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Month: February 2019



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.

Counseling appointment

Counseling appointment

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.

The End of the Road…

The End of the Road…

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 self harms?