A year ago today I should have died. It seems vaguely appropriate that this coincides with me making over 100 posts on this blog. So much has changed and yet so much remains the same. Not really sure what else to say about it, I feel I should make some profound observations on what it’s taught me and how far I’ve come but frankly I don’t feel all that insightful right now. It’s going to be a long old day.
I dunno what it is right now, everyone seems to be struggling so much and I feel so powerless to do anything to help. Even those who’ve seemed to be ok of late can’t cope right now and I don’t know what to do about it. I want to take it all away, make the pain less, solve the problems with a word or a message but I don’t know how. Even my ability to make ‘thoughtful’ comments on blogs has evaporated. Consequently I apologise for the post to follow this. I’m going to password it, password as before but nevertheless I recommend ignoring it.
((Hugs)) to you all.
TRIGGER WARNING: self harm, suicide and emotional bullshit contained within.
I’ve unprotected the last post, there’s no need to hide those feelings anymore, everyone knows.
WARNING: May be triggering. This is password protected because I don’t want people I see every day to know the truth. I don’t want them to feel obliged to help me because I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve anything.
…but I don’t know what to say or how to say it. I can’t get the words out from where they’re tumbling round inside my brain. THe pressure is building again to the point I want to scream, cry, run away, curl up under my desk and never come back out. I found a sentence I wrote a while ago and never got round to publishing which sums it up in a way;
If despite feeling happy, your brain is telling you it would be a good time to chuck yourself out the window as it’s better to die happy than to let it go bad again?
I have no reason to be down right now. I’m on my course, I may not be enjoying it that much but I’m getting through it and it has the potential to take me to where I think I want to go. I have people who, in moments of unbridled optimism, could even be referred to as friends before pointing out to myself there are no reasons on this earth why people would want to know me.
I’m still self-harming. It’s getting to the stage that between that and natural clumsiness, people who I’ve met for the first time are asking what’s happened to my arms. And I lie, look away, change the subject but deep down they probably know and yet they never ask any further. Even ‘friends’ have stopped asking if I’m ok because they just don’t want to know anymore, don’t want to deal with me.
It’s taking me hours to get out of bed each and every day. In bed I’m safe, nothing can hurt me there, not even me so I wrap myself deeper into my duvet and disappear because I don’t want to be held responsible for myself. I’m my own full time carer and I’m attempting this on top of a second degree and I just can’t do it all. Something has to give and it’s always going to be me because that is all there is.
I’ve still got my escape in crafting. I love to create, it sets my mind free, I can lose myself for hours in it and it’s bliss. But I won’t allow myself to, there’s too much guilt – I should be doing course work or cleaning the flat or anything – so instead I achieve nothing. If money were no object, it’s what I’d do forever. Create and sell my creations at small craft fairs but I can’t begin to convince myself that anyone would be interested. And besides, if it ever actually happened, no doubt I’d fail at that too.
It’s nearly a year since I overdosed – 13 days to go in fact. I don’t know why I wanted to write that, it seems so real and relevant at the moment.
This post is descending into a series of disconnected paragraphs with none of the smoothness and eloquence I was after. Incidentally, why does every drs/psych letter about me refer to me as at least two of intelligent, eloquent and insightful? Is this code for ‘knows too much, is a pain in the arse to deal with’? I still haven’t heard anything from the alleged crisis referral that went in just before Christmas. This really shouldn’t surprise me, the system has failed so many times in the past, why would I dare to suspect that this time would be any different?
There’s so much more to say, words that need to come out, feelings too painful to express but it just isn’t working. My mind won’t shape the sentences I feel so for now let’s leave it at that.
Or words to that effect were said to me last night by the same person who a few days previously had asked if I had a mode other than sarcastic. And it hurts, it hurts lots but it’s also made me think. In fact I’ve been brooding on it for most of the intervening hours in which I’ve been conscious (albeit that hasn’t been that many, I had a NYE party to sleep off). Now don’t get me wrong, I already knew I’m a sarcy cow. I also know that it’s a fine line between that and being plain abusive and that it’s a line I don’t stay on the right side of a lot of the time particularly when tired (as I was last night, see prior NYE party comment). But hell, a lot of the time it’s downright enjoyable to twist peoples words back on them and some people even deserve the abuse. However in this case, the person who said it is one of the last people who’d deserve me being nasty to them and more than that, they’re one of the last people I’d want to be nasty to.
So, why do I do it? I know how it’s going to turn out, I’m going to cause offence, it’s going to cost me friendships and it’s going to cause me pain. It’s done so in the past and I’m damn sure it will do so again unless I change in some sort of way. The sarcasm though is my shield, my protection, it keeps the world away. It’s my entrance to social situations, my confidence booster, my other me. It gets me laughs and I enjoy that, even if these laughs are at other peoples expense. It projects an image of confidence and ease when inside my mind is screaming at me to run away while I still can. And it keeps a distance – if nobody gets to know me, if they don’t get close, then they don’t have the power to hurt me quite as much as I’ve been hurt before.
And over time it’s become me; I am Anickdaler and I am sarcastic. But at times I wish I could turn it off, just for a while and now I find that I no longer know how.