I don’t know the last time I was this mentally and emotionally tired. I’ve been this kind of tired before but not like this, this is… different. I’m tired of being bipolar. I literally open my eyes when I wake up and the feeling of depression is instantaneous. It’s like breathing. There is no morning when this does not happen and it happened way before I started dealing with abuse issues. As for the abuse issues, I go through the day ignoring any flashes of pictures or thoughts that have to do with that. There’s just too much. I read part of Pandora’s story on her blog Serial Insomniac, and it reminded me of how I felt when I realized how many diagnoses I have. I know they’re labels but…they’re also what I deal with everyday. Bipolar disorder, PTSD, dissociative disorders, DID, chronic pain. Just labels right? The way having an abusive, hate-filled mother affects my daily life even though I’m an adult, the fact that I was never good enough to warrant my father’s love no matter how good I was, daily intrusive thoughts of the Uncle who sexually abused me, thoughts of his wife abandoning me, seeing that “room”, seeing him smile over me, thoughts that I’m missing something about what happened with him, panic at the thought of being around other human beings despite being on a new medication for anxiety, despair for no reason and for every reason, feeling like I’m not a part of human society, like I don’t belong with other humans, feeling distant from my husband because I’m not a whole person.
Yesterday, I was on the internet and I needed, I mean needed, to see images portraying someone being forced into the sexual acts that happened to me. I felt a change come over me. A smirk marred my face and I died inside. I felt it. I died. I wasn’t me anymore, I was a whore and I was dead. I wasn’t human anymore, I was something else, something dead.
I had to socialize with people later that evening and I faked my way through the night and I was dead inside. I thought for sure that people could see that they were talking to a dead person. My husband asked me to share with him what’s going on with me so he can support me the way I need. How can I tell him who I really am inside? I told him that someone like him couldn’t understand or handle it and I wasn’t mean enough to put my thoughts in his head so he’d have to see what I see. There aren’t words for how I feel so I can’t tell him anyway. I can’t tell him what I do when I’m alone. I can’t tell him that what my uncle did to me felt good and makes me aroused even now. I can’t tell him that I don’t deserve to be human and that I don’t have the energy to fake it anymore. I can’t tell him that I’m not human and everyone else is and that I believe that people can see that something’s wrong with me and even though they see it, they still use me when they want something from me. Nothing changes, we’re even having a Super Bowl party this weekend like everything’s fine. I’m not fine. I’m tired and I’m dead inside and I’m not a person. I don’t belong here. I want to be alone, somewhere far away and my fantasy life isn’t doing enough to help me. I want to cry but I can’t. Even though I’m dead, I feel everything. How is that even possible!? The feelings are inside, filling every part of me until I can’t breathe, but I’m dead. Why can’t I be numb at least?
I feel nothing. I feel everything. I’m alive but I’m dead. I hate myself beyond what I can bear but I don’t want to die. Right now I’d like to cut but I don’t know if that’s enough, it won’t accomplish anything, so why bother.
I’m just so tired. There’s no escape, there’s just this life and it never stops. I don’t want to do this anymore.