You can’t run from the turmoil and curses that life brings.
It’s like it’s fate, you were destined to go through something horrible in your life. Just not all at once.
There is timing between and it hits you when you’re least prepared. Always.
I don’t understand why, though. Why it has to be so hard, no matter what path you choose in life, you can’t avoid it.
I thought, I was saving myself from all of it, by choosing a certain path over another. But I realize all the same curses and demons will follow you there, and the unexpected smack from fate will still come like a wind that sweeps you off your feet every time.
And that’s just life. I hate, that I’ve been handed a life where I have to live the rest of it riddled with ptsd, and playing with the right concauction of psychiatric meds just to make me slightly more normal.
I hate that everything that happened, happened. I hate that, it will continue to plague my life, no matter what I do.
I feel like, it most definitely holds me back. If not in the illness itself and the hardship it brings- on a daily basis. It’s also, the, way people perceive you.
I was fired, now, twice. Because of this, perception. I appear numb, and “far away” in the head. In the eyes. And it just shows, so apparently. i realize this now. I didn’t know people noticed, but they do.
My friends, family comments to me. “Why are you so... expressionless.” Or, “Most people have more, rapid eye movement but, you’re just so still, and calm...” is how it’s been described to me. Like I have no reactions, or facial expressions most of the time.
And people say it makes me difficult to read. I knew they filled in the “blanks” hah, no pun intended- with, whatever their worst fears are usually. Their insecurities fill the void so quickly they believe it like delusions. I must, hate them. I must, love them. I must be insecure. Maybe, I am angry- at what though. Maybe I’m a stuck up bitch.
But no, the reason I’m like this, stale piece of wet cardboard is because I guess, I’m kind of messed up. Not in the cliche sense but, just. That’s the effect mental illness has on your life too, like, a piece of tape that wraps around me and suffocates me like glue. It covers me and stifles me, and paralyzes me. To a point where I seem, like nothingness. And my expression is blank, and I’m too numb to react or feel, a lot of the time. And I guess I just look “a million miles away.” As my mother puts it.
She said she recognizes the “look” as she’s seen in, in her father. Who also, had PTSD. I understood, when he would loose his mind a bit and forget where he was. I’ve been there. It’s scary.
I understood why his personality was so comatose, and he almost looked, tired all the time. Like he just woke up, and was about to go back to sleep.
Having PTSD, is exhausting. I get it. It’s easier, to stay in bed.
It’s easier to be no one, and express nothing. No emotion, nothing of yourself. Not to interact.
And, the thing is- even if you wanted to, somehow that part of you is missing, and you’ve forgotten how. So it’s, forced. When you do.
And, people pick up on that. It prevents connection, because it causes them to lack trust in you and to feel genuine connection. Or, it causes a curiosity they can’t stop indulging in, like a really messed up crime novel that goes on And on. A never ending series they can’t put down.
But, that’s- not what I want. I don’t want to be, someone’s new interesting novel to read through... but for many I have been. And I’m so sick, of telling my story. And it always lands in the same place which is, no where. At the end. All this stupid shit, happened and, it resulted in pretty much nothing. Nothingness. And I am, left with nothing inside. And I am, nothing, and nothingness. And I feel that way all too often.
Like the wind blowing through an empty house, from window to the door. Just a breeze through an empty four walls. I’m, nothing inside all too often.
And, not only does it prevent connection, and cause the curios ones to stick to you like glue and, want to stick their hands inside your soul and Your guts, and your heart. It also, causes others who don’t get it, to, put you away on a shelf. The doll that stares forward and doesn’t say mUch, they don’t really know what to do with it so they just, leave you in your place and forget about you. Honestly.
My own boss did this to me now, like an ugly old doll or, a toy that malfunctions. I’ve been, put in the give away pile too many times now.
And in my life I go about it now, as a broken person and am expected, to act whole. And if I don’t- I am judged for that, criticized for that. Things are, taken away from me for that. I lose- in life, because I didn’t act like I had it together when I don’t. Because I couldn’t be mentally and emotionally present. Because I couldn’t, connect and didn’t know how... because I didn’t lie and say I wasn’t tired, when I was too exhausted to participate.
I just need, the space to be honest, and accepted when I say, hey, I can’t do this right now. And I wish, that someone understood, that yes, I am spacey, and expressionless, numb, distant. Isolatory, and sleepy. And, I wish they would just let me be that way.
It’s so exhausting trying to hide it otherwise, covering up this layer of sheer hurt and ash, rubble from wars fought. Inside. With, beaming bright smile and, a chipper tone of voice. It’s, so, hard. To do this, everyday.
They (my employer) has no idea, how hard I tried.
But it wasn’t good enough, you know. Because it still shows. The brokenness, that causes me to be, spacey, and dissociative, and distant, and not- present. Not, “all there” as he put it.
And to my friends, my girlfriend, my family. I wish I could feel more, and be less numb, and more, expressive. But just know I’m doing the best I can, already. I’m doing, the absolute most I can. To appear, and less that way as possible. Just for you.
Because even though I’m comfortable with silence, and nothingness. I know other people hate the awkward pauses, and when they can’t read you- they don’t know what to do. So I give you the reactions you want, I carry the conversations I don’t want to have. I try, so hard, to appear interested, enthusiastic, compassionate.
Even though, I feel blank inside. I really do try... my hardest. And I’m, just so tired. From trying.
Sometimes all I need is just to lay in bed and, not talk for a while. Sometimes I just wanna eat pasta together and, not say anything. Because it’s easier than pretending I’m fine, and it’s easier than talking about why I’m not. To just, do nothing.
I like, that. But, to most it’s boring.
-
I had to go to my psychiatrist yesterday to get med re-fill approval. And he wasn’t available so I had to see the nurse practitioner instead, and the company recently switched over to a new one or something retarded like that. So I had to, answer a bunch of questions and basically start at page one with this new person, who knows nothing about me, but is trying to. So she can legally say yes, I need medicine, and this is good for me.
I’ve done this now a few times, where we have to start over. And talk about everything from the beginning. “When did it start.”
And then we get into the trauma, talk. And I’m filling out questionnaires about PTSD, ADHD. Depression, Anxiety, and mood disorders. Being screened for dissociation. Testing, me. To see if I’m just, seeking pills like an addict or, if I’m seeking treatment. How real are my problems?
And as we keep talking, they start to realize, how real it is. To the point that, they’re moved. Out of the kindness in their heart, and the empathy in them. They start to become a little overwhelmed with everything I’ve been through, and struggle with. And it becomes emotionally difficult for them to swallow, as we keep going. Over it all, allllll over again.
And every time we have to do this re-hashing, I really hate it. So I seem jaded, as we talk. Because I feel like I’ve done this a hundred times. And I’ve gotten virtually no where but, I need the meds to survive.
So I give them all the answers, and it’s more and more painful every time I have to talk about it all, all over again.
The sadness rides up on me like a wedgy and the ache in my throat I’ve been holding down the tears with eventually rips open and, I’m lose at the seems now. And I start flooding with tears, sobbing into my hands. Trying to collect myself as it is pouring out of me, relentlessly.
And even though it hurts,
She (the nurse practitioner) wants to drive the screw driver into the open wounds further, and pick, and gnaw, with every fucking question mark. Her ink pen hurts me so much with it’s sharp steel metal tip.
And I can feel it, as she writes down the answers to her questions... about trauma.
She tries to ease me into the hot boiling water by telling me, we can stop if you need to. Take a breather.
We took many of these breaks, and still, getting into it was like, trying to saw off my own arm. And I just, couldn’t do it.
So finally after enough attempts, on her part. I just stopped her and broke. And said, “I can’t, talk about the trauma stuff anymore. I can’t today I’m sorry.”
And she said, “okay, that’s fine.”
And then we spend the rest of the session, easing me out of that dark place in my mind. Distracting my focus on the light in the world again, I’m quick and willing to forget, and do so subconsciously very well. So naturally, turning it over and forgetting about it. And just like that it’s over and gone, and put away. And I don’t have to see it anymore. Just like I wanted.
It’s a really scary place to go, and now that I felt like what it was like, the experience of having it inside you, the hurt I felt, and to be surrounded by the fear, and the darkness of, that bad place. Now i understand what all my nightmares, my chronic nightmares were about.
And I understand, why, this place in you that surrounds you can drive you to suicide.
And she has to spend the rest of the session, making sure I’m not going to. You know, go home and off myself, because of what we chatted about.
I lie and say, no. I don’t want to kill myself. And then I cry in my bathtub while submerging myself int he hot water that feels oh so good.... and I let it out. The guilt I feel about, how much hurt I would inflict if I took my own life. And I can’t, do it. Tot hem. And I live for them.
My friends, my coworkers, my girlfriend, my family. My dog. I live for them, when I don’t want to live.
IT’s not all the time, I promise, I can be fine. A lot of the time I am okay, now. Thanks to meds.
But I’m just saying, when I do get in a dark spot, it always comes down to that. I *cannot* let you go through, burying me. No matter how tired I am or how badly I want to give up, or how horrible it is what I’m going through.
I just, grin and bear it, or, sleep. I used to, take drugs for it. To get by.
And, now I do the same thing, with coffee and, makeup addiction? Online shopping, etc. Distraction. Entertainment. Whatever I can find. And, I did, ask my psychiatrist for a script of klonopin, she did give it to me.
But I have reserved it just for panic attacks That are so bad I’m also having suicidal, instability and dissociation combined with it and, can’t handle them with normal methods. My whole body is shaking, etc. I’m suffering. Then, I will take one to make it stop.
Ideally, I’d take them all the time but. It doesn’t work, you build a tolerance, and you need it more frequently, And the physiological dependence on it becomes cumbersome. I’ve already been down that road and the detox wasn’t fun. So, unfortunately I can’t do that again. Though, it does feel nice, for a little while.
They also want to prescribe me adderall or stratera (my choice)
and I’ve also been given buspar and abilify as options as well before. Which I could ask for again.
But I don’t want any of these drugs. Though I will consider it, as the nurse practitioner ssaid I do have ADHD and she thinks it will help me in xyz ways... she believes.
I’m starting to understand why people settle for less.
Less is more. Less is no trouble. No stress. No heart ache. No complications. No up hill battle. No struggle. No problems. No grief. No remorse. No guilt. No shame.
The easiest route to go in life, is no where.
its a dark route tho, its more comfortable and like you start to really really love yourself but at the same time you lose so much, and you miss what you used to have
having been living this way for the past few years I dont recommend it............i'm trying to work my way out of the lonely hell ive created for myself and idk if its too late or not but im trying
I pushed everyone away and isolated to the extreme, thats where the type of mentalty youre talking about took me. its like chasing the dragon of self love but when you have mental illness like bpd and trauma and issues with social communication and norms and not the best at people pleasing you just start to feel like fuck people all together why should I try anymore but then you get lonely af after a while and start thinking about why the fuck did I do this to my life I used to have a social life and a job and boyfriends even tho it was painful and traumatic and scary to try to push myself to be what other people wanted and expected me to be when I wasn't mentally wired to be that way
its funny, ive noticed we share some similar issues but tend to flip flop on how we deal with them. because I had the mentality youre talking about, and now im trying to push myself to be more social irl again lol, like I have a therapist I actually like now so its not hell to go to therapy, and I want to maybe even have an irl boyfriend. friends are much harder for me to keep relationships with and im not sure if I will ever achieve that again, I stopped being able to have real friendships at around 16
I’m starting to understand why people settle for less.
Less is more. Less is no trouble. No stress. No heart ache. No complications. No up hill battle. No struggle. No problems. No grief. No remorse. No guilt. No shame.
The easiest route to go in life, is no where.
You're already settling for less, you just haven't accepted your own choices yet.
Everyone's doing as they'd prefer to be.
They also want to prescribe me adderall or stratera (my choice)
For what?
