My phantom limb is haunting me

I'm having one of those flashback sort of moments. The moments where something from your past comes back and fucks you up. One of those things that took you ages to get over, whether someone important to you has died or something detramental to your well being occurs. It happens, it fucks you up, you move past it and basically go into a sort of remission if you will. But in most cases you're not in "remission" for very long. Memories come flooding back complete with all of the old emotions. That's where I am now, in the flood and out of "remission". Sure, it's getting easier, the time between "remission" and "flashback" is becoming longer and longer.

For the longest time this very same thing happened to me after my grandpa died, but now, it doesn't sting at all, it's more like a gentle tap on your shoulder, just there to remind me.

At the moment I'm remembering the people and the place I called home for almost six years, the people and the place that I walked away from seven months ago. I'm missing certain things and sometimes there are moments where I feel as though the last five years didn't happen to me. It tears me apart because even though I know it wasn't a healthy situation for me, I miss the security, I miss being around people almost 24 hours a day for five years. Where I used to live, everything was so open. I had no use for a room to run and hide in unless things went shitty. To be honest and fair, I'm pretty sure there were more good times than bad, but we all seem to focus on and remember the bad times more. I feel bad for hurting anyone, looking back, I don't like all of who I used to be and who I was in the process of becoming.

Right now I'm home alone, which is something I despised when I was in my teens and living here at home with my mom. I used to get scared, and not in that "uh oh, I'm home alone something could happen to me" sort of way; I was afraid of myself. I'd cry, I'd listen to music as loud as I could, and the worst part, I'd punch the walls, the door, even the carpeted floor; anything that would hurt. At those times I couldn't feel enough of the pain to make me stop right away but the next day my knuckles would be swollen, cut and more often than not, I wouldn't be able to move my hand without pain. (And this just occured to me, so now I feel stupid, but I suppose feeling the physical pain helped me to not feel the emotional pain...exactly like cutters, 'least I suppose it is.)

Being surrounded by people prevented me from being alone, prevented me from doing that sort of damage to myself. I had no reason to hit anything unless it was in TaeKwonDo or when I was angry. But gradually my mood began to change. I allowed my temper to get the best of me and there were quite a few times when I'd lash out at anyone and everyone. I was even becoming a massive control freak. Now that I'm back to living at my mom's house and most of my time is spent alone, I don't get angered by much any longer, my temper doesn't seem to exist, save a few encounters with my brother and a bad experience in a Wal-Mart parking lot. It's as though I'm barely existing. I'm on the opposite end of the spectrum now...apparently I haven't found a middle ground yet. But I'd rather be docile and numb than angry all the time.

I learned a lot of things about myself these past seven months. I up and walked away from the place and people I considered home. It's not even that, it's that I was too cowardly to make the decision on my own and without any circumstances to blame. I hurt people, they had hurt me too, but I'm smarter than I was and just because they hurt me doesn't mean it's okay that I hurt them back. I walked away from everything that I considered to be my life. My jobs, my dogs, where I lived, and who I spent time with, it just...I...ugh, everything changed. I lived with my best friend, her husband, and their two kids. J was like a sister to me, she was my best friend, now she's the only one I talk to from that part of my past, and even then, we barely ever talk. I'm okay with that, and it's all my doing, that's not just me trying to take all the blame. The ball's in my court but I'm just letting it sit there and gradually deflate. I don't understand that about me. She was so important to me, that whole family was, but I won't make the effort to keep our friendship alive. Perhaps I'm just a coward, or maybe it's because we have almost nothing in common anymore, but I'm banking on it being more about the memories that will get stirred up.

I had moved out once before, but wound up going back every day until finally I moved back in. This time I did my best not to allow that to happen. J invited me to stay and watch a movie, I passed on it, she said that's the instant she knew we weren't going to be friends as we used to be. It killed me inside to say "no", it kills me now to think of what that did to her. A few weeks ago she told me she missed watching movies with me and instead of suggesting we do it some time, I just gave a simple answer of "yeah" with a possible "me too" in there, though I doubt I said the latter as it would leave too much room for her to suggest we do it. I'm distancing myself because I'm afraid of hurting her.

The chest pain has set in, my eyes are burning, and if you managed to read all of this without confusion or at least too much confusion then I commend you and appreciate you filling your head with my nothingness.