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.
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