felt hurt, obviously, mainly dealing with the fact that in a time designed to be spent with my primary partner, after being left with nothing to do for a bit, opted to visit her new flame for what was intending to be a 4 hour jaunt. This then turned into an all day/night thing.
Thus not knowing when she would be back, and not really having anything to do on my own, resulted in a wasted Friday being spent watching Star Trek. I don't mind these things on a normal weekday, they are routine in their acceptability, but not my ideal way of spending one of the few days that I have time in which to do things.
I'm not upset at her having a new flame, I've encouraged it as there are aspects of our relationship that are unfulfilled, and I don't wish for her to be stuck without them. However I felt somewhat used, more as a closet and maid, than for any possible sexual reason. When the time meant to be spent together is then used to spend time with someone else. The word abandoned was mentioned, but that feels more extreme than I want it to. I don't worry that the relationship is over, or that I'll be neglected like my last relationship, which I think would be more akin to the meaning of the word. There was however a deep sense of isolation, disappointment, and hurt. Along with speckles of betrayal. Not in the "Et Tu brutus" sort of sense, but more in a being lied to sort of way, even if unintentional.
To compound on that sentiment, acting in either my masochism or plain idiocy, I opted to discuss, in vague terms, what was going on with my ex (I prefer to keep her at best, a few arms lengths away from my emotionality). This, predictably, didn't end well (in case you wondered why). In short, my venting was taken as an opportunity to critique my character and boast, albeit unintentionally, about her own situation. I'm starting to find that interactions with her end more and more with "oh fuck you". At which point it's probably not a good idea to continue conversing with her.
In the midst of the night, while feeling the plethora of shit cocktail, the friends and other partners that I did try to confide in either weren't intimately acquainted enough to feel comfortable properly conveying my emotions, or were too busy to deal with me. Which, inevitably ended up with my feeling even worse, both for annoying/pestering them, and for my continued exacerbated isolation.
I worry about being too isolated because it is in such that the worse thoughts come to bear. The suicidal and violent thoughts that I may often have but don't give much credence to come back stronger and magnified in isolation, especially when predisposed to a negative mood. I do not like being tempted/teased in this regard, I find it dangerous and unhealthy. I've no outright objection to the thoughts, but I dislike the idea of being in between them. Such, I suppose, is the curse of being a fatalist, however. I want things to happen, one way or the other, not be stuck in some half-assed half-state somewhere in between. A fitting parallel for my life, in fact.
I write this now, in the late morning trying to wrap my head around things and figure out how I feel, and what I can do to lift this veil of depression. She has apologized and I accepted it, but that doesn't repair the hurt that I feel. I'm trying, but I still can't help but feel somewhat displaced and offput by things. I'm trying hard to restrain from feeling bitter, jaded, and cynical. Though the struggle continues to be pervasive. I find myself wanting to lash out and say hurtful things, but, I've yet to sink into that much self-loathing.
One cannot claim to be graceful if it shreds at the first sign of an ill fitted environment. Grace under fire is my definition of the word. This may though, by the most extreme test of said quality to date.
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