I've been having a really rough time lately. Life has managed to implode on me-everything that could go wrong has gone wrong and it's been hard for me to deal with. Even if I didn't have some problems normally, these past few months have been enough to break me, and they still could. I can see the surface, but I'm not out of the water yet..
Anyway, in case you weren't aware, I am crazy.
(Shocking, I know.)
Today's ramble is really focused on mental illness, and how that feels for me, and it is deeply personal and heavy as fuck so it's probably not a good lunch time read-or a good read period. This is for me, more than anything.(And You of course. I know, I know-why don't I just pick up the phone and call and tell you that I need you. I can't. I'm sorry. Remember the part about the crazy?)
Grammar is going to suck.
Capitalization will be sporadic, there will be a lot of hyphens and commas and I will look back on this and cringe later-but it's important I put this out and public so that I feel accountable to someone.
Yeah. Like I said.
I feel this great, great pressure coming down on me.
Yadda yadda.
I have been diagnosed with a couple of things- MDD, BPD, GAD, lots of acronyms in my psych profile.
Basically, they say that I get really sad ( hate myself and desperately want to stop existing) and really anxious (wear my teeth down to the nub and scratch down to the bone) and also I am really aggressive so when my self control isn't up to scratch I tend to inflict harm upon myself or others. I haven't been violent in a while and I'm really proud of that. Even in the depths of madness that I am finding myself in, I haven't hurt anyone, so cookies for me I guess. Fucking hell is the temptation strong though-there have been moments where the physical safety of someone in my presence depended on them getting the fuck away from me post haste. That I am not so proud of.
Other times I've found myself dwelling on the terrible thoughts of throwing caution to the winds and just letting it out-hurting someone, killing them maybe. And for what? Being a shitty customer, standing too close, trying to talk to me when I want to be alone, letting me down when I really can't handle it...breathing the same air as me, sometimes. How dare them, right?
Luckily, that doesn't last very long. The venom is fleeting. it burns out everything inside me for a few moments, my fight-or-flight response goes off and I feel it like a hood being pulled over my head, and as long as I can hold myself together for a short while, it goes away. I don't have the energy to keep that fire fueled nowadays. The sadness is worse.
Anger stains you like smoke. It will hang about for a while, but the intensity subsides quickly and you adjust to it, make room for it in your senses so that you can concentrate on other things.
Sadness is a typhoon. It sinks into the carpets and the drapes. It soaks through the baseboards and creeps up the walls, and before you realize it drips from everything you touch. You wake up one day soaked with it, and wonder at the curious quality it has of exhilarating you and exhausting you at the same time. Your thoughts feel sluggish and leave greasy trails as they track across your mind, yet your mind is racing. You feel the tide of this feeling build up inside of you and drown out every good thing you have ever felt. A voice starts speaking inside your head, one that sounds like you-that is you, steeped in grief.
where are you going to live what are you going to do how will we eat can we make it through this can YOU make it through this OH GOD who is at the door who is calling you don't answer it what about the animals how will i get to work or to school i have a project due this week and a test and i haven't studied FUCK is this normal werewolf stuff or are you having a miscarriage what if this is getting worse what if it's going to kill you how are you going to make it through this week WHY CAN'T YOU FIX THIS who do you think you are you look so pathetic you need to work harder you need to make this better ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE you're just making everything worse we're too poor to deal with your fucking bullshit GET UP GETUP RIGHT FUCKING NOW get over yourself you have to FIX THIS what are we going to do how did this happen
This inner voice starts to leak out into the real world. You mumble to yourself, repeating song lyrics or phrases from a poem that are horrible and hopeless and goddamn sad but they feel like psalms. You seek out every scrap of paper and you write-you desperately search for new words, new sentences to describe what is going on inside of you, hoping that when you find it, that perfect phrase, maybe you'll stop feeling like you're drowning. When you read these ramblings back to yourself, you see that you've just written the same thing over and over.
yesterday upon the stair...
The margins are full of doodles of eyes half lidded and lips gushing dark water and you cross everything out.
You don't sleep, because that damn voice, that record on repeat, won't give you a single second of peace. The longer you go without sleeping the worse it gets. You begin to feel pressure inside your head and behind your eyes, like you have too much blood in you
maybe if you drill a hole that will go away your hands shake and you can't read or write anymore because your eyes quiver inside your head and concentrating on something makes tiny white dots dance inside of your eyes. It hurts to have your eyes open. it hurts to be awake.
You still don't sleep.
Everything feels like it is covered in a thin layer of sand-too much pressure and the sting of tiny cuts. You wonder if it's sleep deprivation or werewolves, gnawing on your nerve endings, breaking things that can't be fixed. It hurts to exist. Every time you breathe-a sharp pain in your back. Your muscles ache, because you are taut like piano wire. You jump at every sound, every movement, and your brain jars inside of your head. The pressure increases. You turn your head and lose your vision, and simple tasks like kneeling turn your blood to ice that throbs in your fingers.
Your teeth hurt-you clench when you're stressed. The pain makes it hard to eat, but that's okay. Everything tastes cold and grey. After chewing, food sits in your mouth and congeals until the mere thought of swallowing is gag inducing.
You still don't sleep.
Now the voice inside your head gets angry.
look at how stupid you are how many times have you had to count that row fucking idiot can't you do anything right look at that stupid fucking face and oh look your hair is all fucked up again you look horrible no wonder he's looking somewhere else who could look at that every day and not get a turned stomach even your cats won't look at you get up off your ass and do something you useless piece of shit no wonder nothing goes well for you oh look she's tearing up fucking shithead is gonna ugly cry all over the place SHUT THE FUCK UP NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR ANYTHING THAT YOU HAVE TO SAY
Every moment becomes a fight to exist. You think to yourself "there's no way I can keep doing this. I can't handle it, too much for too long. If only I could lay down and be silent and still for a while".
And you still don't sleep.
You are full. Every second holds the possibility of curling up into a ball and never unfurling. You are constantly on the verge of tears. The voice has morphed into a stream of gibbering-no words anymore, just long high keening like a wounded animal. Sounds begin to itch in your ears like insects. You hold your hands to your temples, dig your nails in deep and press
hard trying to release the pressure and nothing happens. Colors and smells bleed together until everything is grey, and ozone and coppery blood.
This is when you start to talk to people. You tell them horrible things, personal things, everything. Your mouth runs without you and you tear yourself open in front of prying eyes. You tell them you hate them, and they laugh. You tell them you hate yourself and they laugh.
You are apparently very funny.
You tell them that you feel like an open wound, a nerve stripped raw and they offer you silly platitudes.You feel your heartbeat reverberate through your body, sending shocks like a live current.
You still don't sleep.
And then emptiness. You don't hear the voice anymore.
Everything drains out of you, leaving you hollow. You would feel relieved, if you felt anything at all. You go through the motions of your day to day life-your voice sounds tinny to your own ears, your face feels stiff. There is no inner dialogue, no inner filter. Every thought, every impulse is acted out. People still think you are joking, and you no longer care. You step outside and stand in the sunshine and remember that doing so used to make you feel happy. You feel the sun's warmth and those memories of contentment move over the void inside of you and get sucked up. You feel
it like a dying star, yawning deep and dark inside of you and swallowing up all of the things you're supposed to feel. You are not bothered by this. No bliss, no pain. Only one second at a time of disconnected interaction.
You still don't sleep.
And then the voice comes back, but it's not a part of you anymore. This whisper that used to harangue you night and day, lash you with your worries and your fears, now speaks only sporadically-and when it speaks it is cold and it comes from a far off place. It is softer, and lower, and you can barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat.
It comes in quiet moments, when you're driving or at work, or doing dishes at home.
'
if you turn into that embankment, it would kill you' it says, calm and nonchalant like asking about the weather. You tell it you're driving the wrong car for that, this one could run for a while yet.
'
you could stab yourself in the heart with that knife' it says. '
it would be tough to get past the sternum, but the blade is long enough' and also I hear it's going to rain this weekend...
'
there's a razor blade in the back room.'
How rude. Who would leave a mess like that for a coworker to clean up.
There's not outrage at this voice, no fear. It never tells you to do something, after all.
Never insistent, just there.
Congratulations-you have managed to undo millions of years of evolution. The number one drive of an organism is to stay alive. (Don't care.)
You are meaningless.
You feel the first semblance of tranquility you have had in days, maybe even weeks.
Now you sleep, six or seven hours of fever dreams.
When you wake up, the ride starts back at the beginning. Now you have a big whopping dose of fear to fuel your crazy fire.
what if i get to that point again and the suggestion I get isn't too inconvenient what if i hurt myself life insurance policies won't pay out on suicide what would he do without me would anyone else miss me nah probably not i need to get some friends ha what a fucking joke like you can do that...
Wind her up and watch her go.
he wasn't there again today...
You look up the suicide hotline and put it on speed dial.
You wait, hope that was a one time thing.
Of course it wasn't-
you think you're that fucking lucky?
Rinse and repeat, for months.
Yes, I'm going to counseling. I'm back on my meds -again- and it will help. I've been around this block before. I know that therapy and chemicals will sort out all of this shit all up in my brain parts but I also know- and any therapist will tell you this- that
it will get worse before it gets better.
I don't know if I have that in me.
It's a long fucking climb with no ropes and no supplies.
I don't know what to do anymore.
