I feel like I’m angry all the time right now. I don’t consider myself an angry person, I just have a lot of anger inside me. I feel angry and hurt and scared and alone and ashamed. I want to cry and hit something and scream and curl up and just sleep until spring, when all things new begin again and the cycle continues.
I keep telling myself that this is just a drop bear, but it’s not. I’m having the worst nightmares I’ve had in months right now. I’m waking up sweating and crying and shaking with fear and with screams caught in my throat.
It’d make sense if it was just the Thing resurfacing, as it does now and then. But it’s not. I’m also having really bad nightmares about my ex. I’m being hyper-vigilant which means that my sensory issues are being amplified and I’m constantly battling myself just to get my day to day shit done.
Wake up. Get dressed in gross yoga clothes. Make coffee, have breakfast, dork around, do morning yoga. Shower, dress in street clothes, read, do internet stuff. Eat lunch. Have unplugged quiet time. Try and get more than 10 minutes rest. Dinner, yoga, study, blog. Not necessarily in that order. Shower again. Fill out diary card. Go to bed. Rinse and repeat.
I’m having lots of thoughts about drugs. I want to numb myself, fade into the grey. I want to cut and feel the pain and know that I’m still alive and that I’m not dreaming. I want to avoid sleeping and at the same time, all I want to do is sleep.
I’m lashing out at people who only want to help me and I’m shutting down and withdrawing. And I’m scared. I’m scared that I’ll isolate myself to the point of having no friends again. That I’ll retreat from the world and just give up.
All day, I’ve been having thoughts about quitting therapy. I feel very bad that I wasted Charon’s time and my time with all the bullshit I’ve pulled over the last year and I feel like shit that I promised myself that I would open up and just say the Thing. I had promised her last year. She probably doesn’t even remember. I remember. I remember promising that I’d tell her this year and all I’m doing is pulling away and saying a bunch of nothing like I always do.
I keep calling myself a loser. A fat ass. A fucking pathetic waste of space. I keep telling myself that it’s all my fault and it’s always been my fault and it’ll always be my fault. My parents divorced because of me. My brother tried to kill himself because of me. My mother became a recluse because of me. Did I ever mention that she refused to drive me to the hospital when I got hit by that car when I was 12? She said it was my fault because I was where I shouldn’t be. My alcoholic, drug addicted, abusive asshole of a father took me. I was just bruised and a little banged up, but still.
I stayed with my abusive ex way too long. I stayed with the one prior to her too long. I’ve a long history of being with abusive people. Dating back to when I was a little kid. And somehow, that’s my fault. I make myself too easy of a target. I’m too innocent. I’m too trusting. Too friendly. Too nice.
I’m getting a lot of compliments on my figure. How much weight I’ve lost. At first, it was awesome. I loved the attention. Now, I just want to wear baggy clothes. I want people to stop looking at me. To stop noticing me. I’m scared. I don’t want the attention anymore.
I don’t like being a girl. Girls have to always be on their guard. If they get raped, it’s how much did they drink? What were they wearing? What did they think was going to happen if they went out alone? Growing up mormon, it was always stressed to me that I have to dress modestly or it was my fault if I got guys attention. I remember being 6 and wearing overalls and my mother getting mad at me for only buttoning up one side because “it looks like I just had sex”. That’s all sorts of fucked up.
(not saying all mormons are fucking ridiculous like this. Modesty is a huge virtue for them and it’s one I still hold. The way it was forced upon me and made to be my responsibility for how others perceived me as being whorish if I went with a shortish t-shirt on was fucking shady as fuck and weird. ) (I hope I’m using the slang term ‘shady as fuck’ correctly.)
I don’t know… I open my mouth to say things and the words won’t come out. Instead, it’s all smiles, jokes, and laughter. It’s okay though. It doesn’t matter if I cry. It’s all my fault anyway.
-The Sarcastic Autist