How boring, pathetic and self centered I must appear.  And how often did I feel that as a kid. “No one cares about what you want, think of [insert more needy/more important person/group” or just “others” is always a good blanketing guilt. 

Maybe I will just continue to create unhappiness and dissatisfaction in my life, so no matter what I have externally or what I change internally, there will always be me that it’s not enough for . 

I don’t recall a period in my life when I haven’t felt anxiety, disgust, self loathing and just managing to not let the overwhelming take over. There were certainly instances and times when I either didn’t feel it or was able to minimize it, but it’s always just there waiting, even since I got away from them. Perhaps that brain groove has been too well created and set. 

And let’s take a check, I really haven’t gotten away from them. I physically moved but they are with me every day, influencing how I live, they are still in me and a part of me. I don’t want that, but there is nothing I can do to extract them and what they did from me. 

Same old blab. 

Of course I am, but it feels like I’m not. ‘Coping’ that is. I always will until I’m not. 

I’m tired of my hopelessness and hopeless being. I want to give up as I don’t want to be this hopeless person next week/month/year. I can’t even be satisfied with my hopelessness. 

What needs to change and be different seems so overwhelming and not achievable. Both internally and externally. Too much to fix, too much I am not able to fix, and too much that is unfixable. And probably some that I’m not willing to fix for whatever reason. Maybe all of it because I’m unwilling; even that seems too much to change. 

Yep, hopeless downward death spiral – welcome aboard. 

Maybe my parents didn’t have such an impact on my development, apart from the obvious. We always seem to be looking for something, but maybe I just took things extremely. I’m looking for an explanation as to why I’m so disjointed internally. And why I can’t fix that. Why does it feel like I am one way externally and fit in to what is around me, but internally I am isolated and disconnected from everyone. And I feel guilty about that, which only adds to the separation. 

Sorry for the rant. 

I want to be able to know and see what I looked like. At least I think I do. However, I am also afraid of what I will see. What if all I can see is a hopeless weak nothing person. What if I am that and that explains what happened. I know thats not rational but if you could see me then, maybe it would make sense. And why I and others carried it on in my life. Thats why i want to know what other people also looked like. Was it obvious? Did they seem needy? Did they have an answer for why it happened?

I dont want to feel this disgusting, but I do. I dont want to be this fucked up and vile, but I am. No amount or type of therapy can change what happened and what that made me. It is so obvious and simple and frustrating. Of course that fuels the desire to desist, when there is no actual escape, still. Maybe other people can ‘get over it’ and ‘thrive’, maybe I missed something, because it seems to have permeated every part of me and effects everything I do. Perhaps I am lacking a particular skill or ability. More likely that it changed something in and about me. Sometimes I get so angry I want to throw it at people to get them to see me. Or to give them a valid reason to opt out or to dislike me.

Can you really not see it? Perhaps if you knew, it would become clearer. Of course, I am not able to do that. Trap #87.

I need people to hate me. I need you to hate me and agree that I am disgusting and nothing more than what he gave me. I’m not sure why? If you don’t hate me and agree with me, you don’t believe me. I can’t be believed, about anything, and not be hated.

Maybe hate is the wrong word, but then it is so the right word to describe the demonstration of despisement I feel i deserve.

It’s a similar tangle with hating my physical being and my body, and my struggle with exercise. If I have a body that doesn’t disgust me, one that I think I would like, what does that mean? That I’m not marked? That it didn’t happen to that body? That I have control over my body? But I don’t feel I have control, and I havent had control, and others have power, even if I did give it to them, either reluctantly or inevitably. Theres a reason to hate myself and for others to find me disgusting. If I dont and they dont, I’m tricking people.

Maybe I was already horrible? And if what he gave me is taken away, I’m just disgusting in  my own right, independent of him?

What did I look like then? I feel I must have looked a particular way, already disgusting and obvious, clearly visible on my face. People could see him on my face, what he was doing. Not in a literal way, but yes actually literally at times, that someone could see. I couldnt get it off. People probably could, how could they not. Walking around knowing that people could see him on me but let’s pretend otherwise. I can’t put words to say how people could see and what it was they could see; and I wanted to disappear and be sorry for what they could see and to make it go away. Of course that was when I was younger. As I got older, i thought I became adept at cover-ups and keeping the vile inside. In reality, it was mostly just below the surface, only a thin cover layer, with not much pressure from internal or external to expose it, inviting others to add to it, me doing my contribution.

Even ‘running away’ from my sister was weak, not that I should have stayed, but I didnt do anything about it, I thought she would be able to see it on me. See what I had done, whatever that was. And see the disgusting in what had happened and how I handled it. I didnt want to have that.

Insomnia and anxiety meets migraine. Yay. Additional nausea thrown in for good measure and to keep aching joints company. 

I can only see my failure. My attempts to strive and be something but always dragged back. 

I am not afraid of the difficult territory, or of challenging myself. I think I’ve been able to do that and face things and change. Perhaps that’s an incorrect assessment.  But I can’t change my past and I can’t live with it and what it has made me. That is fairly simple. 

That’s the pretending; everyone thinking I’m strong and capable. My past will always define me, even by default. By saying I’m strong means im not really much apart from what happened. It’s like everyone can see it, that that is all they can see, at the same time it can’t be seen, they can’t see it and therefore can’t see me. 

I am so trying to hold it together. 

It’s the soothing and peace of death which is so appealing. Of course,  there are other benefits, but not carrying the knowledge that I am not enough, that I am vile and broken and that I am not giving that to others, is appealing. And no mind fuck conflict. 

I cannot see the colour of the sheet. I can see it in my mind but I can’t see the colour. ???? Why? I see blood. I see my arm, I see my legs on the bed. I did it purposefully so why is it not there. What is wrong with me that I can’t see that? It’s distressing and frustrating and embarrassing and doubt producing. It makes everything invalid and I hate that. 

Who are we kidding. This is not sustainable. I am so tired. I’m so tired I cannot create a solution. I can’t do this, week in week out. I’m disappearing, which of itself is not the issue (the goal actually at times). Rather, it’s the process which is laborious and boring for all, and time consuming and self focused and likely futile. I cannot do this. It would be easier if everyone walked away and stopped pretending, although I understand how the pretending happens and people get stuck. But can they not see me? There is no place for me in their lives. Again, that’s ok but be practical and go. 

What seems to not being seen is what happened. I’m great at pretending and most people, if any, don’t know what I think or what is in me. We can therapy for another year, two years, ……and maybe even make some progress is some areas. But ultimately, I am still there, my experiences will never change and I can never get away from that.  And actually I get angry that that cannot be seen  or heard. Of course I have, and continue to, contribute to that. 

I’ve managed to neglect all of my friends now, I have little relationship left with them. A self-perpetuating cycle of actively moving away from them because I am embarrassed and feel worthless, and then feeling worthless for doing that, and then that demonstrates my worthlessness. M has been more persistent, but I think I have sufficiently frustrated, annoyed, angered and disappointed her now. If I’m going to feel so alone, why not just be alone and save everyone the ugliness.

Like being deep in a well and there’s a thin piece of rope lowered down by someone, but is there really any point in grabbing hold of it? The rope is not strong enough to lift me, I’m not strong enough to grasp the rope, I’m reluctant to grasp the rope because even previously when I have grabbed a handful of them I’ve only managed to climb a few feet before falling back.

I’ve read books, practiced self-improvement, done meditation, not drank alcohol, drank alcohol, exercised, not exercised, volunteered, got hobbies, almost vegan, I go to work, done therapy, tried to excise past events; and here I am.

I know Ing is frustrated and sick of me. I cannot give her what she wants or needs.

Staring at the screen with a whirling brain but struggling to grab any of the thoughts to form them into words.

Hot flushes, dizziness, vagueness, difficulty concentrating, sleepiness, hunger.

I really wonder as to the futility of it all.

Was my mother emotionally neglectful? I usually refer to her as being cold and not caring, but I have not really thought of it as “emotional neglect”. I’ve always had peripheral / fleeting thoughts of her consciously knowing what was happening and not doing anything. At other times, knowing she knew. It just seems like such a heavy label to put on her behaviour, and what does that mean for me? Was he emotionally neglectful? But he was also caring and abusing.

The darkness feels like being adrift and alone in the dark vast ocean, no light,  and no-one is looking. No-one knows I am missing. Every now and then there is a distant flash of light in the far distance. Then its gone. A week/month later, it flashes. Then its gone again. And any time it could be gone completely.