I wrote a long post last night and was too embarrassed to publish it. It was about feeling unwanted, left out, and not fitting in.
I have no handle, like no idea what’s wrong with me. I mean, I know what issues I’m dealing with. I just don’t understand how that reflects or translates on to the public or relationships.
My thought is that If I survive this (which is not likely), then I’ll be destined to a life of a recluse. I just don’t see it panning out any other way.
I have nothing to offer anyone. Even to someone who’s hurting…it should be relatively easy to help or do something that can make a hurting person’s day better. Am I wrong? Maybe I am. I’m just so empty inside. Hollow isn’t even a strong enough word to describe it…it’s more like a huge vacuum. I just have absolutely nothing to offer.
I’m on a plane right now and we’re over the ocean. I think how beautiful it is and how much I wish our plane would go down. I surely don’t want to hurt anyone else, but it seems fitting for my life to end.
Defunct. This is the word I think of when I think of how I’m going to keep functioning in society. Things are getting worse and worse. I’m getting worse and worse. More and more depressed, more dysfunctional in relationships, more socially dysfunctional, less able to function as an adult. God. This is why I don’t see anything ending “well.”
I have had this visual in my head for a long time now. My wrists are bound by a strong impenetrable rope. Hands are on my face and my chest, pushing on me and holding me down as I fight back. I decide that I can win the fight if only I can free my hands. But the rope is like steel- it won’t ever break. So I see that the only way to get free is to sever my own hands. I begin the process of twisting my wrists back and forth against the friction of the rope. It burns as it tears at my skin. I know this rope, as strong as steel, will wear away at my bones too. Once I sever my hands, I can be free.
I don’t want to speak much on Chester’s suicide with the exception of my thoughts on those condemning his actions.
I’ve seen too much negativity online- everything from outright anger at him to people saying he was inconsiderate of his children and fans.
Before you speak or post, you need to stop and think what else there was that you may or may not know anything about. I’m particularly irritated and hurt by those who knew him, who knew he had issues he was dealing with like being sexually abused/ raped and they STILL chose to publicly condemn him.
Depression is one thing. Add the component of being sexually abused and you’ve got a whole other animal you’re dealing with.
People can’t understand unless they’ve been there- stop being so quick to judge when you have NO IDEA wtf you’re talking about. Try to have some compassion and understanding. I’m not saying suicide is the right way, but don’t be so quick to condemn those who go down that path, especially in a moment of despondency.
With sex abuse, there’s a whole other component that can change the core of your psychological being. I’m not saying God can’t overcome that or heal that- of course He can. But understand that it’s more than depression that’s being dealt with. And even if you have been sexually abused, it affects people differently, depending on a whole slew of factors- exactly what occurred, if the offender was known, if a support system was present, if there were multiple offenders or multiple occurrences…I could probably list 10-12 more items here that would affect how people process it differently. That doesn’t even matter.
Just please treat everyone with respect. Have compassion for both the living and the dead. Help people, don’t hurt them.
I’ve been so out of my own brain lately. Does that even make sense? A whole day will go by…16-17 hours awake and going around and I have no idea what I did. It’s like my brain is floating in a cloud.
Today was already so difficult. I had virtually no sleep last night. I took sleeping pills and everything. TV off, phone down, wide awake and absolutely anxiety ridden. This was the first night in weeks that I hadn’t combined alcohol with sleeping pills. (I’ve been trying to figure out why last night was different than any other night.) I’m so grateful that I don’t have to work at the moment- that it’s ok that I’m sleepless and it’s ok that I’m wandering around like a zombie. I’m screwed when I need to get back to work and actually accomplish something. That was part of my anxiety- worrying how the hell I can be productive at work… and how relieved I was when I thought about …and never having to return to work again!
So as pathetic as it sounds, I was already crying before 10am. I also had so much raging anger- in my head, I was directing it toward everyone, even though no one deserves it.
Wow. I’m a mess, I know it.
I am so looking forward to getting away though- I know it’s an escape, but that’s ok. I’m going to run while I have the chance. When work starts back up, I’ll be trapped and won’t be able to escape at all. So I’m going to indulge in it now while I can. And I can’t wait to be near the sea. I adore it!! It will be beneficial, satisfying, and hopefully soothing for my soul. I’m also looking forward to spending time with God, reading, talking to- and most importantly, listening to God. I really need to work on that and being away will hopefully afford me with better concentration and less distraction.
For some reason, I’m also excited to visit Annette again. There’s something so special about her. I know it will tear me up to spend time with her, but I don’t care. She really needs it and I’m excited to do it.
This particular blog is nothing but me whining, but I’m following orders of my therapist and continuing to write, much more than usual. I haven’t been able to publish the post about my last EMDR session- I wrote out choppy phrases of what occurred with the intention of revisiting it to form actual sentences. I’m just not ready to revisit yet. Maybe soon.
This tree towers above the gravesites of my dad, grandmother, and grandfather. When my dad died, my mom had me climb that tree and put orchids and bromeliads up there in honor of my dad. The orchids didn’t last, but all those bromeliads are still there. For some reason, this makes me feel full of mixed negative emotions…not sure why.
I made this for my dad when he was being decimated by cancer. The letters are shaky and messed up. For the first time ever, seeing this hanging in my mom’s house irritated and angered me.
I passed by this and was struck by how much it reminds me of myself- deformed, dejected, despondent, frumpy.