I feel like I have to much to say and I'm just full of empty words.
I guess I'll start here:
I've been reading a lot lately. I guess it's a coping skill or whatever, you know. Consequently all of the books have been about self-harm. It helps me when I'm triggered to hear from the perspective of someone who understands, even if they're not talking to me. But these books always end in the same way, and I always feel so frustrated by it.
I've never been in a hospital. Never been pulled away from my life so I could "focus on treatment." I've really never had anyone help me with this at all. So why does every other story end that way, as if that's the only way it could? What about the rest of us who fall through the cracks of life and appearances and insurance policies? Is there an ending for us as well?
It's too late for an ending like that for me. Mine is typical of my life. I will fight this thing on my own.
The end.
Is it wrong that I wanted an alternative ending? A saving grace? Some 30 day rehabilitation program of sorts? Does it even matter? My "problems" have never merited as much. And it's so. damn. frustrating.
I think what's even more frustrating than that, though, is that I'm pretty sure I can. Deal with it on my own, that is. And that pisses me off. Why do I always have to deal with it on my own? Why is there no soft-landing ending for me?? I guess I should just grow up and deal with it. All of it. Which basically means covering it up and convincing myself that I'm ok, ignoring the fact that I feel anything. And then everyone will think I'm ok, which should in turn just make me ok.
Ok?
Ok.
The End.
Last edited by SoSimple : 08-01-2015 at 10:15 PM.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.
Which sister, you ask? Why, the one whose son WE are raising, of course.
Here's what I don't get: My sister is obviously hurting in some way. She can't stay away from guys and she needs that constant approval. I'm not diminishing her pain, but damnit we all have pain. My question is, why do you have to hurt others with yours?
I'm not saying that my coping methods are necessarily healthier than hers, but I've never hurt my family the way that she has. Maybe that's because we've hurt her the most. But you know, I've also never smoked anything or been drunk or high...and I've never had sex. And yet my life seems to be constantly surrounded by drugs and raising children. HER children. I just don't get it.
There are a lot of things I am tempted to say, but right now they're not nice because I am angry. And I will not hurt others with my words. But I've already told her how completely irresponsible she was, and how unfair it would be to my nephew and my parents for her to bring another kid into this world. We all know there's no way she could raise it. She's not even raising her first one, and she can't even take care of herself!
Please don't get me wrong, I am not angry about the miscarriage. I would never wish that on anyone, ever. I'm angry because she still didn't understand that she was about to bring another life to this planet. That's kind of a big freaking deal.
I'm also angry because I am currently sharing a room with my little nephew. And every morning he wakes up and walks over to my bed and whispers my name and asks, "Can we go pway now?" And every morning I am there, changing his diaper and making him breakfast and opening play-doh jars and finding his favorite cartoon on the tv. And where is she?
I hope he doesn't ask himself the same thing.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.
Last night I sat in my bathtub with a piece of glass between my fingers. I know I shouldn't have gotten that close, but I let myself go there. I remember the release that comes from the sting of the sharp end, and exhaling as everything seems to go out of me all at once. It's like nothing I've experienced before. And that's what gets me every time.
The only thought that kept me from feeling it all again was everyone else. Story of my freaking life. If I didn't have my job and the kids to all think about, it would be done and I would belong to the monster once more. Then again, don't I still? The cries for help are gettin louder inside of me, but they never escape my lips. They just stay locked in a cage, muffled by all the sounds of the people I helping and the responsibilities ringing in my ears. I'm stuck here. Absolutely stuck.
So tonight when the fight broke out and I was there in the middle and someone got tense with me and all of this judgment came down, I almost lost it. I had these serious thoughts of me hiding out in the bathroom with a pen and just saying forget it. But I knew I couldn't do that. No one would ever understand. There are some instances when your suffering can turn into just bad choices in someone else's eyes. And you would think, given the place I work, that
someone there would understand. And yet there I was, ready to cower in a stall like I was in school again trying not to get caught by a teacher.
And now I'm home, in my bed, ready to sleep it off and fight it for another day.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.
I am always looking backward and forward and around. I never know which way to go. My heart will always be pulled in two different directions, and this time it just might snap.
I miss everyone so much. When I moved I was so ready to go, and now I sit here with nothing but thoughts left of my old life. It won't be the same, I know that. And I don't hate it here. It just feels...unfulfilling. Then again, I think that may just be the way life feels sometimes. Sadness is heavy, and carrying it wears me out even more than I already am. I don't know where to go from here. I love them, but I feel stuck by them as well. And I think there may be no right answer. Is that liberating or terrifying?
Every week I come here and wait for someone or something to find me, and to know that I am broken. I used to think that if I told someone, it might be a little lighter. Maybe I just haven't told the right person yet. Maybe I should try saying it until someone can hear and respond?
So if you're reading this, I am broken.
And I know that you are too.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.
Recovery is a loaded word, depending on how you use it. Am I in it? Have I become it? Is it even real?
It's like having that one boyfriend that you know is not good for you. But he takes a piece of your heart anyway that you know you've lost forever. Maybe that's what you really miss, that piece of you that you'll never get back. But you also miss the company and the late night talks and knowing he would always be there, anytime you needed him.
Even if he hurt you.
It's a weird concept, right? Hurting yourself. Totally counter-intuitive. How does it get so messed up? How do you get to the point where you need to turn on yourself just to survive, to make yourself feel better? I guess that's the point...it's a lie. It's not real. It's a lie.
It's a lie...
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.
The monster came at me fast and hard. I knew what he was doing, and I played right into it. I have no control. He has me. Always has, always will.
I keep telling myself that it was just a bruise, but you and I know differently. You and I know exactly how this thing works. The bruise was just the easiest way back in. An excuse, if you will, to completely unravel. And I just might use it.
I think I'm supposed to have a plan, some list of people to call or something to do to keep me from going back down this road in such a dangerous way. Instead I have excuses for why I can't call any of them.
I don't think this will end anytime soon. I'm sorry.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.
I don't think words are going to do it for me this time. I can't believe I'm even here still. To everyone else I make it seem like this was a far off problem that's been taken care of.
We all know that's a lie.
I'm afraid I will carry this with me forever. I'm afraid I'll always have to come back to fight this same battle over and over again. It's repetitive and exhausting, and every time I wonder what it would feel like to just stop fighting.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.
I don't think words are going to do it for me this time. I can't believe I'm even here still. To everyone else I make it seem like this was a far off problem that's been taken care of.
We all know that's a lie.
I'm afraid I will carry this with me forever. I'm afraid I'll always have to come back to fight this same battle over and over again. It's repetitive and exhausting, and every time I wonder what it would feel like to just stop fighting.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.
