Light Bulb Wars and Late Night Food Runs

Day 1+16

In the midst of current life events, the little things that I would shrug off have become somewhat intolerable as of late.

Such as stolen light bulbs.

A few nights ago, when walking in to my room, I went to turn on my light. And, wouldn't ya' know it, the light bulb was gone. The stand totally bare, empty, naked. Alone.

Which, was pretty damn funny, considering I had put new bulbs in every lamp in my room. I remember doing it. Mum helped me rearrange my furniture, getting angry from the lack of light, every bulb old and burnt out in my room.

When the light bulbs had died, burnt out, you could actually see it. Their end. They flash a bright purpley-blue, there's a popping sound, and suddenly they dim. It all happens so quickly, but the after-images get burned into your eyes, so you see colored spots, the noise loud in your ears from your silent attempts at sleeping.

So, light bulbs gone, I wandered into my little sisters room, curious, remembering all her lights had burnt out as well. And, wouldn't you know it, all her lights turned on.

Now, at first, I just took them all back, turning all my lights on, screwing the bulbs carefully back into the bases of my lamps. Then I left.

Came home.

Bulbs all gone.

Frustration.

However, this time? I don't just take the bulbs, and put them in my room.

I take them with me. Downstairs, on the table beside me, Movies, House episodes, Nic's frustrated, Aubrey's sick next to me. Sister comes downstairs, livid.

"Did you steal my light bulbs?"

You mean did I take back my light bulbs?

"No, they're mine!"

Accusations at my room being dirty.

Insult.

Insult.

Insult.

You can go get new light bulbs from the back room.

Indignation. "No! I want my Goddamn fucking light bulbs back!"

Chuckle.

Indifference.

You can really just go to the back room to get brand new light bulbs.

Rage. "I just want my fucking lights!"

More accusations at my dirty room.

Continued indifference.

You know those were my light bulbs first, and you stole them from my room?

Raging indignation. "They were not! They've always been mine!" Sliding towards giving in. "Besides! My lights don't work in my room!"

Neither do mine.

Apparently if I cleaned my room for the third time I could turn on my overhead light.

Growing tired of her being a bitch.

Aubrey's uncomfortable from the cursing.

Nic's reaching the end of his Tolerance Rope.

Which is pretty damn long.

They're right here, on the table.

"Are you fucking kidding me!"

Yes. Those aren't actually light bulbs, obviously. They're candies.

"Stay out of my room!"

A long pause.

Shared looks.

Shrugs from everyone. Nothing new.

It'd sure be nice if she'd calm down.

"SISTERS never quite FORGIVE each other for what HAPPENED when they were FIVE."

Day 1+15

Day 1, plus fifteen.

It's been fifteen days since the realization of everything hit. Some people know. Some don't. Some days are easier then others.

Some days hurt more then I could imagine.

It comes in waves, my poor attempts at coping obvious failings. I know it's not my fault, everything that happened. But if it's not my fault, then the situation wasn't in my control.. I was a fool, and gave my power to someone else, and trusted them in a way I never should have.

I don't know how I could have been so stupid.

I feel numb inside. When I finally do feel things, it's just pain and hurting, I sit and cry for no reason, sometimes in silence, sometimes with gut-wrenching sobs that return me to my childhood.

When I can't feel anything, I'm terrified. When it's numb, unemotional, raw.. I'm always slightly relieved when the crying happens, afraid that I'd remain in the empty state.

Six months I've been numb inside, shoving everything in the background, not allowing the feelings to surface. Now, everything is there. Angry, raw, blistering. I go through moments of feeling as if my chest is empty, cracked, a shell. Then it's on fire, burning, churning with everything. Everything shakes, uncertainly, as if I'm trying to get my balance back from being unconscious.

I can't figure anything out. Every day things seem impossibly hard. Getting out of bed is the hardest thing to accomplish. Knowing I have to fight my way through another day.. And once that Impossible Task is completed, it's another. Getting out of the shower. Pulling myself up from off of the floor. Driving a car, eating, drinking, walking out the damn door..

A friend jokes, "You need to be happy.. you're broken right now,"

I know I am.

I don't know how to fix it. I truly don't. I feel ridiculous for letting it affect me so much; this occurs to something like 1 in 4 women. With something so common, I feel like it should be easy to fight off, blow over, get passed.. yes. It happened. Where do I go from here? How can this empower me to be a better person, to achieve my dreams, for me to fight to the top, to be who I want to be?

It's not empowering. It's crippling. It hurts, every day.

There are two people outside of my family whom I truly feel comfortable being around. Who don't make me bury my feelings, and let me cry it out when need-be. When I have a panic attack, they don't mock me. They help me fix whatever it was I just did in a subconscious lashing against myself.

I distract myself instead of adding physical hurt to my emotional. Currently I've taken to painting my closet. Giant, white expanse. I hate looking at it. How bare it is, not achieving it's potential. I feel like the walls in my closet. Bare, dull, cream colored. Missing everything I once had..

I want to crawl out of my own skin, and never look back. I'm scrambling. Coloring my hair. Changing my clothes. Different perfume. Different makeup, Every way someone could view me. Just different.. I don't want to be angry and bitter. If I fake happy long enough, it should be that way. Stay that way. Like muscle-memory.

I have too many thoughts.

I don't know where to begin. How I'll end. Am I in my middle?

“Being HAPPY doesn't mean that everything is PERFECT. It means that you've decided to LOOK beyond the IMPERFECTIONS.”