I Am Beyond Help

This year has been especially rough.

I lost my grandmother at the beginning of April. She died slowly and alone. I sent her flowers right up to the end but I couldn't be there because at that time there was a ban on flying. She cared about me more than my own parents ever did and now I'm having a breakdown every other day. This is the most horrible feeling I've ever felt. Sometimes I can't even breathe. She is gone and I wish I was too.

In mid July, I lost my cat. She was my best friend and she passed away without warning. I watched her die in front of me and there was nothing I could do to save her. What's left of my heart went with her and I've cried every day since. I lock myself in the bathroom and hold my breath while I sob so my husband doesn't hear and wake up. I cry until I feel faint and my vision starts to go dark. Then I gulp a few breaths of air and keep crying. I cry until it starts getting light outside and then slip quietly into bed.

When I dream, I dream of the ocean. Always the ocean. I never know why. I'm so afraid of it. And yet here I am, on the beach with rising tides and stormy skies. Houses right on the coast being battered by giant waves. Flooding. So much flooding. It's so real, so vivid that I wake up gasping for air. By then it's almost noon.

I eat half a meal a day. Now and then, I won't eat at all. I've lost nearly 30 pounds but I've plateaued. I've tried to eat more, but I get sick.

I've found signs of pre-cancer.

My best friend is no longer my best friend, according to my therapist. She speaks to me maybe once a week if I'm lucky, and it's only ever one message at a time. Maybe two. I've tried to forge bonds with other people at the insistence of my therapist, psychiatrist, and family but I just can't. Every time I try, I feel this barrier between me and them. I dissociate. I go numb. I try to ask for help, but no words come out. 

So I just fall silent, expression blank, and take whatever pills they put in my hand. They can't get through to me and I've stopped trying to break through the glass wall to them. I've given up trying. I've given up talking. I've just given up altogether.

Stare. Take pills. Zone out. The days blur together. I can't remember the day before. They give me tests. They assess. I grieve. I have private breakdowns, private hell. They give me more pills. I stare. I am still and silent while the world rushes around me in a blur.

I am beyond help.

I Wrote Her A Letter

I wrote her a letter today
And I tucked it away
I told her all the things that I couldn't say
Back when she was part of me
I told her how I drank
I told her how I wanted to die
Each and every time she made me a bully
In her mind
I told her how I cut myself
I told her how I cried my heart out
I counted every tear for her in the palm of my hand
And fed them to the dirt

I cut myself open
Right down the middle
And peeled back the layers like the pages of a book
I showed her the gouges 
That she made in my heart
I showed her the blackened spots
She left on my spirit
And then I showed her the crumpled, pathetic ball
Of what looked like paper
And told her that was how she left my soul
In between sobs
I begged her to understand
Why I had not spoken to her in over a year

And then I led her to the pit
The bubbling, churning tar of depression
And tendrils of the inky mass
Whipped the air and wrapped around me
In ropes and ropes that pulled at me
"This is loneliness," I told her,
"The loneliness that you left behind,
That I tried to fill with other people
Other hobbies
Other pills
To distract from the space where you had been."
And then it engulfed me
And she walked away

I wrote her a letter today
And my fingers grazed the key
But I couldn't press send
And so I sat in silence and stared at the screen
Wondering if thousands of miles away
She was staring at hers
Writing a letter
To me

Dissociation

Sometimes the world seems wide and lonely, and the gap between myself and others too great. I've stepped out of my body. I'm just watching myself go through the motions. I say stupid things that I would never say if I was in my skin. I watch myself get scolded and withdraw further behind these panes of glass separating me from other people. I'm so disconnected and fragmented that I am watching myself watch myself. A dissociation within a dissociation. And when they scold me, I feel all three layers of shame and embarrassment.

And so I drink, heavily and often. I've gotten skilled at hurting myself. Through the haze of whiskey in the early hours of dawn, I tell myself that they are amateurs. They lack finesse. They don't even come close to the pain I can and do inflict on myself, so they cannot truly hurt me. I am immune.

So why, then, do I still feel the burning? Why do I still feel the heat from their reprimands? I want to take those words back and swallow them so that no one can dare read them again. I want to force every letter down into the bile of my stomach and drown them so they can never rise and be born from my lips. I want to scream and cry at my own stupidity. I want to curse my parents for making such a child.

These words I uttered, this behavior of mine, all came about from a body that had no one in it to give it direction. Is this truly who I am at my core to be this way when I leave myself in some hidden plane to watch the world pass by? Is this really what I'm like when I'm not there to tie up my tongue and analyze every word ten times before I speak?

This thing, this thoughtless being - I reject it. I do not want to go back into my body. I do not want to become it again. But what am I without a body? Who am I without a vessel?

Do I really exist at all?

Shedding My Skin

I am removing the traces of her from my life. The things that she liked, I now hate; they make me think of her. The box of her things? I have given them away or burned them. She never gave a thing to me but anxiety and depression, self doubt and trust issues. Her friendship deepened my PTSD and these are things I still hold. I wish I could burn them, as I am burning the physical remnants and reminders of her.

All the teas she begged me to buy, all the skincare things she cried over not having, the paints and canvases, the expensive pencils and materials - all gone. The little rings and minimalist jewelry, given to those who would appreciate them more. The flowers I bought to grow for her have been left behind when I moved away. The silk bedding, shredded. The expensive clothing, now ash. The plushies and other frivolous things she wished for have been donated to children.

But I still bear the marks of her attachment. I still feel the wounds from every moment she lashed out at me for not "knowing" what she was going through. She withheld and expected me to guess, but I was not allowed to withhold. I never made her guess or expected her to know. I only wished that she would care. Whenever she would force it out of me (I was not ready to talk about it), she would tell me she couldn't be bothered.

And she never could be bothered...

There were periods where I was told I might die from medical conditions. I suffered this alone. There were times I wanted to take my life. I endured this in solitude. There were moments when I felt as if I was drowning in expectations and uncertainty, not knowing where my life was going or if I'd even live to see it. Yet all she cared for was herself and her own passions. Passions I supported and encouraged, and wanted to be part of.

The one-sided conversations grew old as she went out of her way to exclude me in front of me. If it wasn't art, it wasn't worth her time. I wasn't worth her time.

I can no longer trust my friends. I haven't spoken to most of them. I am even less comfortable with affection of any sort. It feels like a lie. Like her lies. I have pain and blackness in my heart, like festering poison. I have hate. I have hurt. I have regret and fear. And I have these scars to remind me of why.

But it will soon be known to all.

A,
I am writing a book about you. Two, actually. One a fiction with a character based on you and one nonfiction to warn others about relationships like ours. And once I have finished, I will never think of you again. You have hurt me beyond anything I've ever endured to date. But I am no longer a hostage. I have gone three days (today) without planning my suicide over things you've said and done to me. I will grow away from you. I will survive you. I will shed this skin that was marked by your words and manipulations and games... And I will pray that no one else will suffer because of you.

You don't know how to be a friend. I pity you.
- Me

Apology

I would like to apologize to everyone in my life. None of this is sarcasm. I mean all that I say.

Mum, I know I could not be the daughter you wanted. I wanted my freedom too much and didn't want to be responsible for anyone - not even myself. It wasn't that I didn't love you, or that I didn't want to take care of you, help you. I love you so much, you don't even know. I know I was a pill to be with. I still am, but you wouldn't know because I'm never around. I'm not a good daughter. I should have been better. I'm sorry.

To my nephews, you are both so important to me. I've loved you both since the moment I held you in the hospital and I will never stop loving you, even long after I am gone. Please make different choices than I did, and never stop doing the right thing. I am sorry I was never around. I hope the times I was, you were happy. I'm so very sorry.

To all my friends, I am sorry that I was in your life for so long. You didn't deserve that.

To all of my former friends, I am sorry for whatever it was that ended our friendships. I am sorry I met you. I am sorry that you were inflicted with my presence for so long, and I am glad you are gone now. Be happy. Be free. Don't think about me ever again. 

To my best friend, don't let anything stop you from moving forward. It's stressful, it's scary, but you can do it. I am sorry that I could never be the person that you confided in. Whenever you had troubles, I always asked but you never told me. That's fair. I am sorry that I wasn't enough. I didn't know how to be. But never for a second doubt that I loved you as much as I could.

To the rest of my family, I am sorry I disappointed all of you.

Finally, my husband. I don't even know where to begin. I am sorry that I didn't do as well as you did. I am sorry that I contributed nothing. I am sorry for all the times you watched me cry or the times we fought. I am sorry for ever being angry with you for a single second. I am sorry that I couldn't be more useful. I am sorry that I am not a good wife. I am sorry that I ranted to you when I was upset. I am sorry I didn't do things you asked me to. I am sorry for literally everything. It should have been perfect, but I failed you. I love you more than anything in this world and I am closer to you than I will ever be with another living thing. My depression, my suicidal thoughts - none of that was your fault. Never blame yourself. Never.

To everyone else out there, for once I have nothing to say. Life is a hard game to play. Some give up, some don't. Good luck.

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Welcome Back, Isolation and Misanthropy

Have you ever been so mad at someone that your stress levels peaked and your blood pressure rose so sharply that you fainted? I have - quite recently, in fact. It was not my finest moment, and I'm finding it difficult to let go of my rage because I've had no closure on the subject. I was far too hasty and didn't give myself time to say everything that I needed to say. Now I am left with this anger, this sizzling ball of darkness, and nowhere to direct it. But energy is energy, even if it's bad energy, and it needs to go somewhere. Since I'm not directing it outward at my friends and family, I'm directing it inward at myself. It's manifesting in self-doubt, depression, suicidal thoughts, insomnia, decrease in appetite to a point where I'm barely eating each day... It's just slowly eating away at me.

I wanted to talk about it to my therapist because it helps more than the group, but then I remembered that I've left both because I kept hearing the ex friend telling me that I don't deserve help because she doesn't have it. I thought I'd talk to my friends, but she's made it so that I'm doubting everyone in my life. I all see them as potentially horrible and harmful people. And it's this potential that keeps me from going to them when I need help.

I never trusted this girl. I told her bits and pieces here and there that I felt she couldn't really do harm with, mostly because she was constantly nagging me about it and at the time, I wanted her friendship. So I tested the waters and felt out the situation. Sometimes it would go well - for a while. Inevitably, it would always turn to shit. When it did, I went to another friend of ours. Unfortunately, my reliable confidant is having less and less time because she is moving to another country in just two or three weeks. When she does, the time zones will be so different that we'll hardly get to speak to one another. (Besides that, I've stopped confiding in her because I don't want her more stressed than she already is; I struggle to keep positive and supportive for her, but I do it because that's what friends do.)

Okay, that's rough. But I still have my husband, right? Since he's on the road 90% of the time, I thought I could skype him once or twice a week to talk about things. Boy, was I wrong. When I needed him and opened up, I was met with a blank stare followed by laughing, followed by "girls start so much drama." This naturally spiraled into more laughing and criticism related to females and not to the situation. Needless to say, I stopped talking to him. And that's made me feel more alone than I have in my whole life thus far.

I like being in control and I don't like admitting when people get to me, but this girl really fucked me up. I've had people do that before in the past, immature people right out of high school. I never fully recovered or opened up to anyone, really. Now this girl has made it so that I see villains in everyone I've ever sort of trusted. She's made it so that every second I'm tense and stressed, waiting for an attack out of nowhere (and over nothing) like she used to do. I'm second guessing everything and doubting everyone. I'm skittish, I hardly leave the house, I don't tell anyone anything, I've left my therapy - ALL of my therapy - and my health is declining from the stress.

This is the only safe place I have left. My only haven, my last resort.

[Trigger Warning]

But this can only help take the edge off. It's nice to get everything that's buzzing in my head written down so that I can see it more clearly, but it's like shouting into a void. (Score one for tying into a previous post.) No echo, no voices shouting back. Empty nothingness that will never be heard.

I feel like that void is slowly expanding toward me and I don't know how to stop it. I fear that when it finally reaches me, I will have given up and taken my life.

I wonder what they'll say about me when I'm dead...
And if there's an afterlife, I'll be watching and silently saying that I hated them all.

Silent Screaming

Suicide Trigger Warning

I never tell anyone when I'm suicidal. I know that I should, I just can't bring myself to do it. When I'm suicidal alone, I feel like that's an honest emotion. But when I tell people I'm suicidal, I feel silly like a child asking for attention, and I'm afraid that's how they see it. So I don't tell anyone. I can't. I keep it bottled in and try to self medicate with cannabis and alcohol or prescription painkillers, and I pretend that everything is okay. Or withdraw from people. Because "fake it till you make it" or "hide so they don't see" are what I was taught growing up. That to express your emotions was self absorbed because you'd ruin everyone else's good time.

It's hard to get out of that mindset that was drilled into you during your formative years. The famous saying goes, "Give me a boy until the age of twelve, and I will give you a man." That's because from the time your born until the time you're twelve (your formative years), you're learning things that will become the foundation of who you are. These years have the most impact on your life out of any. And what happened to me up until I was twelve? Let's just say I learned that the most valuable thing I could do in life is what I was told to do. Sit down, shut up, hide your emotions and bottle your feelings, don't have an ounce of extra body weight, obey what you're told, don't ask questions, grow up and graduate college to take care of everyone else, get married and have lots of children, and be a perfect ray of sunshine all the time.

Have I done that? Well. I got married. I've been a disappointment everywhere else. And normally, given that list, you'd think that was a good thing. But not when everyone around me says otherwise. I know I'm a failure. You don't have to say it. But they do. All the time. "Why aren't you in college? When are you going to have children? You need to get realistic about your life because you need to make real money and take care of me when I get old. You're getting fat, you need to diet. Stop with the tattoos, that's trashy and you look like trash." Etc.

And lately it's not just that. So many things are changing. My husband is away longer, my best friend is moving to the exact opposite side of the world, my other friends are still in the "single life, get drunk every weekend" phase. My nana is being condescending to me because I choose not to write my letters in cursive, even though my handwriting is super neat and professional looking. My uncle won't talk to me because my depression caught the best of me and I never cashed his wedding check before the six month cut off (to be fair though, my husband didn't know where he put it for the last four of those months). And even though I try to explain, I get no response. My dad keeps spending time with my brother and asking about me, trying to get back in my life. My mum's health is getting worse and her spine is pulling away from the muscle, so she's putting on so much pressure to move in with me - which I don't want to happen under any circumstance. My husband doesn't want it either but he offers me no alternative solution. It's just "I don't want her here, but I'm too nice to say it and will deny it if asked. She's your mother. You disappoint her." Which is fair to say that she's my mother and I should handle it, but he has to help me, right? As my husband, shouldn't he help me find a solution that I can present to her as an alternative other than leaving me with no other reason than "no way in hell"?

I'm just not happy anymore. I hate how I look, I hate how I'm going to look when I change my appearance the way my husband told me to. I hate my brain and everything else... I'm just not happy.

And I've stopped seeing my therapist. I ended it. I just can't go anymore because every time that I do, I keep hearing my ex friend saying "you have a therapist, I don't." And the more irrational (and unfortunately, the loudest) part of me says, "you don't deserve this; if you were suffering on your own, people would like you better." Every time I had a session, I kept hearing that over and over and all I could think was "I shouldn't be here. I don't deserve to be here." So I cut off the sessions and I stopped going to my support group. I told them I was done. I keep lying to my husband and friends and mum about it so that they think everything is just great, but instead I stay at home and cry and look at myself in the mirror while naming all the things I don't like about myself.

More than once, I've craved cutting myself again. I've craved the ease of physical pain. That I can deal with. That I can understand and fix. Honestly, I just wish that I can close my eyes and stop existing. But I'm afraid of what comes after that. Not the dying, but... the unknown. Is it blackness? Nothingness? A lot of people who've died for several minutes at a time say so. And I'm so terrified that there's nothing next, that I'm wrong about an afterlife. I've gotten a self help book on existential death anxiety, but it's only making it worse. I don't sleep anymore and my panic attacks have increased. I'm at my wit's end.

If I wasn't afraid of the nothingness after death, I would die.