This blog is not FDA approved
I’m not suicidal, I just don’t care if I live or die. There is a certain sense of freedom when the fear of dying no longer exists. Of all the things I feel I need help with, my indifference about my own mortality is what finally sent me back to therapy. Not for my own safety, but for those around me. I may not care about hurting myself but I don’t want to hurt anyone else in the process.
I tried to kill myself a few times when I was young but I think for some reason, God (or whoever you believe to be in charge) still wants me around. I’ve had several close calls and yet I’m still here.
Anyone who knows me personally would tell you that I am not a happy person by nature. Even as a kid, I hardly remember having fun or being happy. I worried and stressed and felt miserable most of the time. I CAN be quite funny and even the life of the party if the mood strikes me (or the drugs are good) but in general, I am miserable. I prefer to be alone and even my own company repulses me at times.
I was married at 22 and started having my 3 kids at 24. My husband had several affairs, the first one before our first wedding anniversary. My self esteem took a nose dive and I don’t think it ever really recovered after that. I continuously question myself and have way too much self value tied to my outer appearance. The older I get, the harder it is to feel self worth.
My mind is a mess. I am in the process of writing 2 books and they are taking me forever because most days I can’t get my thoughts organized enough to have them make sense to myself, let alone those of you who aren’t fucking crazy. I have a lousy memory and concentrating on anything for more than a couple of minutes is next to impossible.
I wear a mask 99.9% of the time. I am confident, smart, funny and easy going. On the outside. I let you see just what I want you to see because I am terrified that if I show you my real face, you will run screaming and I will never hear from you again. I don’t remember the last time I felt like I was totally myself or who I dared to be her with. They probably aren’t around anymore. I don’t blame them. I’m ugly.
There are days when the me inside is standing on the edge of a cliff screaming, “Do you hear me?! I am losing it…I’m losing my fucking mind and nobody seems to even notice!” Other days I feel like I am drowning, in a really thick liquid and I can hardly breathe. I can’t scream for help because my mouth is full of this thick liquid and I can hardly move against it’s weight. My hand is up and out of the water, waving, but nobody sees it. Someone finally throws me a lifeline but it’s 50 feet away from me and then expect me to swim to it. I can’t. I can’t make them understand that I can’t. When they ask why I can’t, I don’t have an answer.
I can’t hold down a job for more than a year or two. I like them all at first but that always goes away. I make myself stay at least a year, even if I hate it, because less than a year looks like shit on a resumé. It gets to the point where I hate it so much that panic starts to set in and I have to try to find another job (which is tough when you’re working full time already) so that I can let the current nightmare go. I almost totally lost it at my last job. I worked two years at a pet store and one day I just couldn’t handle the animals in cages anymore and sunk to the floor and sobbed. I took hold of myself before customers wandered in and although I tried my best to put my good mask on and serve them, they both looked at me like I wasn’t quite right. I tried SO hard to look normal and they still saw through it anyways.
I love my present job and it’s been 7 months. I have my fingers crossed that it stays that way but I’m not holding my breath. People are starting to piss me off lately. That’s how it starts.
I should probably have my license removed. I speed and at times drive quite recklessly. I don’t purposely drive badly, I just really don’t care. A month or so back I had some punk in a tuned civic race me home just to yell at me about my driving. He told me to smarten the fuck up. For a moment I though about hitting him and telling him to mind his own fucking business. Instead, I sat back down in my car and cried as soon as he left.
My marriage is a see-saw, just like my emotions are. I told my husband at the end of August that I wanted to separate. I was supposed to move out in the spring. He doesn’t want me to leave. Kept crying and saying he doesn’t want to live without me. I’m staying now. Not for me, but for him. But also for me because I can’t trust myself to make a good decision and maybe he is right when he says that I won’t be happy with anyone. It’s not him, it’s me. I’m pretty sure he’s right.
He doesn’t understand mental illness and comes from parents (even though his mother is a retired R.N) who believed that a good kick in the ass would cure everything. There is such a huge stigma attached to mental illness and a LOT of people don’t understand and look at you like you’re crazy if you try to explain how you feel.
There are times that I actually feel good…excited even, but they never last for very long. I can feel good and bad dozens of times on the same day. Dealing with the constant ups and downs is exhausting. Some days I’d love to just stay in bed.
I’m sorry to say that I don’t have any wonderful advice or words of wisdom to pass on but I CAN tell you that if you don’t feel right, don’t ignore it. There ARE people out there equipped to help you find the sanity and peace of mind that we all need to cope with life.
In the meantime, I will continue with therapy and taking my medications with the hopes of one day not needing either.
I’m still looking for happy, but for now I’ll have to settle for still breathing.