This is a Part 1 of a personal journal entry from March 20th of this year. I don't know how to love well (nor have I been well-loved). I know how to love wildly, be passionate, love you when it's convenient. When it's hard or difficult, I say I love you but I don't show it. I'm selfish, my grace is limited and conditional. I want to be placed in the best possible light, the most flattering.
I was a victim, and I continue to want to be one if I don't get my way. That way it's all your fault. I don't have to take any blame. You have to fight me to get me to own any "bad" in me, my situation. I will whine and poor-me when things are going poorly in a 'well, I'm just a big piece of sh!t' kind of way - it's a blanket I use to cover a multitude of sins quickly and painlessly without having to own any individual faults, or examine my specific part.
It's so automatic. SO automatic. Deflect, deflect. Get this bad stuff OFF of me. Did that literally come from the sexual abuse? Get. Off. Of Me. Now I push even good people away. Push. Elbows locked.
I am like my mother. I fcuking hate how my mother is. I see so little good there - can't remember good because of all the bad about her. I am repeating history to some degree. No wonder the bad looks so big. In the interactions/avoidance. In the won't-take-blame. In the Quick-to-Anger. In the Quick-to-Sarcasm. In the Instant-Cutting-Tone-of-Voice. In the Poor-Me/Serve-Me attitude. In the laziness toward the work of changing.
