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

tribute to Neil Young

trying medical marijuana again, so far a tiny buzz and frequent BMS, yeehaw.

Going to try acupuncture again.

No joy, just despair. Exhaustion of body and spirit. Although, let's do away with the dualisms, it's all one entity= me. Components of a person, all in disarray, so very lost, despair .  Broken record.

Keep thinking I need to add something new to these observations, yet there is nothing new, there remains the steady erosion of strength, every kind there is, dwindling, rusting, failing.  Hey hey, my my.

Are you having a bad day?

Just existing. Waiting, for what? Brutal. So very sad. Lifeless. Waiting for mm. New prescription. We'll see. Are there people who feel good out there?  naturally I mean. Cause I can't imagine it. I can't remember feeling well. There must have been times when I did.

The morning I was writing a letter, or at least trying, to my siblings. Somehow to account for my absence from their lives. But. They have lives. I cannot believe I matter to them, I suppose so, academically. I cannot imagine someone loving me because I feel,  Profoundly,unloveable. Really do. Crying, aching, searching. So tired. So very tired. Sleep somewhat improved but not rested. I imagine many many millions of people are sleep deprived. How do I speak my truth without sounding weak? Whining? It must be exhausting for the people around me. I keep people away, who wants to Hear my truth?

Are you having a bad day?

Yes, everyday.

A good day seems so improbable. I ruminate , obsess, negatively. Is it a choice? Have I made it such a habit that I have convinced myself there is no other possibility? Apparently. This fucking sucks. It sucks. It's really fucking hard . I hate myself. Profoundly. Hate. Not too fine a point. I hate me. I cannot see anyway around this, so through it I go.

birth as rejection

We are birthed as paradox. Rejection as life. So it has been seared into me. As I write I judge myself so fiercely. Everyone reminds me of how hard other people have it, how strong other people are. Is this meant to help me? It doesn't . It shuts me down.

So much rejection, small wonder I reject myself. If one is told enough times that one is wrong, fundamentally as in, then one believes they are wrong. And so it is. And so I am.

I cannot forget grade 7 and the petition to have me removed from the basketball team (yes, I am still thinking,feeling talking about this, fuck off) the shock of it. I was no longer safe. I could trust no one. I think there were things before, entrenching me.

And people in my life, a year ago, told me how much trouble I cause them. Like sharks they circled and struck. Left me bleeding out, apparently unaware of the damage they inflicted. And now some want to help.

No thank you.

The benign cruelty is worse than the overt. I'm not the first to think this. Not the first hurt, for sure. Nor sadly will I be the last. Can I help myself back to who I was/am meant to be?

Is it whining to speak my truth? Apparently for some.

Since I can find no one to be present and listen, can I do it for myself?  I guess that's what this blog is.  L.M. Seems genuinely interested in helping me. So the gift I can give myself is to talk with L.M. More often.

have I ever been alive?

I'm beginning to understand what it means to be a prisoner of my own mind, at least for me. I'm so very lost. Think of death daily, frightened, want help but no idea what help looks like. Mostly I just want to talk and talk and talk and empty everything out. No drugs right now, weird pain and aching joints, quasi-manageable with Advil but oh so odd. Showed up when i weaned off clonazepam. So a lengthy withdrawal? Did some blood work, first go around showed.  Slightly elevated marker(s) for inflammation, my GP looking into fibro, rheumatoid arthritis, asked about bruising (leukaemia) but maybe my body is just brimming with untold stories. I want to talk but no one seems to want to listen, don't blame them, not exactly scintillating stories. Just how many times a heart can be broken. That Sherlock movie where the woman completed suicide because she had no place to put her love, and that was grief. I relate to this, I have love to give or did, now it feels rancid, poisonous. I have no interest in anything, early laugh, no motivation, f to l fear, not. Sl is ping much or well. Saw the ECT psychiatrist this past week, at first was interested but then I though him glib, then read stories of ECT and brain damage. Argh.
Fired the 1st acupuncturist, so many levels of unprofessional. Hurt me several times.
Am I beyond help? Hope is trying to leave, although at times it feels it has left. I'm fading. It's so weird yet familiar and I'm feeling angry and despair and desperate, I want me back but was I ever here?

meme chose

 Lost interest in many things what's left? Sleep is bad , tired. Mind active, bored, anxiety when I think about doing something. Pushing myself to walk. Feeling so lonely yet don't want to be with anyone.this hurts. Zombie. Only spending time wasting time. Online a lot, obsessing over GOT. No purpose. Vulnerable, sick, scared.

tears

 Having a sad day just back from a walk that's about all I've been able to achieve today although I did shower feels like a big deal I got out of bed but woke up so disappointed to wake up every morning I wake up and wish I hadn't I want to stay in this dream state street and send it that's so stupid the only place I could get some rest though I'm not rested when I wake up I don't know what you're going through is this perpetual abyss this perpetual prison of my brain it's good that the tears come once again I am wondering when they'll ever stop if there'll ever stop if there'll ever be an end to die for sure will be all over I'm only 53 that's all

Time to grow up

Challenging time, gotta speak in code. So hurt, betrayed yet also questioning: am I fundamentally unfair? Is my judgmental nature such that no one stands a chance, least of all myself? Confusing. Mainly likely due to having no boundaries, or extremely rigid ones, no trust, no faith in myself or others. The loneliness is the worst. Who do I talk to? Some ideas, starting with some new resources. Don't want to call family, feels unfair. Really scared. Time for me to grow up. Learn to look after myself.

trying Ritalin not impressed

And now into my fourth week trying Ritalin on half dose it doesn't seem to do anything on Fulldose I guess this squirrelly high that has me speaking extremely fast and then crashing big. So that's unappealing. Fuck.

Next I guess I'll try cbds, since thc just left me paranoid and anxious.
Woke up feeling so low today , don't know why I'm still here. Well, yes I knows why but this suffocating. Cloying viscous depression is so heavy, I'm so deflated.

So nothing seems to be helping. What the hell is wrong with my brain? Why doesn't it work right?

Shitty.

Depression is in charge

Woke up wishing I didn't wake up. This is how my days start. I don't ask for it, I seek different thoughts, I seek gratitude. All I want is to feel better, and also to die because this endless this endless pain wants relief. There is no relief it seems.
Trying medical marijuana, can't tell if it helps. Maybe I have some really rare brain dysfunction. People who laugh, who appear to experience joy are a curiousity to me now. I wonder where my laughter went.
I used to have a sense of humour. Now I have loneliness, self-isolation, despair.
People are kind yet everyone has their limits. I want to feel better. That's it.
No one can help. People say hang in there, or it gets better. Yet it hasn't. It has only gotten worse. No one can tell me I will feel better one day, no one knows and people have their own lives to live. They must , as must I, consider themselves first.
I don't love myself, I am certain of my innate bad-ness. I feel incapable of love. Happiness is an alien notion.
I know I can be kind, it feels authentic yet at the end  -and the beginning as it turns out - of every day I remain convinced of my worthlessness. Dying makes more and more sense, everyday. My concern is how to die without hurting anyone, because people say they love me. I counter with a thought "it doesn't matter" people's assertions of love fall away from me, incur guilt, often resentment. I'm staying alive so you don't have to feel sad. Yet I know their grief will pass and they will move on with their lives because that's what people do. They move on.
It seems I have to believe in myself to make it. And I don't. I never have.

disheartening, mysterious, bewildering

Grieving all the time it seems. Memories, circumstances pop into my head and strike my heart. it's a piercing. Deep, lightning quick, hotter than the sun. Sends me reeling, it must be curious to watch me walk as I bob and weave depression's varied onslaught.

I know it's hard to hear what I say, how desperate and alone I feel. And people, we 're all natural helpers, they want to help and when it seems there's nothing that can be done, a sort of compassion panic sets in. But I just want to talk, no one, it is quite clear now, can help me. I have to choose.I have to find a way through all of this feeling. It's so confusing and startling, so much intense grief. I want to know why, I yearn to know but I'll never know. So it's disheartening, mysterious, bewildering. There is little relief in the shitty sleep I do get.

Curious word bewilderment: a state of being. Wildness? Or my natural state? Same thing I think. Maybe I've been denying who I really am and depression is screaming at me, picking at me, gnawing at me, striking me, to wake up before it's too late. Maybe it's ramping up its' efforts to get my attention because there is a message I'm just not getting. Except I am getting a message, one that tells me most assuredly how bad I am. I am a fundamentally flawed, broken, a second.

I think of cutting, imagine who might be at my funeral, wondering where to place my remains. No hole in the ground, although a cave might work. Spread into a garden I think.

I wish I felt worth something. Wish I felt I deserved this life.

I'm 53 but might as well be 4.

Many memories surfacing, like puzzle pieces. 50 year old instances where I felt unwanted, unneeded, unloved. Preyed upon, ignored, wanting just some attention. Yes, absolutely, wanting attention, wanting to know I mattered, wanting a little reassurance that I was included, loved. But how can that happen where everyone's in chaos? No one's to blame when everyone's trying desperately to survive. And many more times in later life, I kept getting the message, over and over. That I was not wanted, that I had cheated, that I was unfairly chosen. So much of folk's unatttended pain slicing at me. Tearing pieces out of me in their misdirected anguish. A target so young, for so long. It's no wonder I want to die. No wonder I feel so unworthy of this life. No wonder I hurt so much. Every child should have attention, we are meant to thrive not waste away emotionally for closing on 6 decades. Searing. The hurt feels so old I can't trace its origin, it precedes my verbal ability. But that doesn't matter. What matters is it's real. It may not be like anyone else's experience. How could it be? I think too much for the other. I cultivate empathy and it is at root a survival strategy. If I can read another person I can plan and protect, myself, possibly others.yet I'm told I bully as well. Probably true. I don't appear to have much self awareness, I think I talk a good game but truly I'm on the edge ready to attack or take myself out. Extremes only, no in between. In between gets you hurt. Or so it seems. I'm tired of all this shit. Wishing I didn't feel so little and vulnerable and young.I'm 53 but might as well be 4. I'm so very late to the dance.

THC and Hildegard

Drinking my first  THC infused honey tea. I am probably imagining things but I can taste it. Here goeth nothing, as I am certain Hildegard of Bundgen was wont to pronounce on occasion.

Such a waste.

So the MAOI effort was a bust.  I'm weaned off. Just clonazepam for sleep. Spent all day numb  but after dog walk feelings surfacing, as they do.  This flat nothing is awful. Like I'm a piece of wood. Don't feel human, and yet a part of me registers this as strange so I am not operating at normal capacity. It turns out it's likely no one has an effing clue why depression and PTSD are. I mean they can be described, pretty accurately but the mechanism and, crucially, WHY seems to have eluded us all. The research on medication efficacy is apparently sketchy, thank you for that you money grabbing fuckers for the past varied 16 years.

Nope, still numb.

I have been thinking about cutting more. Haven't. Still pick and pull off strips of skin though (currently my feet are healed). So what's the difference?

Such a waste.

Paranoia Never Sleeps

Paranoia is relentless and cruel. And it's not encouraging. I've been obsessing over what might be happening and on a day I really needed to reach out and talk, the people I did reach weren't really available, had to go, etc before I asked for what I needed, which was just to talk. This reminds me of my working days. Paranoia woke me up at 3, just like old times. All I can imagine is I've screwed up, that I've alienated those I was trying to help, that no one wants to hear from me. I feel too intense, I feel stupid, useless, annoying, I feel a failure. I'm full of big feelings but haven't let them out. A little on my walk on the beach with Sman yesterday, but it's quasi public plus, more importantly, I needed to stay illusory-strong for Strider. He was such a good boy for me. The ache of loneliness is such I wonder how I bear it. I want so much to feel connected, to be part of something, but it seems my fear just makes me choose to unhinge it. My fear of connection is stronger than my longing. Fuck. Can I not just feel good once in a awhile? It seems any hint of good feeling gets crushed, my spirit if it dares to reveal itself however briefly, gets grounded into my self. I'm so alone. I have little strength to battle back against my own harsh thoughts.what a foe I would be on a battlefield, except the only enemy is me.

I hope there's point to this

Feeling useless, being useless. Efforts to be out in the world, trying to give back, leave me strained. Drained, feeling insane. Unheard. Alone. I could be screaming and there's not even an echo in all these mountains and valleys, just me floating away into the void. Feeling invisible again, feeling like I want to just stop. Feeling unloveable and incapable of love, so broken inside. Inhuman.
Even when I was a quasi-contributing member of the world I felt a fraud, incompetent. That is my baseline. I'm venting, I could just say this out loud yet I think I write it down so I can look back and find evidence that I do exist, that I'm not a figment of my own imagination. Just hurting, raw, sometimes seeems unbearable yet I trudge on, I hope there's a point to this.

I need to stop reading other peoples' posts, it's so heartbreaking and it triggers so much shame, inadequacy, loneliness. I have no business responding to others', what I want is to take away everyone's pain, it's unbelievably brutal to read/hear history  after history of women who were brutalised  so young (and continue to be) and how instead of being loved and supported they were further derided and humiliated and traumatised, instead of laughed.  I know it is true, I never doubt, it rings true with me on so many ancient levels. I am so raw, bleeding, toxic, how can this continue, be in this world where so much good should be/ is possible? How can it be that so many still get hurt? And the tv schedule is full of more stories of women being  brutalised in physical, psychological and societal forms. There is always this undercurrent of blame the victim. I swear it romanticises being an abuser, it's so  so sick and I cannot see things getting any better here, but then I read/hear the hundreds/thousands/millions of accounts of courage in the face of this universal brutalisation of women and children. Women fighting back through the abuse-inflicted wreckage. Scrapping back, despite the terror infusing us all. Fighting just to believe their own truth. Such suffering is everywhere. I cannot bear it.  I have no  business responding to others' accounts, at best I can witness and validate

Wake Up

Morning again

just once to feel rested
just once to feel light
 it seems too much  to ask
I have food
I have water
I have love             from others
I have shelter

I have things

but sadness always wins
sadness is on top
again

morning

Magma of Sadness, Boundary Sine Waves and What's the Big Deal with Crying

I'm just easing out of a large crying jag - spillover desperation and frustration with puppy and triggers abound. I feel so very little sometimes, I think maybe the age i was when I first felt fear and violation. Because I feel so helpless and vulnerable, and my adult self feels so angry at all of this, things that hurt me, things that hurt others, it seems like I just feel it all indiscriminately - must be the wide open/clamped shut boundary sine wave  going on. It's why I stay home and cave it, as a comrade blogger so aptly puts it.


I spent many many years not crying, making myself not cry- no doubt a legacy of the "Don't cry or I'll give you something to cry about" mantra. Thus ensued this stoicism that I carried for years, a shallow toughness, industrial strength on the outside but a magma of sadness (new James Bond movie title) seething (sorry, counter intuitive) beneath. People have told me over and over again how strong I am/appear, I have been placed in leadership roles by volunteer or upsurge. How did they not see the fear? People are mostly feeling their own feelings and too busy worrying about themselves. My stoicism soon deteriorated into numbness. Now, today, all of those obstructed feelings want acknowledgment, and they do not share and do not cooperate. They prefer to exist as a horde.


Sometime I wonder if all these attempts to create community (of 2 or 9 billion) are fruitless, maybe why so many of us feel buttressed with yearning -  a fragile state. Maybe we are just all alone and attempts to share our lives with others are doomed. I feel so alone, so often, I hope others don't feel this way, it's crippling.


OK, I've stopped crying now. Maybe I'll watch some royal wedding, I just care about the outfits.

The Ugly thoughts of a Broken Brain

Started MAOI a couple weeks ago, I was feeling very vulnerable and my emotions were crawling all over my skin. I'm really scared these new meds won't work, won't help, cause my options are dwindling. It can be said that me trying new meds indicates willingness to keep fighting for my life, because that is my reality, even if no one else on this planet gets it. I'm pretty fucked up right now, maxing out on paranoia, ugly thoughts. I even made an appt with the pharmacist to talk about MAOIs, she brought up ECT. That fucking sucks. I just want to feel some sense of balance with a smattering of joy but I'm losing hope that will ever prove possible for me. Indeed, why should I ask for this when so many people are dying as I write from hunger. Poor Africa just keeps getting fucked over. I feel so selfish for asking for more. I feel undeserving of joy. And nothing anyone says changes this for me. I have a broken brain.

Endless Refills of Despair

Depression tears chunks off me with every breath. If I could just have a day without it, that would be a blessing indeed. But I don't believe in blessings. I'm in charge of my life and I have a brain that works the way it does and maybe I'll never be able to feel anything different. How I dread the opening of my eyes to a new day. How I long for the release of sleep, I stalk the clock for the time when I can escape to my bed. It hurts. I hurt. And I cannot escape it, just feel. I've made myself willing to feel but it seems it's a bottomless pit , a relentlessly free refill of despair. I thought I had struck a bargain , that I could let myself go through all the feelings dwelling inside, there's so many, is it that I banned them from me for too long that they fight back with such vigorous vengeance. I choke with them, they strike, I flail in helplessness. Thoughts shriek in and out of sensing, me reeling as if from a blow. But they are blows and I feel them yet no one is there, no one strikes me. My psyche strikes me. The beauty of my surroundings eludes appreciation. This invisible war ravages on.

Emotional Pain is Painful

Looking inward, trying to see and improve actual rather than imagined flaws. Obsessing overs mistakes. Mistakes of even tiny magnitudes overpower any positive I've achieved. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm on an autism/Aspergers spectrum since I seem to be lacking some basic social skills.missing important cues, I'll ask my psychiatrist about these. Or could it"just" be a manifestation of how beat down I feel and have felt much of my life. People tell me to just be happy. Argh. I guess they mean well yet I feel dismissed, underestimated so the beaten down feeling is reinforced. Vicious cycle.

Had a headache this morning,took some Advil, which eventually worked and further removed my emotional pain. Epiphany. Emotional pain is pain. Can understand why ‪and how one can become addicted to such things.

waking up spent

So more of the same. Lying in bed, another day. Wishing just to give my life to someone who wants it.  Let me have their cancer, diabetes , their terminal illness, then they can live and there won't be 2 lives wasted. Kind people trying to cheer me up, waste of time as it falls off me. Feeling ashamed and guilty knowing there's people I care about suffering but they do not want to talk to me. They say I cause them to much stress, I'm  too self absorbed. They don't like that. They want me to be their automaton, do what they say, stay quiet, they say I insert myself. Doesn't everyone want to feel included? To feel they matter? They just seem to want me to stay invisible and silent, like when I was little. These are toxic relationships with people who have no idea, or Interest in seeing how toxic they are. Yet, I need to focus on what I can do to help myself, all of do. If we don't care for ourselves first we have nothing left to give others. I don't have much left. I wake up spent. That's not good.

Go Target Your Repressed Feelings Elsewhere

Warning: don't read this if you think talking about feelings is weak, or self indulgent or whiny, in fact fuck off if you think this. I need to speak my truth, and that is that I am in emotional agony,everyday, and I'd like to enjoy living and that I'd like to have gratitude for all of the things I have and all of my good fortune but I do not. I am exhausted. Despite whatever sleep I manage to scrape out in the night, I wake up exhausted, I wake up can't-waiting till I get to crawl into bed again. Lots of days I crawl into bed in the middle of the day anyway. This is no way to live and yet I do. And I feel so indulgent and shamed knowing full well that many people won't live to see their 1st birthday or will witness unimaginable horrors in their lifetime or have to leave their homes because of war and so many more people in the world than I suffer. I know this. Yet speaking this denies my feelings. How can I live a fully humane and compassionate and helping existence, like I want, and deny how bad a shape I'm in.
So I think about dying a great deal, because I want this pain to stop, I can't run away from it, masking it with anti-depressants just numbs me out and I might as well be dead for all I do, yet here I am again doing nothing.
Fuck all of you who think I am selfish. Just fuck off to those who say they love me but bully me and tell me how bad I am.
I would love to feel alive and do all the things with all of the gifts I was born with, the ones I have not earned. Whose cruel jest was it that I have no energy or motivation to use these skills. What was the fucking point of that?

I don't believe there are any gods, and if there are any they can also just fuck.right.off.

This world is full of hurting, agonized innocents. Don't tell me there is a plan. There is just fucking cruelty and greed and suffering with a smattering of kindness to fuck me up with hope.

I'm cutting the mean ones out, go target your repressed feelings elsewhere, don't tell me how strong you are as you bully the vulnerable or better yet get some insight. Get some fucking courage.

Ok. Better.