I think she actually took her medication today. She was nice, like most normal human beings are when the chemicals in their brains aren't all whacked out.
That's nice. To have one day where I actually feel relaxed after several consecutive days of hell that made me feel like one giant ball of nerves is nice.
But it doesn't make everything okay. It doesn't erase hearing "If I could kill you and get away with it, I would." It doesn't erase feeling constantly beaten down just for merely existing. It doesn't fix the damage that's been building for the past twelve and a half years.
It won't be fixed until I actually believe she's sorry. Until she takes responsibility for the havoc she's caused and quits blaming it on everyone else. Until she starts showing real signs that she's changing, or at least actually trying to.
I don't hate her. I can't hate anyone. I just...don't feel anything. I'm numb, and I'm fairly certain I've never felt this way about anyone or anything before. As a friend, probably my best friend in this crazy wonderful blog world put it, "The only coping mechanism I have left is to pray every moment I'm in [her] presence to shield myself from the overwhelming darkness [s]he brings out."
And some advice from another dear "real life" (and I hate calling it that because this blog world is just as much real life as my life at school or home) friend that's really stuck with me: "And as for love, you're supposed to love everyone because Jesus wants you to, but you don't have to love anyone just because you share some chromosomes." That validates my feelings, which is a rare occurrence in my world.
What I'm praying for tonight is strength.