The Asako Curse

I went to work.  I don’t work today, and other then tomorrow?  I don’t work until next week due to some paid vacation that I took.  Quite frankly?  I needed it.  My hours for my vacation week will probably be better then average (and isn’t that just a cruel joke in of itself?), and after the last couple months?  I needed the time.  I came to work because the coffee was free, the wifi plentiful, and I had a paycheck to pick up.  The change of scenery was also a much needed sanctuary.  I’ve been at my wit’s end as of late.

You see, the vacation I took was based on helping my sworn-sister with recovering from her SSI hearing.  She has complex acute PTSD,  and they will be triggering her to see how bad she is.  I’ve seen how bad she is; I cleared my schedule to be on hand to help out with her recovery.

Recently, she elected to not be my sister anymore.  I’m still trying to make sense of that.

I switch emotional tracks wildly and without warning.  I go from crushing despair, to a white hot anger, and then to a somewhat neutral state that isn’t denial…but I’m certainly not thinking about anything important either.

It was a strange argument, one I can barely make much sense of even now.  In the interest of brevity?  Let us just say things went out of control very quickly and that I do not consider myself an active catalyst to the events as they unfolded.  I made a few minor mistakes, but they do not add up to the result and I was given no chance to explain what happened.

As things were finally and truly ending, I started freaking out.  I have my own internal demons, and while I have them largely in check?  Sometimes they come out to play, and I wasn’t at my best to begin with.  I was scared.  I was hurt.  I was panicking and frantic, as one of the closest friendships I’ve ever had was dissolving before me.  I begged her for help, because I was scarred and in bad mental space.  I pleaded with her, saying that I truly needed her.

She texted back that I should check myself into a hospital then.  These were the last words she ” said” to me.

There were other things.  Other horrid things equally callous and sociopathic.  Accusations which had less foundation then a castle built on a cloud.  That text, however, is what sticks with me.

Nearly two months ago, I took sis home with me after a study group meeting.  Due to a conjunction of events, she was at the precipice of self-destruction.  One of the people at the meeting suggested she should go to the hospital, and she took up the advice.  She stayed over, so I could keep her safe.  I held her close, told her that she was loved, and did everything I could to make her feel safe…because in a few short hours she was going to have to wake up and go to a hospital herself.

I saw all of her wounds that night.  I felt the crushing despair of being stuck on the edge of not wanting to give up, and not caring if your lived.  I remember her words, as she got out of the car.  She, almost fearfully and very quietly, asked me to not hurt her.  She was that raw.  That barren.  That broken.

Arguably, I saved her life that night.  I know I did before; she told me as much, even singing my praises to others for having done so.  I did everything I could for.  I treated her as the family that I did not and could not find within my own home.  As far as my mind, heart, and soul was concerned?  That was my sister.  No questions asked.  No exceptions to the rule.

“Check yourself into a hospital”

That phrase haunts me more then any other.  She struck me with the very hand I extended to help her.  I gave her the purest, warmest, most unconditional part of my heart.  I called her as family…and she stabbed me in the small of the back without a backwards glance or second thought.

I still haven’t registered it.  I still feel like I’m in a dream.  I’m not at my best.  I am paranoid, waiting for the next person to come out of the woodwork and walk away from me; this is the third a stunning betrayal or someone walking away from has happened in the last twelve months.  Maybe the forth?  Fuck; I’m beginning to loose count.

One of my problems that I still struggle with from time to time is an eternal feeling of ‘not good enough’.  No matter what I do, I live in a quasi-fear of not being good enough for someone’s standards.  Not good enough to be accepted.  Not good enough to be loved.  Not good enough to win.  Not good enough to join.  Not good enough to succeed.  Not good enough for anything.

I work at it as much as I can.  I force myself to play games I hate and know I will loose at, partially to push past this soft spot; to force myself not to fixate on such little things.  I keep putting myself out there.  I keep talking to people.  I feel with my whole heart, and try to hold nothing back.  I force myself to be whatever the hell I am, with as little concern for the thoughts and opinions of others as I can.  I try not to let this irrational fear burn me too hotly or too deeply.

I gave everything I could, with my only expectation being that she treat me with respect.  To indulge me with the same consideration that I gave.  Nothing else.

When you give everything you have and it still isn’t good enough?  When saving someone’s life isn’t good enough?  You begin to wonder if anything you can do will ever be good enough for anyone.  You begin to feel that an irrational fear might just be the most sensible and rational thing you could consider.

I am an only child once more.  Fuck me.

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