I can’t sleep. I’m too busy freaking out about the roommate situation. I’m afraid I’m going to end up in another bad roommate situation. (I’ve had several of those, including one who didn’t wear clothes and didn’t pay her half of the rent.) I’m afraid having to get a new roommate I don’t know will exacerbate my PTSD to unbearable levels. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to find anyone else and won’t be able to pay the whole rent by myself, so then I’ll end up homeless again. (Long story I don’t feel up to explaining right now.)
And somehow I feel like this is all my fault. Like if I’d just planned ahead, I would’ve somehow solved this problem before it arose. Like if I could just get ahold of my crazy PTSD shit, I wouldn’t have to freak out about living with people I don’t know. Like if I’d just stop being so goddamn lazy and get a job already, I could afford the apartment on my own and wouldn’t have to worry about all this shit.
It’s illogical, I know that.
But I’ve always blamed myself for everything bad that happens. I mean, Christ, when someone rear-ended me at a red light one time, I apologized to the guy! I blame myself for my psychological distress, my isolation, my lack of support. I blame myself for the UC and arthritis and fatigue. I blame myself for my poverty. I blame myself for all the abuse I’ve suffered.
It’s fucked up, but I think it’s comforting, in a way. It’s easier to believe that all the bad things that happen to me happen because I deserve them than to believe they happen for no reason, because the universe is unfair and people are cruel and uncaring.
There’s this line from my favorite TV show:
“You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn’t it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe.”
–Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
I wish I could believe that. I do, for everyone but myself. But when I’m talking about myself, I’m not there yet. I still believe it’s all my fault. It somehow seems less painful, but probably it really isn’t. I wish I knew how to let go of that.