I Don't Know

I don't know what's wrong with me.  I don't know why people leave or why others stay.  I don't know why my heart refuses to heal.  I don't know why I still have this craving to destroy my body or tear myself apart.  I don't have any answers.

I wish everyday wasn't a struggle.  I mean I have more good days than bad days, but I still have that feeling of hopelessness that all my writing, my non profit and my education are all stupid and won't amount to anything.  I can hear Geof, Brianna and Sue telling me that that is my crazy, not the truth.  Part of my illness unfortunately is believing these toxic thoughts. That's why I do cognitive behavior therapy.

Today I've wanted to cut more than I have wanted to in a while.  I cut for stabilization, to find some kind of relief from the madness that was filling up my body.  For a moment after, I could breathe and that's what I needed.  Now the urge is my go-to stress response.  I've been fighting a cold this week, have stress with home improvement and then there is work.

I am improving at work, but am not doing well in overcoming the fear of change.  I want people to start living up to their potential.  Fear causes a lot of setbacks and pain.  Fear of the loss of income was one of the reasons why I lost him.  I lost my confidante.  I lost someone that could understand what I've been through and didn't judge me for it.  If you haven't been depressed, had an anxiety attack, self-harmed etc, then you will never understand that.  Yes, I'm talking to you, mom.  I'm also talking to everyone around the world who looks at people that suffer and don't do anything to help ease the pain. 

Just because you can't see the anguish like you can a broken bone, doesn't mean that it doesn't exist.  It's not something all of us can change easily or a way we choose to be.  Sometimes I wish it could be seen so that the compassion of others could be aroused, but that is not possible.  The pain is ugly, chaotic and something I would wish on no one.

This might be late night, cold medicine, stuffy headed induced rambling, but it's what's churning in my brain right now.  The ether is my confidante now.  The only problem with the ether is that it cannot talk back.  It cannot tell me what it thinks or that everything will be OK.  That's one reason why I write to get it out.  I talk out loud pretending that he'll hear.  I still hate what happened and that's why I'm doing something to prevent all of it.  Maybe if my co workers knew what to look for, which in my case was that I hold onto anything to stop the descent into the darkness, then it would have turned out differently for all parties involved.

I felt that maybe I had a shot of coming back to life, but that was not to be.  I have good days and bad days.  I have cravings and doubts.  I don't know why these things keep happening, but I still strive.


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