10-16-2011, part two
And then, I see Idina. My ever-beautiful sister. The beloved prodigal, the Christian with the inspiring testimony. Side note - the reason I don't want to get married is...I don't believe any man could EVER love me, after he sees Idina. I don't think he'd EVER be satisfied with unwitty, uncharming me. And so, I want to hate guys so that I don't feel pain when they all reject me. That's the reason why I choose to hate men.
ANYWAYS, wow, that was QUITE a bit of rambling. As I was saying, it's SO HARD to feel like I"m someone special when I see such perfect people.
It's a little while later.
Know what really ticks me off?
The fact that Mom and Dad spent, like, thousands of dollars on Idina's sh*tty anorexia, giving her WHATEVER she wanted, flying to and from Arizona, paying for her to fly home twice, driving her to and from [the hospital] every day for a LONG period of time, paying gas money out the wazoo, never ONCE complaining to her about it, constantly making HER happy, fixing her SPECIFIC meals, buying her a TON of food and clothes, journals, stamps, cards, envelopes, little games, books, shoes, WHATEVER her heart desired, acting all happy around her (although I took ALL the brunt of their frayed nerves), going out of their way for open communication, having LONG talks with her (but never with me), buying her oodles of pills, driving her to her psychiatry and counseling appointments, and otherwise BOWING to her every need...
...and they won't take 10 minutes for me to buy earphones WITH MY OWN MONEY.
Seriously, what do I have to do to be important?
Will I ever be special?
Oh, Jesus...my heart is so, so cold. I'm losing myself in the walls I've so carefully constructed. I don't know how to tell people how I hurt. I don't know how to healthily express my agony. I've lost myself to control.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, please, please, please, help me.
I was going to tell Mom and Dad about my spiritual struggles. About my scrupulosity.
And then, Mom mentioned how my strength gives HER strength to keep going. About how she's glad there's nothing wrong with me.
Nothing wrong with me? I'm killing my soul with my self-condemnation! I am DYING inside! I am getting psychologically sicker and sicker. Every day, I delve farther and farther into my own spiritual angst. And, just when I was about to relieve this deathly burden, I'm reminded - once again - that I have to be perfect. That there can't be a chink in my armor.