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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.