A Journal You Won't Want to Read

By @Merwren

A Journal You Won't Want to Read

By @Merwren

Struggles and battling with depression. These are my questions without answers. Pent-up frustration that can't be described out loud.

Chapter 1

Log 1

4.19.2018 Age 21

I saw a pin on pinterest that said write until you’re uncomfortable when you’re not writing. I feel like that’s a little disturbing – like, one can’t constantly be writing, can they? I suppose you could have a narrator’s voice rumbling in the back of your head like Morgan Freeman. But anyway, I want to be a writer. I just don’t have the motivation. When I think about writing, my eyes start to droop and my body feels heavy. I used to love writing! Now I’m just tired when I do it. Do other writers feel this way sometimes? Does the passion last forever? Can it go away and then come back?

I just don’t know what to write about anymore. There’s nothing important going on in my life. And my own writing voice annoys me a little bit – maybe that’s just the perfectionist in me. I’ve become a lot less of a perfectionist lately though. Maybe it’s because I stopped writing?

Hey, here’s something interesting: When I was a kid, my sister manipulated me into participating in sexual acts with her. She was like, 15 or 16 years old I think. That would have made me 4-5 years old. I don’t remember exactly what she said to me. Probably something like – “Wren come here. This will be fun, I even got something to make it taste better. I’ll do you after! Please? Come on, Wren.” I remember not wanting to do it. I remember thinking it was icky. In fact, I have no clue how she convinced me, and I don’t want to dig that far into the memories my mind has worked so hard to suppress to find out.

That sister and I still talk. She still says she loves me and I tell her I love her too – we’re family, so we do that. But if she wasn’t my sister… I don’t know if I could ever forgive her or if I would even talk to her. If she was a stranger, I would probably hate her. But we’re sisters. We grew up together, and I forgot about what happened until I was 14 or 15. I love her and I looked up to her.

She says she wants to name her bar after me when she owns one. She says I’m her peaceful place and her motivation. She says I’m the thing she thinks about when deciding not to make a bad decision. She doesn’t know that when I was in high school I wanted her to go to jail. Should I feel guilty about that? It’s a complicated situation.

We suffer from the same mental illness. We both have bipolar depression and some degree of psychosis as well as anxiety. I take prescription drugs, she does medical marijuana. One time, I told her, “I’ve been having a hard time lately.” I’d been struggling with accepting my same sex attraction, which isn’t all her fault, but when I have sex I have flashbacks of what she did to me. What she convinced me to do. I almost remember what she said to me and what her face looked like, or what I imagine it looked like.

I cry sometimes during sex. My poor partner feels like garbage when that happens – I can tell. It makes him not want to have sex with me anymore. Sometimes I think I see judgement or accusation in his eyes. Maybe I’m imagining it. He once said to me, “If you were thinking about your sister and having flashbacks, I must have done something wrong.” I think he blames himself or feels sorry for himself. He doesn’t understand that it doesn’t work that way. Because of what happened when I was younger, sex is not always enjoyable for me. Sometimes it’s a trigger.

Which is wrong. Sex is supposed to feel good and be beautiful. The fact that I am robbed of that viewpoint on sex can sometimes make me so angry that I want to throw things. I want to punch a hole through the wall. I want to tear my hair out. I want to scream at the top of my lungs that something is wrong! I am not okay!

My partner actually had to hold me down once. I wanted to bite myself. I wanted to find something to harm myself, because I feel so angry and so frustrated. It’s not fair. It’s not fair! HoW cOuLd ShE? How could she. I was a child. I was a beautiful, innocent child with no knowledge of sex or shame. And then I learned. When I was five years old. Why would she do something like that? Was it because I had taken her place as spoiled youngest child? Was it revenge? Why?

I’m scared to ask her. I’m scared to dig that up. When I told her, “I’ve been having a hard time lately”, she said, “I hope it’s not because of something that I did. I hope it’s not because of that.” I know that she feels guilty. I felt the need to comfort her. Me comfort her. I said, “Some things don’t go away. We can’t change the past.” She replied, “No matter how much we wish we could.” And I said – I told her, “It’s okay. I’ve forgiven you, and I love you. I’m working hard to move on, so let’s try and move on together.”

Is something wrong with me? Is it wrong to try to comfort and support the person who ruined my perspective on sex – maybe forever because it’s so hellishly ****** hard to overcome – and try to forgive them? I can’t even be around her for very long, or it affects me subconsciously and I cry when I try to be intimate with my partner. Does she remember so clearly? Does she regret enough so that she is feeling the same amount of shame and regret as I am? Is she really the kind of person who can feel those emotions now? Does she ever have flashbacks and cry during sex because now it’s ruined – tainted by regret, shame and an unpleasant memory?

People don’t deserve forgiveness. Forgiveness is a gift that we can only give to them and to ourselves. Even though I love her, and I want her to be healthy and happy and sane, I get angry. I remember things. I get frustrated and just want it to end. How am I going to get past this? How?

Who can tell me? Who can give me a clear answer on how to forgive myself – my five year old self who just wanted her big sister to like her and play with her like a big sister is supposed to, instead of yelling at her all the time and calling her a “little ******* – and forget this shame?

I never asked for this. I definitely didn’t want this. I’m angry that I remembered. And I cannot forget. I try so, so hard to forget. But I can’t. There’s no way to escape the shame. Shame is so ugly. The only way I could ever fathom to end it would be to die. And who knows if I could escape it then. But at least I would be rid of this filthy body that feels like it will never be clean again.

My therapist told me that my future self loves me, and she’s rooting for me. She is there and she is real, because time is just a concept and there are so many realities on different planes happening right now. She said, “Future Wren loves you. She actually loves you, and is proud of you for trying and she’s grateful that you didn’t give up. Because without you, she wouldn’t exist.”

So I wrote future Wren a letter. I asked her, “Will I really love myself some day? Do you really love us in the way that makes a person whole? Are you truly grateful that I kept us alive and are things better where you are?”

Future Wren didn’t respond. And I am not the future Wren who loves us. She’s further, still on a different plane I suppose, and I haven’t caught up with her yet. If she even exists. God knows that I will have to work hard to find her and become her.

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