Monday.

I believe that pegs this as the 28th. Not sure.

I went out with GV8 last night, after posting. I needed comfort.

Instead I got a kick in the ass.

Met up at a favored coffee shop down the street from C's place. I was early, so I did my usual by chatting up the barista. He was flirty, I smiled, probably pulled my usual chin-tilt, looking up over the rims of my glasses.

Of course, GV8 came in behind me and cockblocked my socialization by running his fingers quickly up through my hair and grabbing two fistfuls, tug-tug, his chest against my back.

The problem I've discovered we have is that the simplest hug becomes a monitored issue, placement of hands, faces, hips. Trying to not do what our bodies know is right.

It's hard, the duck and weave, fighting instinct.

Reminds me of a Patricia Briggs book, part of her werewolf series, operating under the idea that the wolf and the human are separately conscious, and the wolf chooses the mate. Two of the characters... mated by beast, but they dislike each other.

Not that we dislike each other, but it is bizarre for both of us to keep returning to each other, since neither of us has done that in the past, and both of us tend to have the control to stop unhealthy things.

But we keep pulling together anyhow. It's a fight to stay apart, even for him.

We talked, and he kicked my ass. Told me that the person who has damaged me the most, the person with the most amount of influence over into turning me into, what another friend calls, a broken doll, is the one that I am about to place myself under the control of.

But it's something I'm used to.

I grew up in an abusive house, psychological terrorism. It was my way of saving my sister from my father that helped her, allowed her, to grow mostly undamaged, at least until her later teens when I moved out. By then, she was okay.

But me, me, oh yes, me. I'm broken. I go into frozen, panicked shock whenever my father raises his voice. I can't function. He shuts me down, puts me into child-terror. 26 years old and my anxiety cripples me having a normal life, my anxiety spawned by growing up in his household.

I have never lived on my own. The thought of doing so sends me into a psychological shutdown. Shakes, paleness, spasms, no appetite, I lose my ability to function.

Broken.

So now, now when my family needs me, I can't function. I can't be there. He has scarred me so badly that I'm unable to protect my mother. A life of taking blows for my sister and mother, and I can't take this one.

Broken. Broken at 26.

So GV8 tells me to confront that anxiety. Stop rushing through school. Stay with my job, my decent job, and get a place of my own. Stop couchsurfing. Stop worrying about every dollar. Stop fighting adulthood. Have faith in myself. Live for myself, by myself. Get away from the man who has poisoned me for so many years.

It would be easier if I could hate him.

But I don't. I love my father. I love my mother. Family is everything.

So what do I do?

GV8, he loves me. He wants the best for me. He's afraid I'm going to spend the next ten years of my life devoted to school, living under my father's roof, terrorized by the thought of him going into one of his rages and having no real job, no real income, to save me.

He says that he would rather me be graduating with my PhD at 37 (or whatever), whole and happy, than graduate with my PhD at 32, successful, doing what I want to do, but still incredibly broken. That school will always be there. I can do one class at a time.

I'm terrified. This is fighting internal demons that I can't even identify because I was too young to remember when they were born. I can't even express my blind fear at this simple thing that everyone does, some before they even turn 18. It's this massive hump in my life. Taking care of myself. Being on my own.

Wish it wasn't so frightening.

Wish my homelife had been healthy.

Wish I could focus on school.

Wish that all these wishes were anything but words.

... ... ...

My mother and sister both have informed me that my father is doing much better today. Almost back to normal. But today is the day that he went to the doctor. Best behavior required.

They also brought the cats home.

Unfortunately, one of them had to be put to sleep today.

GV8 is doing his best to support me, to tell me what others won't. He's probably one of the few people I would listen to at this point, whose words rattle around in my skull.

C and I took a walk today, talking about my anxiety, fear, plans for the coming months.

She told me that she couldn't believe it took her this long to realize how damaged I was, how unsure I was of myself. That I put on such a good front.

I laughed, told her I knew. I'm amazing at pretending to be more confident than I am. It's instinct now, when before it was simply survival. I don't know how to act any other way.