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?