Encased in Wax

 I’m back after a long hiatus and a new pandemic. Blogging in the time of COVID 19. Struggling comme d’habitude. Some new ways, mostly familiar. It’s a week to the 14th anniversary ( must come up with new word for this annual observance that sounds a lot less celebratory) of my miscarriage. Complicated grief. At the time I wasn’t sure if I even wanted a child. Mostly I felt terror. Then the Effexor I was taking at the time made my decision for me, the baby stopped developing. The doctors assured me my body would naturally miscarry but I had some fear that she would stay with me and turn to stone, so I asked to have the miscarriage induced. So guilt, sadness, feeling like I do t have the right to grieve because I asked for the drug yet she was already gone, little Nova. So I grieve. Hearing other people talk about their children always stings. Perhaps it always will.

Depression and PTSD still stalk me. I’ve been experimenting over the last few years with different legal and illegal interventions. LSD, psilocybin (macro and microdosing) THC in oil then edible. The microdosing has been most effective at allowing me some intense emotional release but I have no current source.

I feel seriously stuck, encased in wax. The microdosing seems to be the only way of reaching me. More and more I’m convinced I was a toddler, perhaps even an infant, when I was first traumatized. There’s been so many more direct and indirect trauma since then. Fuck.

Lonely

World mental health day.

Suffering everywhere and inside. So much so I am overwhelmed and frozen.

Today is now several days later and I feel horrible. I’m microdosing and I do t feel any better, what I do feel is fucked. I know I’m tired right now and that’s frequently a contributor to low mood. I’m so tired of this life I live. Feeling worthless, disconnected, sad, so sad,

Do others feel this bad too? Are we all living this nightmare or is it possible to be happy, to feel some peace.

I feel so lonely.

an ongoing waste of air, water and space

Long time no blog.

Too much interior fuckery. Self-fulfilling prophecies. I don't do anything, I feel inadequate, I don't do anything.

My own brain is just not wanting me around. All it wants to do is keep sending me evidence of my badness.

I'm not interested in much. I feel like I'm pretending to be human. But I don't know the rules. I am lost in fog of my own design.

What an ongoing waste of Air and water and space.im just wrong.

i don't feel loved

Still here. Not enough energy to leave.
Learning more and more about how little I know: about me, about everything.

I don't feel loved. Complicating this: I wouldn't recognize it if I was loved. Also, I don't feel loveable anyway.

I feel alone and lonely, I feel too far gone. How can I learn to love myself when I have no experience of feeling love or loved?  It's a deep hole I've dug. A series of caves and passages and chambers. I'm deeply hidden. Deeply damaged.

I cannot even imagine what feeling healthy - aka depression and ptsd-free - would feel like.

Good night.

Depression is killing me

Feeling so beyond-saving toxic. I'm my own chemical spill. Nothingness envelopes.

Frightening really, if I could feel anything so intense. Numbness or crying, that's my likert scale. Therapist helping me release, yet I wonder if I just keep stockpiling toxic feelings. The respite I have is numbness.

I'm so tired. So despairing of ever feeling better. I'm not sure if I even want to feel better anymore because of the hope  of it's possibility implied. Hope can be cruel when  nothing changes. I feel so weak, so unable to help myself. This toxic self loathing permeates every cell.

Poison.

Where to go, what to do. Do I just give up and slowly erode into the earth? I kinda have given up in many ways. What remains?

There is band and choir.going out takes so much. Nothing feels easy or manageable, always fear-laden. I am bewildered to think that some people aren't depressed. It seems impossible to me. Can't imagine what feeling better would look like. Only maybe I would feel motivation. I would feel interest in things.

Everything feels hard. And I'm so tired. So tired.

more of the same

Thinking a lot about how I can learn to love myself. How can I make some changes so that I feel better. I realize I am mainly motivated by a desire to feel worth loving. Everything. If I get attention it lights a spark in me and I want to continue to receive the attention, and the n if it's unrealistic, not good, etc. I have this fantasy, this longing, to feel, to be, famous. And really, underneath that I just want to be loved. All my life wanting to feel cool, to be cool, to not be one of the mainstream to be special, worth noticing, worth loving. So strong this drive that I chose hurtful attention, cause some attention was better than none.

I feel kind of pathetic, clinging to scraps, searching for scraps. Not too clear on self-respect. Feel a danger to myself and others. Worry I'll ultimately alienate anyone who dares care for me. I'll waste their caring, use it up. And be left with an agonizing self-fulfilling prophecy that I am toxic, hence th driving everyone away ting.

I wish I felt quieter inside. I am thankful I have a brain and many creature comforts, in many ways quite fortunate. However.

However.

Rotting suggests activity

Not well. discouraged, tired, sore. Nothing new to report. Same old shit. Feeling awful physically, emotionally, bored, yet unmotivated, everything feels overwhelming. I am full of sadness and aching and loneliness. People say I need to talk about what's happened in my life, I don't know where to begin. I have spoken about many things that haunt me, many times. Over and over again I revisit the pain, of betrayal, of shock,  of perpetual reception of the theme I am of wanted. I do not belong. I have not brought anything good into this world. I have not added to the good parts of this world. I have not raised children. I feel stagnant, rotting , although rotting does suggest activity.

I have thoughts of disasters and death, accidents.

Doing nothing. No art. No humour, no joy, nothing that humans find replenishing, just a foul, poisonous mass, increasing in latency.

Fuck