Things haven’t been going well for me lately but who am I to complain? Everyone in the world is currently adjusting to a new chapter of “life as we know it” frankly nobody’s got enough time to have to try & deal with my shit too.
You’d think I’d be able to put my mind on hiatus for a bit, shut the voices in my head up with an excuse me, we’re busy, in case you haven’t heard there’s a global crisis & we don’t have time to be crazy right now. Thank.You.Very.Much.
But it doesn’t seem to work like that. Try as I might to get my shit together and stop being this way, I just can’t. My head is messier than ever right now, I’m fucking up basic life stuff constantly, literally crying over spilt milk and I have no fucking clue how to fix it.
Intellectually I know nothing’s really changed in my household in over a decade yet I feel like I’ve suddenly been thrown into an unfamiliar war zone with no training and I’m surrounded by the enemy.
I can’t help but think this Isolation situation we all find ourselves in could be a dream come true if I could actually be alone.
Ha. I’ve never been alone, that’s purely an unachievable fantasy. Yeah, in admitting that I know I look like a self centred, ungrateful bitch who is lucky to have family with her and just needs to get the fuck over herself and appreciate what she has.
I know, I’m told constantly by some of those apparently-fake-but-feel-real voices in my head and they’re right. You’re all fucking right.
Funny, Judgement terrified the fuck out of me once but it’s become comfortable, familiar like a warm fuzzy blanket and it is so damn justified right now.
I need to be judged, I’m tempted to get on social media and start a war with a certain YouTuber who has caused a lot of drama for a near and dear community of people that really didn’t deserve it lately. I’m not going to dignify them by using their name here but I imagine some of you probably have an inkling of what I’m talking about.
I think I want to start shit with them because I want to be yelled at, I need to be yelled at. I’m craving someone telling me to get my head out of my ass and stop being an attention seeking fuckwit, I want them to tell me how fucking worthless I am and that I deserve to be hated, I want them to beat the living shit out of me because I deserve to be hurt and I absolutely deserve to die. Maybe she’d give me that, at least the first part.
Maybe I am just craving permission to kill myself because I need to somehow justify my desperate and pathetic ever present need to die in the face of on-paper bliss, permission might ease some of the shame and the guilt I can’t seem to get rid of.
When I look around right now I see a house filled with a ‘happy life’. Photographs of smiling faces, some that look like the reflection in the mirror I struggle so hard to relate to most days.
It’s filled with family, a Husband. Children, Animals.
They all seem to want me to be here, they all seem to need me for things but I feel like a stranger, an imposter. I’m not who they think I am.
I don’t want to be in this house, this life and I have no ability to give any of the people here what they need. Even simple tasks like the thought of cooking another meal or being asked another question makes me wish for the sweet embrace of death.
Yes, I know so many people would kill to have a family that loves them, particularly now. I know they’d kill to be healthy and safe for just one more day, and to those people I want to say that I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be a better person, I’m sorry that I can’t trade places with any one of them because I would do it in an instant.
I promise you I hate myself for it. The guilt of being such a horrible ungrateful person weighs on me like you wouldn’t believe.
I hate that I can’t ever completely let go of my past, I hate that my body can’t seem to forget the ‘traumas’ of my past, even ones my mind has blocked out and even though I probably just dramatically over reacted to shit that happened so long ago I can’t quit flinching and jumping and panicking over things that don’t make sense, things other people would have gotten over by now. But I’m weak and stupid and somehow the oily residue of past pain has seeped into every pore and stained my ugly soul.
I hate that I’m surrounded by a picture perfect fucking life and none of it feels like it’s mine, not physically, not spiritually, sure as shit not rightfully and it bloody hurts.
It hurts like hell, but not because I’ve suddenly become disconnected from my life, this is nothing new, it’s always been this way, this role playing of a wife & mother, this acting like I’m supposed to be here while I’m secretly praying I don’t get found out for the imposter I really am.
No the reason it hurts so damn much right now is because the more shit that happens in the world, the more I’m acutely aware that I’m not supposed to feel like this. I should be able to choose not to, to be strong enough to get over myself.
All those diagnoses and disorders and labels given to me by well meaning doctors don’t mean a damn thing if they were just humouring me, trying to shut me up or getting me to go away.
According to an apparent majority of experts, the only thing that ever explained why I felt how I felt, the only thing that made any fucking sense to me in a senseless experience apparently doesn’t even exist.
I know that all those bullshit stories I used to tell myself growing up as a kid, crazy ass explanations about how I’d ended up in situations that I didn’t understand, stories of time travelling, soul possession, twins absorbed in utero, aliens, fucking psychics and how it’s always, absolutely always my own fucking fault because of something I did, or didn’t do.
If you squeeze your eyes shut long enough then all that bullshit’s so much easier to believe than reality, than unexplainable pain, that there isn’t always a “good” reason or a “good” explanation for what happens to you. That sometimes people are just bad.
I hate knowing that I’m supposed to feel like I belong in the world, feel like I belong in my body, in my head because I just don’t.
I’m bitterly lonely in a crowded mind but I crave independence and solitude and it’s exhausting always being a walking contradiction.
It’s exhausting knowing there’s no good reason for feeling like this.
No genuine plausible scientific explanation for the way I perceive the world around me and how often and bizarrely it seems to change.
The reasons I had finally been given that made enough sense to keep me wanting to try, wanting to push forward a few more steps at a time I am told are apparently wrong, apparently impossible. Apparently more impossible than aliens, psychics and time travel. Which can only leave you questioning if there was ever any semblance of reality in anything at all.
What about this house, this family, are they real? Because it sure doesn’t feel like they are.
I’m so incredibly lost. So incredibly tired. Apparently I’ve fallen so deeply into a web of my own unconscious lies that I’m unable to discern fact from fiction and it’s bitterly obvious that there’s never going to be an escape from it now,
perhaps there never was, perhaps there never could of been.
The truth is irrelevant, my experiences denied as they’re impossible yet why do they still somehow feel like my experiences. How the Hell does that even work?
No matter how many times I try to end my pain, even to end my life, it doesn’t work. I’m apparently immortal, I know that’s ‘impossible’ too, but it’s a point I cant be proven wrong on.
I’m trapped inside a void of pain and desperation that it seems exists only inside my head but I still can’t flee it’s cage, the ‘actors’ that do my daily bidding are imposters, pretenders, they are so unequivocally not me and yet they say they are and people think they are, so somehow they must be.
None of it makes sense. I don’t make sense. Maybe I don’t exist after all. Maybe I’m just a figment of someone else’s imagination.
I want to apologise, voicing my desperation to hide, to be alone, to die all over the internet paradoxically makes me a dramatic attention seeking whore in a time the world needs people like me to shut the fuck up and go away, to just stop. There’s more important things to worry about.
But I still can’t stop.
I don’t want to be like this. I don’t. I want to stop so, so badly and the intensity of the shame that drowns me is unexplainable. I want to stop being like this, I want to dissolve into nothing and cease to exist (if I ever did) I want to just be forgotten, lost to the sands of time, lost to myself.
Though I guess, I already am.