Are these are my confessions? Emotional complexities?

Forums Forum Are these are my confessions? Emotional complexities?

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    I feel nothing.
    I was deathly ill on Wednesday. I came down with a cold and a fever. I snuggled to a valentines day bear for support. I always toted about having this ridiculously wonderful immunity to germs. I jinxed myself. Like an idiot. I decided to make a good decision and get shitfaced. I’ve had a sickness brewing inside me for a while. Self destruction should have its own title of mental disorder like alcoholism. I’ve never been the best sport when it came to drinking. Somehow I go from sober to stupid in just a few minutes. It’s very hard to gauge. This week I discovered the cure for the common cold is alcohol poisoning. If you can tolerate one day of total stomach torture, you’ll save 4 days on a cold. Bravo! I deserve an award. I don’t know how one night of drinking did this for me. It turns out, past that one day of total body purge, my emotions and spiritual outlook on everything changed abruptly. I was happy?
    Actually, at first, I was terrified. May’ve been the hangover. The way the mind remolds after a temporary annihilation. I cried all day, I felt suicidal as if this part of me was slipping away. As if I lost my right arm, or an organic functional body part providing life. Yet as the day moved in its path, I started seeking counseling from my friends and saying sayings and asking questions I never did before. This strength built up inside me. A callous of an emotional wound I developed. I stopped crying. I stopped shaking. I threw up two more times. And then there was nothing…..
    I don’t know if you’d call it happy. I’ve never been happy. Everyone knows I play my self-pity card as a food stamp to force friendships and conversations. Maybe somewhere between the whiskey shots, the pitcher chugging, the hitting on random guys and girls, the bar night and drunken charade I realized I’m something better than I thought I was, and it took a little sobering to adjust the shift. The mind works in mysterious ways.
    The night of the tirade, I wore a thin snow cheetah Barbie dress, with red lipstick and high heels. I went to the bar with my wench of boyfriend. He didn’t want to be there. He hated my free love, socially experimental, conversational approach I take when I drink. Well, I guess it’s annoying. I don’t know. I may’ve embarrassed him in front of his friends. I may’ve made him feel like a loser because I was flirtatious. I may’ve just been an idiot, and belittled him. I may’ve gotten belligerent, childish, and vile. Yet, I think back and remember these are the same things he’s been doing to me for the past three years. These are things we’ve shoved under the rug in our relationship house of cards, and pretended never happened. Karma is a bitch, and I’m not sorry. In fact, I feel justified. For once, I totally one hundred percent did not care what he thought. I am thinking about me, and I just needed a shiny example of hypocrisy to push me in the right direction.
    I’ve been stressed over our relationship. I’ve been stressed that, no matter how hard I try; he will never budge on his inability to become a man. I’ve been in this crux between obsession love and my oppressed desires. I’ve always been the giver in this relationship, without nothing but empty promises in return. I realize, my relationship is in the same place it is when it started 3 years ago.
    Yet now I don’t feel sorry for myself, and I’m not mad at him. I don’t feel motivated to write this out of a whim of tyranny about my radical oppression. I don’t feel I’m standing in a window about to jump from the high castle of capture. I feel I’m now embracing myself, and have shattered a glass leash I’ve held the handle to for years. Yes ladies, we keep ourselves on these leashes.
    There has been something inside of me keeping myself down. While an obnoxious nuisance in a relationship is simply a maggot in the corpse. I’ve been doing some soul searching. I’ve come to my own conclusions.
    I wish I had the answers to the questions. Is it possible that an obsession of so long can just disappear? Have these desires to just break free been building, yet I didn’t have the brain power to enact them? What do I now? How is it that, at the sickest points in my life, feeling like crap, puking, sneezing, crying…did I place these feelings into logical places, enough to know I need to do things for myself? I’ve been projecting all of this energy outward…onto taking care of a relationship that did everything opposite of work: I put tons of energy into something that blatantly shit on me, why? Why am I scared to consider myself? I used to be so selfish, I used to think “me me me!”, I used to cheat, and somehow, I altered my personality to this imbecile, this random person, I became this pathetic little atomic wife: where all I wanted to do was a pamper his insults on my rap sheet.
    I feel I just walked out of a coma. Like I’m outside looking in.
    Usually after a drunken tirade with my ex (because no it wasn’t the first one) I’d be tryi

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