I’ve contemplated writing this post so many times in the last 48 hours and even still I debate whether it’s the right thing to do, or not. I’ve started it about a million times and have at least 8 different drafts at the moment. Writing this post does 2 things. One: it brings me out of denial and Two: it allows me to see how much work really needs done. Tonight, after almost a week of not seeing her and little communication, Bailey messaged me and asked me if I am mad at her because of her distance in the past few days. The back story is she has been here, in town, this whole week. She has been 2 miles away and hasn’t visited and rarely connected. Knowing the struggles I have, she chose to take care of her own needs and wants. She chose this. In her message she asked me to answer honestly, and honestly I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m mad at her. It’s much different having her absent when I don’t live with her. It doesn’t really matter much because I only see her briefly anyway. Living with her created a whole different relationship, a relationship where connection was desired and given. Living with her allowed me to connect with her in a way that I have always needed, in a more family like way. When she first told me that she had a friend coming into town and that she was choosing to have little to no contact during the set time, I was mad. I was hurt. I didn’t really know what to think. It brought back old things, things from my mom. I was angry, but not at her. I was angry at myself. I struggled the first two days, but then something changed. I’m not really sure how I am supposed to feel. Or even what I feel. I expected to be angry with her. I expected to be furious because she took everything that was safe to me and made it unsafe. I guess kind of like I did for her. I expected to want to hurt her because she is doing what everyone else has done, choosing someone else. I expected to want to talk to her and to connect with her daily. But I’m not, and I don’t, and I didn’t. I’m not sure why. My life has just kind of went on. When she asked me if I was mad, my response was paused. I didn’t know what to say. I think somewhere, deep inside, I am mad. But I don’t feel it, and I haven’t for the past week. A part of me wonders if I’m not mad at her because I don’t feel safe enough to be mad at her. Another part of me wonders if I am just not mad and don’t want to tell her in fear of her not believing; or me desiring that she really wants me to be mad and to know I need that connection from her and that she feel bad for not giving it to me. I don’t know.

I’ve always been a reclusive kind of person. Moving here 9 months ago and living with a family, and functioning at the level I did, for as long as I did, is amazing. It’s amazing because for 9 months, out of my 21 years of existence, I actually enjoyed having company. I didn’t want to lock myself in a room or refuse contact with people. I didn’t want to be alone. Everyday I looked forward to coming home and being with someone who I could relate to, and who understood me. I looked forward to knowing that help was there waiting for me when I needed it. I found comfort in knowing that even when my day at work was hard, my day at home didn’t have to be and I had people there to help me through it. I liked knowing that I was going to a place where I was unconditionally loved, even if my heart didn’t believe it. It’s hard…because for 9 months, this was my reality. I got used to it. I’m not sure if it was just a façade, if our relationship was a gimmick, but it was familiar and it felt good. Not so much anymore. My life’s familiarity has returned and solitude is comforting. The thought of Bailey coming over soon is almost upsetting–not because I’m mad at her, but because it unmasks my solitude and requires me to connect; something I’m starting to lack desire for.  I worry that Bailey and  my relationship is going to become distant, with this new friend she has and my newfound, old friend. A part of me wonders if Zhanna is our string, our binding thread. I’m not really sure. This is the part where the reality of my healing progress really sets in. I received my files {foster care} yesterday and much to my surprise, I’ve failed miserably at progressing in many areas. One of the biggest concerns was my ability to connect and maintain relationship in a family setting. Failed. Another, the ability to connect and the reduction of seclusion. Not so much failed, but hidden. My desire to connect, in this moment, is very little. A part of me wonders if I’ll ever want that, even after something like this. A part of me wonders if I have tried to “fake it till I make it” and am now realizing that even that doesn’t work. I want to believe that the past 9 months wasn’t a façade, that my progress was sincere, but I’m afraid the voices are telling me otherwise.

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