The loss of things I’ll never know I lost

 I’m so far inside and my self hatred is spilling over into imagining others hate me too. I’m so low right now yet ironically sort of safe cause I have no energy or motivation to hurt myself.  This is not living. It’s hard . Everyday. I’m up, obsessing over people’s imaginary hatred of me.

There a quote yesterday on FB that fit for me. Speaking of the grief that accompanies trauma. The loss of things I’ll never know I lost. Because so much was stolen from me. Because I’m so disconnected, so with drawn, so well defended. I’m incapable, or certainly feel incapable, of forming real connections with others. I still feel strange. Alien. Increasingly so. 

I know we all carry burdens. Troubles. Yet I look around and see people that are living, playing out their lives with seeming purpose. They haven’t given up.

I suppose I haven’t given up either yet I’m so fucking tired. There is nothing of interest.nothing. And I just hide. I lie in wait. What for? I wish I knew. Some relief? It’s up to me. There’s no one coming for me except death. Everyone is trying to get by. Everyone is thinking of their own way to manage this life. I’m on my own. Alone with all the other lonely. I’m losing my ability to reach out. I feel unfixable.

All those things I’ve mentioned before. They all still apply. Yet I protect others from me. There seems no point in telling others of my internal wasteland. The voice in my head constantly admonishing me for weakness, ego, whining: anything I think - it has a disparaging answer for.