I’m a mess and I shouldn’t be. This is one of those times when the borderline rage shines through. He’s fucking someone else, and I shouldn’t care because I got married to someone else. But I do care. I feel sick and possessive and jealous. I want to throw myself off something high. I want to break things loudly. I want to go to his place and smash his windows. I feel out of control but I know I can’t do any of that because I’m worse. I have no claim on him whatsoever.
I sliced my arm deep and repeatedly and it wasn’t enough. I think I could probably cut it off and it still wouldn’t be adequate. My therapist tells me to name my emotions: I feel angry. Rejected. Betrayed. He’s supposed to want me. It’s stupid I know, because I sleep with my husband every day and he doesn’t complain about that. But somehow the thought of him treating her like that; doing those things with her, saying those things to her, licking her, kissing her, fucking her, curling up beside her, sleeping in her arms and cooking her breakfast. All of it. I simultaneously want to burst into tears and cry in despair, and fly into a rage. I feel like self-destructing. I feel like I’m being eaten alive with this craziness burning my flesh.
I hate feeling this way. This is when I know how deeply true my diagnosis is. I know this is not healthy. But even knowing that, what do I do? How do I deal with this? Can I really just pretend everything is fine when I feel this way? But I know me, and I know I will.
I feel so angry with him. There’s the fiery rage consuming me and driving me to impulsivity, recklessness and filling me with energy. But beneath that is a deep, rolling despair. I feel rejected and cast aside. I wonder what’s wrong with me, and my thoughts quickly turn to a vicious self-loathing. I am replaceable. Forgettable. Another faceless girl. It’s a dangerous combination. I feel both suicidal and energetic: a deadly mix. I want to die. I want to punish myself. I want to punish him. I want to do something with all these feelings that are overwhelming me, and I don’t know what. Another insignificant cut doesn’t represent it this time. I want to tear myself limb from limb, into tiny pieces and scatter them to the wind. I want to bleed myself dry, watching the color drain from my skin. I want to shoot myself through the brain and feel that sweet moment of blinding pain, pressure and release before I am pulled into oblivion.
And yet…I know that I’m more likely to do the most self-destructive thing of all: pretend I don’t care and try to pull him back into my web. Maybe this time I can make him want me; prove I’m worth something, at the same time as demonstrating clearly just how worthless I am. For now I ignore him, unable to carry on small talk while he makes plans to fuck his beautiful blonde whore. Will I ignore him forever? But then he’ll know I’m jealous and think I’m crazy. Goddamn it; if only he knew. They’re in bed together now. He’s bending her over, hungry for her body. And all I can hope is that he’s haunted with thoughts of me. What is wrong with me to wish that on him? I want him to spend the whole time with a vague sense of unfulfillment…fantasizing that it’s me in his bed. I want him to dream of me while she lies next to him and wake up disappointed. I want to monopolize his thoughts and desires.
I am selfish. I am in love with him. I am mentally ill.