Moving In

A has recently decided that he would like me to move in with him and T. This is both very flattering and a thought that had certainly crossed my mind before.

It also raises lots of red flags about premature commitment, and is an offer that I would probably have trouble not accepting if it were offered.

The validity of above red flags is not entirely what I want to discuss at the moment, I'm going to mostly leave them by the wayside, saying only that their validity is not a foregone conclusion.

I'm going to wax introspective about my (near pathological) desire to have this roommate-ness offered to me and to accept the offer.

Firstly, I have little to no discretion when it comes to things that make me feel accepted, included trusted, and loved. I want nearly all things that achieve this, with very few filters. (To the point that I have sometimes worried that my interest in a relationship, though real, originally stemmed purely from the other person's interest in me.) It was a big deal when today someone asked if I would be able to pet sit for them and I said no, because no was the best answer for everybody- but a large part of me desperately wanted to be there, be worthy of the trust and respect that I perceived in the request. This begs the question: how do I evaluate my feelings in things like this, since I know for a fact that my emotional brain is powerful enough to convince my rational brain of things that are totally untrue and unsupported?

In this case, why do I specifically wish to jump on this opportunity? For one, I think it would be really nice in many ways in execution and I have never been good at delayed gratification. 

But S asked me a good question. "Do you think that the offer will go away?" I didn't think so at first. But reflecting, I feel that may be wrong. My feeling is now "of course I'm afraid that the offer will go away. I'll slip up and they'll see how horrible I really am and I'll have never got the chance to...live with them and show them how wonderful I really am?" My emotional brain sucks at logic. 

I desperately, desperately, desperately want a family. I want someone to promise to love me forever and no matter what and I want to believe them. And I want to believe I'll love them back forever. 

Because somewhere in my head, I'm incapable of love, kindness, goodness, compatibility with others, and I deserve none of these from others.

Fuck. I had nearly forgotten about that bit of my head.

(I'm writing totally stream of consciousness, I've no idea what I'll make of this post in the morning.)

The pain hits me in unpredictable waves, triggered by buttons I didn't know I had. S can relate.

Thought: S is not my therapist. S is my good friend. Where do I draw that line? Where does she?

Thought: I hate needing a therapist. I hate my broken brain. There are so many broken pieces of me that I don't even know how they're supposed to look once they've been put back together anymore. But they're hiding behind my relative functionality, so sometimes even I forget they're there.

I hate that I'm too broken to love and be loved properly. I don't know what good, strong, healthy love looks like. I can't recognize it for the shattered shards of what fucking should have been a whole and strong and wonderful person growing out of that poor ten year old girl.

God, I wish that little girl could have lived past 10.

I am lost in my own brokenness. I have no path. I don't know how to look for one. I only know what way time goes.