tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50798159913156752882024-02-19T06:52:23.151-08:00PTSD is NOT My Fault..........things in my head that maybe should be asked to leave nicely...Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.comBlogger208125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-75382971250867652432024-02-02T07:35:00.000-08:002024-02-02T07:42:26.062-08:00Long time all at sea<p> Not sure what title means but popped into my head. I’m 60 now. Unbelievable. Despair stalks me daily. It’s certainly persistent, the fucker.</p><p>Coming back to these pages after taking a couple writing classes, which I enjoyed. I know writing helps me and I met people who don’t appear to be living with depression which is an increasingly shocking idea for me to entertain. I just cannot imagine it.</p><p>Grief permeates me. And urine apparently. About 4 years ago I had a partial hysterectomy (still got them ovaries, yippee???) . Since then I’m a pee machine. Is it possible to pee my grief? As I’m so numb these days and rarely cry, is my body deciding to take things into its own hands ( laughs at self/ pun of sorts)? Is it helping me release grief by peeing. Sometimes 12x a night. That’s my personal record anyways.</p><p>So much grief. Losing my wee baby Nova, she was only 14 weeks. Never had a chance. If I was in the states I could be charged with murder, manslaughter, etc, such is the current states of their fucked up politic. </p><p>I lost Nova as February 12 passed into the 13th in 2007. Or the 11th into the 12th? See my memory is really hole-y now too.</p><p>So much loss. And grieving things I never had. How can I lose what I never had?</p><p>Finished a ketamine assisted therapy program a month ago. The ketamine infusion part I think was helpful the group zoom therapy not so much. I lose any grounding in groups. Always so in tuned to others and their feelings and energy. So out of tune with me and my own.</p><p>My dog is 13. He’s in pain a lot.</p><p>My husband is 67. I’m pretty sure we’re negotiating a trauma bond and mostly do okay.</p><p>My parents are still alive. It’s tough for the both in so many awful ways.</p><p>That’s enough for now. Thanks for listening.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-9875504063452419002021-02-07T11:57:00.001-08:002021-02-07T11:57:57.045-08:00Encased in Wax<p> 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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtymkygEtZ8kyrIJtXVh9-AOExjuAhzbSP-dyBdN0UJref85ULsQqhG0MAg8-3FUDV4IjjMAKR6r5E0xOVG6z0poSzuzbGPqmexH-bjweZZZUwkpjvfBF2qZe1e6-4wact3UIYeAGpYRw/s1600/IMG_20180611_0859418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtymkygEtZ8kyrIJtXVh9-AOExjuAhzbSP-dyBdN0UJref85ULsQqhG0MAg8-3FUDV4IjjMAKR6r5E0xOVG6z0poSzuzbGPqmexH-bjweZZZUwkpjvfBF2qZe1e6-4wact3UIYeAGpYRw/s320/IMG_20180611_0859418.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-57446776270447743142019-10-23T22:20:00.001-07:002019-10-23T22:20:23.018-07:00LonelyWorld mental health day.<br />
<br />
Suffering everywhere and inside. So much so I am overwhelmed and frozen.<br />
<br />
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,<br />
<br />
Do others feel this bad too? Are we all living this nightmare or is it possible to be happy, to feel some peace.<br />
<br />
I feel so lonely.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-13541880994045257652019-06-17T11:09:00.001-07:002019-06-17T11:09:20.014-07:00an ongoing waste of air, water and space Long time no blog.<br />
<br />
Too much interior fuckery. Self-fulfilling prophecies. I don't do anything, I feel inadequate, I don't do anything.<br />
<br />
My own brain is just not wanting me around. All it wants to do is keep sending me evidence of my badness.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
What an ongoing waste of Air and water and space.im just wrong.<br />
<br />
<br />Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-62715332097637540292018-03-16T21:55:00.004-07:002018-03-16T21:55:56.787-07:00i don't feel lovedStill here. Not enough energy to leave.<br />
Learning more and more about how little I know: about me, about everything.<br />
<br />
I don't feel loved. Complicating this: I wouldn't recognize it if I was loved. Also, I don't feel loveable anyway.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I cannot even imagine what feeling healthy - aka depression and ptsd-free - would feel like.<br />
<br />
Good night.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-78716476957760815502018-03-11T10:08:00.003-07:002018-03-11T10:08:42.998-07:00Depression is killing meFeeling so beyond-saving toxic. I'm my own chemical spill. Nothingness envelopes.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Poison.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Everything feels hard. And I'm so tired. So tired.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-41441119491031754832018-01-01T09:30:00.001-08:002018-01-01T09:30:09.462-08:00more of the sameThinking 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I wish I felt quieter inside. I am thankful I have a brain and many creature comforts, in many ways quite fortunate. However.<br />
<br />
However.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-29536858698711737812017-12-27T13:30:00.001-08:002017-12-27T14:27:00.851-08:00Rotting 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.<br />
<br />
I have thoughts of disasters and death, accidents.<br />
<br />
Doing nothing. No art. No humour, no joy, nothing that humans find replenishing, just a foul, poisonous mass, increasing in latency.<br />
<br />
FuckHillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-66118105240503043642017-10-16T09:18:00.001-07:002017-10-16T09:18:06.207-07:00tribute to Neil Youngtrying medical marijuana again, so far a tiny buzz and frequent BMS, yeehaw.<br />
<br />
Going to try acupuncture again.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-6925440002796851262017-10-06T09:21:00.000-07:002017-10-07T21:55:19.103-07:00Are 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.<br />
<br />
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 <span style="background-color: yellow;">somewhat improved</span> 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?<br />
<br />
Are you having a bad day?<br />
<br />
Yes, everyday.<br />
<br />
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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-43490073051831108822017-10-02T03:11:00.003-07:002017-10-02T03:11:54.385-07:00birth as rejectionWe 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
No thank you.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
Is it whining to speak my truth? Apparently for some.<br />
<br />
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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-89045900790189425832017-10-01T14:57:00.002-07:002017-10-01T14:57:29.947-07:00have 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.<br />
Fired the 1st acupuncturist, so many levels of unprofessional. Hurt me several times.<br />
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?Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-60701939136192510592017-08-21T07:23:00.001-07:002017-08-21T07:23:50.549-07:00meme 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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-4688851925992590802017-07-30T12:56:00.001-07:002017-07-30T12:56:25.473-07:00tears 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 allHillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-57958088770048281632017-07-07T09:13:00.002-07:002017-07-07T09:13:34.780-07:00Time to grow upChallenging 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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-85051979653996139812017-06-21T15:30:00.001-07:002017-06-21T15:30:07.557-07:00trying Ritalin not impressedAnd 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.<br />
<br />
Next I guess I'll try cbds, since thc just left me paranoid and anxious.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So nothing seems to be helping. What the hell is wrong with my brain? Why doesn't it work right?<br />
<br />
Shitty.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-209922729361377622017-05-14T08:58:00.002-07:002017-05-14T08:58:22.772-07:00Depression 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.<br />
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.<br />
I used to have a sense of humour. Now I have loneliness, self-isolation, despair.<br />
People are kind yet everyone has their limits. I want to feel better. That's it.<br />
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.<br />
I don't love myself, I am certain of my innate bad-ness. I feel incapable of love. Happiness is an alien notion.<br />
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.<br />
It seems I have to believe in myself to make it. And I don't. I never have.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-64492737131214433142017-05-01T10:09:00.000-07:002017-05-01T10:10:24.285-07:00disheartening, mysterious, bewilderingGrieving 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I wish I felt worth something. Wish I felt I deserved this life.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-54787038548226126012017-04-22T19:42:00.000-07:002017-04-23T08:55:44.212-07:00I'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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-2287889392244529822017-04-18T18:20:00.002-07:002017-04-18T18:20:33.838-07:00THC and HildegardDrinking 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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-52309475438967345762017-04-16T17:17:00.002-07:002017-04-16T17:17:23.725-07:00Such 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.<br />
<br />
Nope, still numb.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
Such a waste.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-15471159726044267272017-04-04T04:03:00.001-07:002017-04-04T04:05:19.361-07:00Paranoia Never SleepsParanoia 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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-52846380953426349222017-03-14T20:55:00.002-07:002017-03-14T20:55:33.785-07:00I hope there's point to thisFeeling 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.<br />
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.Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-80428551259290830792017-03-11T18:36:00.001-08:002017-03-11T18:36:27.577-08:00I 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 validateHillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079815991315675288.post-19998036703299770462017-03-11T18:35:00.000-08:002017-03-11T18:35:20.074-08:00Wake UpMorning again<br />
<br />
just once to feel rested<br />
just once to feel light<br />
it seems too much to ask<br />
I have food<br />
I have water<br />
I have love from others<br />
I have shelter<br />
<br />
I have things<br />
<br />
but sadness always wins<br />
sadness is on top<br />
again<br />
<br />
morning<span id="goog_1124519412"></span><span id="goog_1124519413"></span><br />
<br />
<br />Hillary63http://www.blogger.com/profile/12206667421255061274noreply@blogger.com0