How do you put into words intensity? How do you tell someone not only the type of feeling you are having, but the absolute intensity of the feelings? How do you convey the terror of the feelings when you can’t even describe the feelings themselves?
I want to die, but I can’t kill myself. I’m trapped. I’m trapped by a pregnancy. I can’t kill an unborn baby because my life sucks. I’m being held hostage by the thoughts. I can’t erase them. I can’t control them. They are a part of me that I have to live with. It’s like I need to learn how to coexist with something that I can’t live with.
I don’t know who to turn to. The few people I trust I don’t want to hurt with the feelings. I don’t want them to feel bad because I feel bad. But I long to be able to talk to someone through tears and to have the thoughts lightened. Even if they don’t go away completely, just not to have to carry the burden by myself. But the few people that I can trust are those that are most hurt by my feeling sad. I’m struggling, but I don’t want to bring someone down with me. I don’t want someone to feel bad for me. I don’t want someone to make allowances because I can’t handle things. But at the same time, I’m hurting. I put on a smile so people won’t ask. I put on a smile so everyone thinks everything is ok, even though it isn’t. I try to bury everything, but I can’t. It’s not working anymore.
Why is it so hard to have a friend? Maybe I don’t deserve to have a friend. Maybe I’m just so broken, that the fewer lives I touch, the better off everyone will be. Maybe I really am that horrible and unloveable of a person. Maybe I deserve to be alone. Maybe I deserve exactly what I have.
I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of living. I’m tired.
I’m going to try to work through this in counseling. But nothing has helped yet. Why do I think something will help now? But honestly, it has to work. I’m safe now. I won’t kill myself because I don’t want to harm the baby. For a good year after the baby is born, I’ll be ok. I won’t be able to make much progress moving forward then because I won’t be able to connect with the feelings. After that, I’m afraid of what I’ll do. I’ll be back where I was right before I got pregnant. I’m afraid of being there again.
I literally need someone who will work through pros and cons of killing myself. I need to really believe what conclusions we come to, otherwise it’s just me trusting what someone else says. I need to possibly function with everything in the pro column with no sugar coating if that is how I feel. I need to focus on working towards removing things from the pro column and adding things to the con column. But who will be patient with me? Who will allow me to fuel the fire so that we can put it out later? Who will allow things to get worse in order to hopefully get better?
I just want to be loved. I just want someone to hold me while I cry. As selfish as this sounds, I just want to be special to someone. I know that sounds pathetic. But that is where I am.
Another night crying. E and I got in a big argument on Sunday. I told him I would be happy to talk when he was calm. He threw that back in my face, said that was the professionals talking. That he should have never went to the counselor I chose.
That night he was talking to someone for hours. The whole conversation revolved around how horrible of a wife I am. He pretty much said that since I am still going to counseling and he doesn’t have to that the problems lie with me.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything is all my fault. Maybe I will never succeed. Maybe no one will ever want to be my friend. Maybe I should just accept that I’m unloveable and move on.
I feel trapped. At this point I have to stay alive. Killing myself would involve killing another human being. I can’t do that.
I don’t know who I can talk to. I’m alone. I’m scared. I just want someone to hold me and tell me things will get better. They won’t. I know that. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to turn to.
“God, I’m alone and tired. Please take me home.” I prayed through tears tonight. Over and over. Two hours worth of tears and they are still falling. I’m falling fast, with no one to catch me. But it’s ok. I want to ride this ride to the end. I want to be done.
This feeling is normal. Not being able to breathe from the stuffiness of crying. Loneliness. Knowing that if I died in my sleep tonight, no one would care. This is me. The sunshiny person isn’t me. It’s just my mask so no one will see the absolute chaotic inside.
Dinner lays untouched on the counter. I made it this time at least but couldn’t bring myself to eat it. I shouldn’t be skipping meals, but I just can’t eat.
I’m not strong. Who was I kidding? Sunshine is no longer here. It’s just me. And I’m all alone in the sadness. I desperately just want someone to hold me while I cry. Someone to hug me close and tell me it will be ok. But you know what? It won’t be ok. It would all just be a lie. A postponement of the inevitable. I’m not going to get better. I’m a failure. I’m a horrible person and nothing but a failure. I can’t even be happy right.
I can’t kill myself now. I feel trapped. Nothing will get better and I have no way out. I’m all alone to face this.
People don’t understand. No one ever will. I can’t explain the feelings. I can’t explain the complete loneliness. I can’t explain the despair. I can’t explain the extent of hopelessness. I can’t explain the mental anguish.
I just want to be loved. Why is that so hard? I think I know why. I’m a horrible person.
I remember my orthodontist calling me sunshine because I was always smiling. He said he could tell me the sky was falling and I would still face the problem with a smile on my face. It’s time to get back to that. Smiles represent everything is ok, even when they aren’t.
I’m compartmentalizing. This thing here. This feeling there. This trauma there. Filing feelings apart from the trauma they represent. I was hoping that I would be able to reconnect trauma with feelings but I suppose I won’t be able to. This way is better.
Walls are up. No one will know that I’m hurting. Everyone will see the smile. No one will know the truth. No one.
The counselor wants me to go to group therapy. She says there will be a time when she might make it required for me to go to stay in individual therapy. I’m going to tell her I’d rather know that up front then get invested in the relationship and have to leave prematurely. All it will end up doing is hurting me more to completely trust and then have to walk away. I would rather walk away now then have to work through being abandoned by my counselor on top of everything. Maybe I was just kidding myself with counseling. Maybe i was just kidding myself that things will get better. I know better. I know they don’t. I don’t know why I allowed myself to feel different. I don’t know why I allowed myself to have hope.
I think it is finally hitting me how alone I am. In some ways it’s better this way. In some ways, I don’t have to convince people I’m ok. I’m scared of going through this alone though. I just have to keep telling myself it’s better this way. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I had someone to talk to that would stick by me no matter what. That wouldn’t put conditions or time frames on talking. Someone that could be behind the wall with me. But I don’t. I’ll have to be brave by myself. This is why I traditionally don’t get close. I just end up hurting.
So it’s time to be Sunshine again. It’s time to be happy no matter what. It’s time to be alone again.
I emailed the counselor and told her I wanted to talk about the suicidal and self harm issues. That I wanted to discuss what happened in freshman science class. That Erik wasn’t going back to counseling and that I needed coping skills to get through the yelling.
She asked me if I knew why self injury was such a big deal. Not a clue… you can mess up and kill yourself. Apparently there is a much higher increase in suicide for the three months after self injury.
I wanted to talk to her about it. I couldn’t. She asked me how frequently I did it. Not frequently. Honestly, at that time, I’m not sure I could even come up with a number.
E had put in his intake paperwork that I had hit and pushed him and that I threatened to call the cops on him. I haven’t.
He said I had inappropriate emotional relationships with a professor in college and a coworker. I don’t think he knows what an emotional relationship is. Or hell maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just the one fucked up.
She said she wasn’t convinced I didn’t have borderline personality disorder. She went down the list of symptoms. I claimed I didn’t meet them. But honestly, I can make a case I suffer from all the personality disorders.
She told me I needed to talk. That she liked me but I needed to open up. Why would she like me? She asked me if I was mad at her. I wasn’t. I knew I needed to talk. But how do I? She asked me where I self harmed. I held back tears and shook my head. I couldn’t. She told me she already knew. But I still couldn’t. I needed to but couldn’t. I was ashamed. Who does that? I told her I’d write her. I chickened out. I wrote her. I put everything in words.
I’m afraid and alone.
Every year, the feelings around mine and hubby’s birthday grow dimmer. Both birthdays are hard for me to get through. Typically, though, the pain comes and goes and things get better. I set in until the time around my birthday.
This year has been so very different. The feelings got stronger in July and haven’t really let up. I want to die. I want to be done.
I put on a smile. I pretend everything is ok. I tell everyone I’m ok. If I tell everyone I’m ok and smile, I’ll get less questions. But, truth is, I’m not ok. I don’t know who I can confide in anymore. I don’t know who to trust. I need to tell someone. I need to get the feelings out. I’m too afraid to tell the counselor. I can’t talk to husband or family. I can’t talk to friends. I’m scared and alone. I want someone to hold me while I cry. I want someone to tell me things will get better. But you know… I have no faith things will get better. None. And no friends that will hold me while I cry. Alone.
The counselor tells me I need to be vulnerable. Every time I’m vulnerable I get extremely hurt. Every time. You know that saying that is better to have lost and loved than not to have loved at all? Yeah, it’s bullshit. Being alone is better. Recovering from trusting someone and then having your heart ripped out seems insurmountable.
I know I’m leaving the kids behind. I believe my husband is right that everything will be better if I’m gone. I should save the kids the misery of having me around. My husband dislikes me so much that he obsesses about my sister, yells at me, and took my engagement ring and locked it in the safe. I’m too afraid to ask for it back. So, yeah, everyone will be better without me around.
I’m to the end of the road. I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to keep living. I want to be done. I don’t think anyone will care. Everyone is replaceable, especially someone like me.
I want to cut so bad. I want to feel the pain, and hope the physical pain will put a stop to the mental pain. But I have a counseling appointment tomorrow, and I’m afraid she will ask. I want to talk to her about it. I want to tell her where I self harm. I want to tell her how much I want to die. I’m scared though. I’m scared of saying everything out loud. I’m scared of taking the chance that I’ll be judged. I mean what kind of weird person harms their private parts?
I put water in a mug. Microwave on for three minutes. I watched as the water started to boil. I kept watching as it came to a full boil. I took the cup upstairs. I used a syringe type thing to bring the water into my lady parts. I held it there, letting the hot water burn me.
I remember that lonely year in science class. I was the only white in the class. I was to blame for everyone’s problems. One of the guys started taking an “interest” in me. He would pull up a chair close to me, straddling me. He would run his hands up my shorts. Inside my underwear… inside me. He would kiss my ear, my neck, feel my breasts. The other kids would gather around, cheering him on, and blocking him from the teacher’s view. This went on for nearly a year, just about every day. If I wore pants, he wasn’t deterred. The only thing that stopped him was one of the guys in the class. But he rarely came, so most days this happened. He was the leader of a gang in school. I was afraid to stop him. I could still feel him inside me. I could still feel his lips against me.
If I burned myself, I wouldn’t be able to feel him anymore, right? I put half the cup of hot water in me, but nothing hurt enough to make the mental pain go away. I tried to burn myself so I couldn’t feel. But I could still feel.
I don’t know how to work through the sexual stuff. I didn’t say no, so I don’t have a right to complain now right? I didn’t say no, so I wanted it, right?
No one knows how to help me. No one knows how to make my pain stop. I don’t want them to make the pain stop. I don’t want a junior counselor. I have two counselors already, I don’t need another. What I do want is someone to make me feel less lonely. I want a friend. A real life friend. Someone who will hold me while I cry. Someone who will let me feel everything, with no judgement. Someone to remind me over and over that I’m loveable… and loved. Someone who will look at the cut arms and tell me I’m still accepted and loved.
I’m scared and alone. I don’t know any other way out.
The next session with the couples tomorrow we are supposed to talk about my husband working on my parent’s house. What I want to talk about? I want to talk about E’s jealousy of me. I want to be able to talk about stuff with him without him putting me or whomever I’m talking about down. I want to be able to ask for help without him telling me that I make more money and should know that. I want to be able to come to him about whatever and not be afraid of the reaction I’ll get. I want to talk to him and him not retreat into the bedroom because someone is encouraging me to apply for a job. I want to be able to make a mistake and not be afraid of him. I want to be able to find his shit without him accusing me of taking it. The question is… will I have the confidence to talk about all this?
The individual session will be hard. Really hard. I’m going to try to talk about something I haven’t been able to talk about ever. I’ve only told a few people in my life. I’m afraid of saying everything out loud. I’m afraid of facing and dealing with the truth about what happened. I’m scared quite a bit. But in some ways want desperately to work through this.
I made it through my husband’s birthday, the day I had planned on killing myself. As everyone (or no one) breathes a sigh of relief, I don’t know what to do.
I’m literally tired of/from crying, but don’t have the strength to get better. No one will care if I die. No one. I’m all alone. I just want someone to hold me while I cry. I just want to matter to someone. In a twisted way I just want someone to miss me when I’m gone.
I’m distancing myself from the one close real life friend I can talk to. I don’t want to hurt the friend if I go through with it. I don’t want to be a burden anymore.
I’m supposed to do evidence for/against being unloveable for counseling. I have a ton of evidence for being unloveable but can’t think of a reason to put down for being loveable. I can’t even do a counseling assignment right.
I wish I would have the courage to go through with killing myself. I wish someone would be with me when I do it so I wasn’t so alone. I know that would be so cruel to the other person, so I will have to be alone.
This is the last New Years. And with that brings only nine more days I have to get through.
I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of reaching out to others just to be hurt terribly. I’m tired of trusting. I don’t want friends anymore. I guess it doesn’t even matter. No one wants to be friends with me. I’m completely alone. It’s too late anyway. I only have nine more days left.
My husband’s counselor pretty much said that he didn’t need counseling. He will see him infrequently… About once a month. Pretty much seems like everything is my fault with this. I’m a horrible person.
I matter to no one. No one will care if I die. No one loves me. It makes stopping the pain easier.
I feel like I’m just going through the motions now. Like I’m just doing what I have to do to get by, to make it to the next day, knowing I’m almost to the finish line.