In Fear of Fear (Ha ha I'm quoting Bauhaus)

I'm depressed again, and I have been for at least three weeks, though I didn't notice until yesterday.

I'm not eating right. I binge eat because there's something I don't want to look at. I turn my brain to mush by watching things on my DVD player because I don't want to think or be productive. I draw, but only if I'm watching something at the same time. I'm frustrated. I want to be DONE with this shit, all of it. The shelter, the control, the fear. I saw my mom at the store a few days ago. She and her partner were putting groceries into a bag. I froze. My heart stopped for a moment. They didn't see me. I turned around and nearly ran to the other side of the building and hid in the notebook section because I don't think my mom ever buys notebooks. Even when I was sure they were gone, I did my shopping too quickly and out of breath because so much had been dredged up in a split second. I forgot a lot of stuff and didn't have the guts to go back. I walked very quickly back to the shelter and I couldn't shake the fear that she was following me all ninja-like in the shadows. But my mom isn't ninja-like. She walks with a limp. I live in the same neighborhood as she does, mere blocks away. I must be insane. This isn't safe. It grinds against the inside of my head, the energy and the fear that she'll see me and break down and I won't be able to stand up against her because the guilt will wake up and eat me alive. I was scared that she was following me everywhere, either on foot or in her car. I was scared that she HAD seen me, but acted like she didn't for some reason. That night, I was so scared that she was going to break into my room and kidnap me. Part of me wanted to go to her apartment and knock on her door and say "I'm so sorry, I'm just making it all up because I'm mad at dad and projecting it onto you, like you always thought. I'm so sorry please forgive me please forgive me please forgive me I'm so sorry." Because the only way I can love her is through guilt and shame.

I doubt my memories and think "I'm not damaged enough for all that shit to have happened to me." But normal people with normal, loving, supportive parents don't have fears of their parents kidnapping them.

More fucked up shit that happened in the past

I wish I could just pick up the phone and call them.

"Oh, me?
I live in a domestic violence shelter because one of my best friends took advantage of me.
I'm consistently terrified of doing anything because I think somewhere in my mind that doing anything will get me raped or beaten.
I'm trying to get better, but I keep remembering all these horrible things you did to me and sometimes I can't sleep because of it and I feel like I'm fighting off a tidal wave with a cardboard sword and shield. Cardboard doesn't do so well in water, you know.
But other than that I'm fine. How are you?"

***

My dad used to pray after he raped me. After every time. He wanted god to cleanse him. He made me pray too, but more because he didn't want the devil to get me or something. He could be cleaned, but I couldn't. I just had to hope that god didn't notice how dirty I was. My dad blamed me for his actions. Of course he did; taking any sort of responsibility for them himself would be admitting that there was something horribly horribly wrong with him and that he needed help. I can't look at crosses. I can't enter a church without getting the molested sensation. I have a hard time being spiritual because I equate it too much with religion. I can't believe I'm outside right now. I'm in my dad's neighborhood. I don't know what I would do if he saw me.