the power of one: each of you

I know I am supposed to be on vacation and I debated about posting for today, but while brushing my teeth I had a thought; each of you have had the power of one on me.
Whether it be listening to me rant and rave about something for five seconds to get whatever it is that I need to rant and rave about at the moment off my chest.
Helping with my computer. Sharing a fantasy. Teasing each other. Reading something you've written and feeling the same way about whatever. Sending emails and IM's and such. By commenting on something I've written and saying whatever it was you might have said at that moment that was exactly what I needed to hear. Or simply by being my friend and saying the two words, 'and you?'
Each of you have meant something to me.
Big, small, or simply.

After I wrote this post, The hardest thing I've ever had to be honest about I felt calm the next day. Then....then the day after that the ugliness started.
A few of you picked up on the fact that I was going though something and I appreciate your words. I was, for lack of a better word, sad. Not depressed, just sad. Sad and angry. Very, very angry. Finally, after making myself sit at my computer and type it all out I figured out what was going on. I also finally made a cruicial connection about PTSD and myself all thanks to a very, very simple comment that a fellow blogger made when they shared their story with me. I can not articulate how profound those four letters were for me.

Anyway, angry, funky, sad PG is gone. Truly.

What follows is the post that I wrote explaining how I felt at the time but, I simply couldn't post it after I wrote it all down. No words as to why, I just couldn't. It's a slight ramble, however, as always, it's honest.



I have been putting off posting this post. I just simply haven’t wanted to. I don’t know why, I just haven’t. Maybe part of it is that I feel I have shared so much, broken down so many walls that I had made sure were so strong and reinforced for so long, that this feels like another wall that I am breaking down and I don’t know if I have it in me. Don’t worry; this isn’t another Debbie Downer post or some big revelation or anything like that. Well, it is for me, but, anyway.
Ever since I posted about my rapes I haven’t felt like me. My moods have been all weird, I’ve felt withdrawn and the perpetually perky girl cannot be found no matter how I try to coax and prod her, she wasn’t showing her smiley face. Apparently I’ve also started talking in the third person.
I am pissy and sad. I’m not necessarily angry, but I have certainly been mad a few days. I’m not depressed, but the thought of the quiet pillow-top comfort of my bed is very appealing. I found everyone and everything annoying and irritating and I can’t figure out why. I am sad. SAD and I want the sadness to end.
Is it the fucktards that tried to tear me down after my post? I find them and their words so ironic. I mean, here I am being honest. Honest about my past and all the ugly details about it. I am finally ready to tell my tale-uninterrupted- and I had two men trying to tear me apart. Is that what is causing this? I just can’t imagine something so asinine causing these feelings. Can’t be that.
So, damn it! Snap out of it already.
I don’t do sad well. I don’t do pissy well. I don’t do depressed or angry well either. Really, if it’s not perky and optimistic with a slight cynical edge, I'm not doing it well. I don’t do vulnerable well. I don’t show my emotions well, either. I truly am the perpetually perky girl and not in some pathetically sad way either. You know, laughing on the outside, dying on the inside. No, I really am that happy all the time. I’ve seen the flip side. I’ve been deep within the cold quiet lovely comfort of a deep dark depression and understood the joys of wanting to stay there. I’ve been the angry girl. The girl who is pissed off at the world and everything and anything in her way. I’ve been the angsty girl with the dyed black hair wearing too much black eyeliner. Honestly, the perpetually perky girl is so much more fun. I’ve been the pessimist who is filled with cynicism and anger. Optimistic with an edge of cynicism is so much better.
Slowly, after my post I had little epiphanies. Here, there, and everywhere I had little light bulbs going off of, “Oh, huh, that’s why I do that, that’s why I reacted that way, that’s what that was about.” All over the place. While I was brushing my teeth. While I was fixing dinner, dancing in my car, slowly drifting off to sleep at night. A bunch of dots were being connected and I have to tell you, I was a little unnerved by it. They weren’t huge or earth shattering or in any way that could be consider monotonous to anyone other than to myself.
Then, after having a pep talk with myself for the 900th time in three weeks of, “Jesus, snap out of it!” Because I couldn’t take the sadness anymore. I couldn’t take the pissiness anymore. It occurred to me. I figured out what it was. I had died. A little bit, a huge part of me, the part of me who needs to be surrounded by walls and had spent half my life building up those walls and hiding behind secrets that I was afraid someone would find out and judge me over, had been told. I told my secrets. I told my past. The secret keeper was gone. My story was out there and I felt naked. I felt vulnerable. Those fucktards came and attacked my character and my defenses were down. I couldn’t believe two people could be so, for lack of a better more powerful word, mean, hateful. But, this isn’t about them. I’m not giving them anymore typing time.
So, I’ve been experiencing a death. I know how hokey that sounds. Believe me, I know how hokey that sounds. But, truly that’s what has been going on. A death. I’m trying to figure me out. I’m trying to figure out me all over again.
The girl at 17 had her innocence ripped away from her and I was mourning her. The girl of 23 no longer felt safe in her own apartment and experienced serious PTSD. Thanks to a friend who mentioned PTSD, it occurred to me that that was what that was all about. I wasn’t going crazy those feelings were all real.
I’ve lost interest in just about any and everything that I use to have interest in. Writing? No, not really. I’ve tried to write several things, but I think it is screamingly apparent that my posts aren’t what they were. My creative edge is gone. Was my secret the secret to my creativity? Were walls my alcohol for creativity? I don’t know. God, I hope not. I seriously doubt it.
I’ve seriously thought about deleting this blog. I don’t really care about it anymore. But, ultimately I don’t want to delete the blog. And maybe by posting this post that I don’t want to post it will come back to me. Maybe. Hopefully.
Then I got to thinking about secrets and secret identities. I have a super- not-so- secret, secret identity and not so secret location. My name is, Party Girl. I have no desire to share who or where I am. Although I thought about it in the last couple weeks. You know, and then delete the blog after the not so big reveal. Then I thought about all of you. Some of you have a secret identity and a secret location. Some have a secret name, but not a location, only a few of you have a real name with a real location. So, are we all hiding from something? Are we all trying to protect something? It is for job purposes? For me, yes. Is it for the blog stalkers and not wanting to be found and for safety? Is it because we can? So we can say exactly what we want to whoever we want and not worry about the outcome and who sees or reads it because you don’t really know who we are therefore it’s safe?
One thing I find fascinating about this whole blog thing is that, except for a few of you, I have no idea what you look like or what your real name is and in some way I am crushing on each and every one of you. It’s in a different way with each of you and in a different way with each post. Sometimes it’s because of what you write about and it hit a nerve. Sometimes it’s because you say and tell me exactly what I need to here and be told. Sometimes it’s because we are talking about sex and so my mind goes straight into the gutter and stays there for the rest of the day. Sometimes it’s because I think we are kindred sprits cut from the same cloth and if we lived anywhere close to each other a pint would be share probably way too frequently. Sometimes it’s because you make me laugh when I need one the most. Or you’ve helped me in someway when I’ve needed help. It’s something different each and everyday. But each and every one of you has made an impact on me and I think about you all throughout my day.
So where am I going with this? Although I no longer seem to be in my funk, I am still going through something and I am still trying to work through it. The creativeness isn’t here. I’m trying to make it be here, but it’s not. I need to take sometime for myself. I really need a vacation, but that’s not possible. I don’t get paid time off and I just added another class to my schedule, so five classes, forty hours a week doesn’t allow for time off. Maybe after I post this I will feel a huge weight lifted and I will be back to my old self right after, I don’t know. I just now this is one more thing that I am being honest about and well, I’ve always been extremely honest, however, I am not use to peaking over and tearing down my walls. It’s all very new and a little uncomfortable for me.


Update: A few months later: Peaking over the walls isn't so bad. Brick by brick the wall has been coming down. It's providing a nice view.