A Little Less Victim. A Little More Victory.

I’m doing better.  I’ve been practicing what to say out loud instead of just telling myself to spit it out.  I started off by writing it a bunch of times.  You know how when you hear or read a word over and over and over again, it loses its meaning?  That’s what I’m going for.  A little exposure therapy.

Write it.  Think it.  Whisper it.  Say it.  Yell it.  Do vigorous exercise to get rid of all the guilt and shame.  Put myself into a less emotional state of mind.  I got this.

I’ve survived another year since the Thing.  It’s been 10 years now.  I didn’t do drugs.  I didn’t drink.  I’ll admit that I did end up cutting on either Wednesday or Tuesday last week.

I had thoughts of ending it, my sobriety I mean.  I wanted to put myself back into the fog.  I wanted to deal with this the way I’ve always dealt with it: lots of drugs, drinking, sex, cutting, anything that could be seen as self-destructive I would do.  Why sex?  Because I can’t think of a single time where I had fun with sex stuff that didn’t involve being clothed.  I like clothing.  Skin to skin contact bothers me.  It’s always bothered me.

I stayed sober.  I stayed clean and in recovery.  I didn’t try to kill myself.  I didn’t engage in disordered eating.  I did withdraw and hide myself from the world, but I came out anew, like I’m born again (but not born again Christian, fuck that noise).

I’m not a victim, I’m a survivor.  Why do I continually look at myself as something less than everyone else?  As my old eating disorder therapist once asked me “What makes you so special that you hold yourself at a higher regard than everyone else”?

When I look at my friends, I see their inner beauty at all times.  I love them unconditionally.  I laugh with them and cry with them and do not look at them as inferior, but as people deserving of love and respect and compassion.

Yet, when I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize those things in myself.  I constantly put myself down.  “Sarcastic Autist, you fat cunt, get your shit together.”  “Oh my gods, why are you such a fucking spaz?”  “If you hadn’t done X, Y, or Z, none of this would be happening.”  “You’re such a pathetic loser.  I hate you.  You deserve bad things happening to you.”

It’s not enough that I’ve been victimized by others.  Somehow, I’ve seen fit to victimize myself repeatedly.  I seldom give myself real praise.  I hide behind false hubris by continually stating how awesome I am, how smart I am.  How amazing and special and supercalifragilisticexpialidocious I am.  (You can actually sit there and marvel at the fact that I totally spelled that right without googling it.  Go on, the rest of the post will wait.)

Inside, I’m nothing but a scared child.  I often feel like I never truly escaped from all the abuse and that I’ll always end up back in that cycle.  And I feel like I deserve it.  I feel like I deserve to be someone else’s punching bag because I see myself as something less than.  Not even someone, just something.

It’s painful and humbling and empowering to type these words up.  I don’t often like to look directly at the suffering I hold deep within myself, grown by secrets and shame.

I keep re-injuring myself emotionally because I have always refused to share with my therapists in the past.  I know there’s a huge part of me that’s worried that Charon will call me a liar.  An attention seeking liar.

But I know she won’t.  She’ll probably look at me with that trademark therapist look and maybe say that she wants to hug me but I don’t like to be touched so she won’t.  Maybe give me a gold star.  (I love gold star stickers.  I have a bunch in my drawers.  They make me happy.)

I can’t control her reaction.  I can only share my suffering and trust that she will not add to it.

I refuse to keep victimizing myself.  I refuse to keep my ‘poor me’ attitude.  I want to be a survivor, although that isn’t quite the right word.

I guess a warrior would be the correct term.  A warrior fights and continues fighting.  They look at life and see adventure.  A survivor sees obstacles.

I want to be a Warrior.

-The Sarcastic Autist

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