Just Swim, Damnit!

"Everyone's survival looks a bit like death sometimes."
- Andrea Gibson

Lately, it feels a lot like I've been pushed into the deep end of a pool without having any clue how to actually swim. I'm thrashing and thrashing, desperately trying to keep my head above water. Desperate. Panicked. Scared. 

A voice from the side of the pool calls out - "Just swim!" 

Just swim? No shit, Sherlock. Can't you see that I'm trying? I'm doing everything I can do to try to stay afloat. I just don't know how to swim. It's not that I don't want to. I'm not being willful or obstinate. I just don't know how to do it. No amount of shouting at me from the safety of side of the pool is going to make me suddenly able to quell the panic of drowning and magically swim to the safety of the steps. No amount of reminding me that it'll be better once I learn how to swim is going to make me live long enough to learn how to actually swim. 

"All you need to do is swim!"

I KNOW THAT! Don't you understand that I'm aware of that already? I know that's the goal - I know that's what will save me. I know what I'm supposed to be doing, and I know it's easy for other people. In fact, it frustrates me how easy it is for some people. The thing is, though, that doesn't help me LEARN how to swim. No amount of reminding me from the sidelines that swimming will save me is actually going to help me figure out how to swim - it's just going to remind me that I should know how to do this already. Someone should've taught me. But the fact that it's easy for other people doesn't make it any easier for ME. 

"Jesus Christ. Didn't you learn to swim when you were younger?"

Nope. Not even an awkward doggy paddle. Hell, not even a dead man's float. Nobody ever even tried to teach me. To be honest, it never really occurred to me that I'd live long enough for it to be an issue. Flailing about helplessly is the only move I've ever been able to teach myself. This dance of fear and panic has become a display of carefully orchestrated chaos. It's not pretty, but it's the only thing keeping my head above water. Nobody ever told me that learning to swim would be important - or maybe they just never cared. It's not that I haven't tried to learn to swim. It's just really hard to learn to swim when I'm spending all of my time and energy just trying not to drown.

"Just SWIM, damnit!"

You know what? Fuck you. I'm trying. Maybe if you weren't so terrified of getting wet, you could help me stay afloat while I figure this shit out. Maybe I don't need to actually be rescued. Maybe I just need some guidance and support while I learn to rescue myself. Maybe I just need someone who is willing to get in the water with me and keep me from drowning while I learn to swim - or at least someone willing to throw me a fucking rope. Fuck it though. I probably wouldn't grab the rope anyway. There's really nobody to blame but myself anyway.

"It's like you're not even trying!"

I dunno - maybe I'm not anymore. The thing is, I don't even know if I want to try to swim these days. I WANT to want it, but I'm tired of people shouting at me from their dry, safe spot by the edge of the pool. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of being too scared to ask for or accept help. I'm exhausted. I ache in places I didn't even know existed. 

Just let me drown already. 

Screaming into the Void

“It’s okay. Everybody’s survival looks a little bit like death sometimes.”

- Andrea Gibson

Therapist: "Hi! How are you?"

Chaotic as fuck, to be honest. Just feeling kind of spun out lately.

And it feels like none of it matters. To me or to anyone really. 

It doesn't matter how overwhelmed I feel. I don't even know how to adequately express how much existence just feels like defeat lately. 

It doesn't matter how hopeless the idea of healing seems right now. I'm a year into therapy and most days I feel like I've barely moved at all. Right now, I'm not exactly sure what progress looks like anyway.  

It doesn't matter how ill-equipped I am to even just minimally tolerate everything. I know, I know - just stop fighting the feelings! But not fighting with them feels less like acceptance and more like resignation lately. I'm not sure how to keep my "give-a-shit" alive anymore.

It doesn't matter that I can't just fucking cry like a normal person. I mean, is it really too much to ask for one normal coping mechanism? But even if I could cry, it would probably just trigger an uncontrollable spiral anyway because trauma is stupid and messy and unpleasant.

It doesn't matter how alone I feel on this journey. It's not about social isolation or a general lack of people. It's about trying to keep people from being impacted by my fucked-upness. I hate being a burden, but in times like this, I don't know what else to be. So I isolate because I don't want to hurt anyone else.

It doesn't matter that I can't just rest. Not emotionally. Not physically. My mind won't slow down and settle. Sleep used to be a respite, but lately it's been filled with nothing but nightmares. My chest is painfully tight and heavy with anxiety - and it just won't stop. I just want it to stop.

It doesn't matter that there comes a point where the only way I know to cope is to literally destroy myself, little by little. It just doesn't fucking matter. I'd rather destroy myself than anyone else. Other people don't deserve that. For some reason, I'm convinced that I do.

It doesn't matter how much I just feel like walking into oncoming traffic, as long as I won't actually do it. And if I won't actually do it, how much could I even be struggling? If I were really feeling that hopeless, I'd just shut up and throw myself in front of a truck already, right? 

It doesn't matter. 

It doesn't matter because I still get up every day and go to my job. I go through the motions and bust my ass at work and at the end of the day, I do a decent job. 

It doesn't matter because even on the days I've teetered on the brink of suicide, I still got up and did my job because that's what people expected of me. It can't be that bad if I can still function at work. 

It doesn't matter because my kids still get clothed and fed. They're loved and cared for. Even when I had an actual plan to kill myself, they were still getting clothed and fed. It can't be that bad if I'm not neglecting my kids. 

It doesn't matter because I can still appear functional. I can hide the broken parts. I always have. Even on my worst days, I still managed to keep it together "enough" to not really concern anyone. It's like slapping a bandage on a wound while I slowly bleed out.

It doesn't matter because I can survive it. Not well. Not without destruction. Not without risk and danger. No, when I say that I can survive it, I simply mean that I'll continue to breathe. My heart will continue to beat. But it doesn't mean I'll live. 

It doesn't matter because I'm too afraid of being seen as "dramatic" to actually be able to express how much I'm struggling. I've been conditioned my whole life to believe that it's an overreaction to actually feel anything. I feel ridiculous even writing this. Hell, I feel ridiculous for even just feeling this way.

It doesn't matter because I'm too afraid of being seen as needy to actually reach out for help. I'm too afraid of being left alone if I actually try to reach out to help and am met with indifference. I'm afraid of what it would mean for me if that happened. 

It doesn't matter because I'll continue to run myself into the ground to keep from being seen as weak. I'll keep running myself into the ground to keep people from worrying about me.

It doesn't matter because I don't even know how to let anyone see how much I'm struggling anyway. It's like a switch is flipped when I'm around anyone else and I'm suddenly completely unable to access anything that resembles actual emotions.

I don't even know if I really matter. I'm not even sure I want to matter anyway at this point. Maybe it's easier if I don't - at least for other people.

So yeah, I'm absolutely not okay. I'll continue to exist, but I'm definitely not okay. Thanks for asking.

Therapist: "So, same time next week?"

I don't fucking know if I can keep doing this to myself over and over again.

Me: "Yeah, same time next week.."

*sigh*

Bring it.