Depression and PTSD have taken a part of me away. I am not even sure what that part is anymore. I know that I do not seem to have any energy, I remember the details of my traumas daily, and I struggle with things that others can do easily. I do not leave the house with the exception of therapy.
For some reason there are those that equate depression with sadness. It is so much more than that. It is like someone has completely darkened the space around you and then confined you into an even smaller space.
Cooking, laundry, showering, talking, and many other small things become absolutely earth shattering chores. With PTSD it is hard to hear triggers and try to do anything remotely easy. My cats are my support. As long as I pet them, they still like me. In fact, one of my cat’s is my emotional support animal.
There is not any medicine left to try at this point. I just need to work on my skills and try to do a little at a time. Sometimes it is very little at this point.
Most years, since 2004, I have gone into the hospital in September. I begin to have more nightmares and flashbacks. My coping skills seem to evaporate. Many times I self harm.
This has been one of the worst years. I am beginning to clearly remember things that were fuzzy. Instances of trauma have been verified. I feel trapped in my own skin without a way out.
Those closest to me have no idea what to do and are overwhelmed with what they are seeing. They want to help. I just cannot seem to catch the life preserver being thrown and at times handed to me.
For the first time in a long time I am scared how the rest of the month will go. I do not want to make a choice that will negatively impact those around me. For right now, everyday is a struggle.
How does one explain this feeling to someone else? Just existing. Getting up, feeding the pets and hopefully myself, and then going to bed. Repeat. Very little to no joy in anything that one does or happens.
Disconnected from everyone even while in the same room. Feeling like their is a transparent barrier between myself and the rest of the world that I just cannot break through.
I feel this way even with my therapist. In appropriate and predictable fashion, I am not going to therapy. What is the point? To be told that I will feel better is like telling someone that they can touch the stars. No matter how close they seem, that will not happen. The barrier is there as well. I just sit there in silence feeling uncomfortable. What is there to talk about that has not been said before?
It is not that I do not want to feel better. The coping skills I have learned seem to be ineffective. It is pure white knuckling at this point to try to get through the day.
A majority of the moving in is finished. Luckily, I have been able to go back to journaling and diamond painting for relaxation.
I have not wanted to leave the house. My therapist has given me suggestions and I am just so nervous to even try to leave. The new neighbors are friendly, yet I still feel like I do not fit in.
The feelings of self harm have crept back until they have become so strong I am afraid that I will not be strong enough to not act on them. I know what I need to do, yet my mind resists.
I worry that I will not be able to achieve the life and goals that I want. I worry that opportunities and the rest of life will just pass me by. I have to attempt to get out there and live life instead of just existing.
It seems like it was so hopeful that we were leaving this triggering neighborhood. No more would I see all those places with terrible memories. We even went to look at future homes.
I should have realized that it was not to be. Not with the way that my life has turned out. It would seem that the reality is that I am destined to live by my abusers. Maybe one day that will make me stronger. Today, it just makes me hopeless. My abusers will win again and have no consequences for their actions.
My safety is going to be questionable for a bit. It seems like their was a glimmer that things would change, yet the reality is that no one wants to live here. It is like it is cursed. My mind has to adjust to the fact that things will stay the same and that all of those places that hold memories of past abuse are still there to taunt me.
Over the years I have had many identifiers that I felt comfortable using. College graduate, stay at home mom, and returning student to name just a few. I did not question them. I knew who I was.
Today, I cannot say the same thing. I am not sure what identifies me anymore. Due to my mental illness, I did not get through 5 days in my field placement. I gave birth to three children., yet I do not consider myself a mom. One of my children has chosen to cut me out of their life and the two others barely see me. I feel like I do not know who they are even though I talk to them throughout the week.
After this falls bout of self harm, I have been left with scars that are very visible. I have seen people stare when I am out in public. I feel like saying at least I am still putting one foot in front of the other. I am not moving very fast. I have found that thoughts of self harm are coming back and I need to address that.
I am wondering where I fit in at this point. Who would accept me as I am these days. I feel damaged and unlovable. My defenses are up and I am leery of what others may think about what they see. This causes me to isolate and the entire cycle of feelings of self harm to begin again. What is one more scar to the many that I have??
Everyone around me is talking about Cinco de Mayo. They are excited about going out with friends and having a great time. Me, this is yet another nightmare that I had to live through. Another loss of a person that I could not get back. Actually, the loss of the first person that I was told that I just needed to get over and move on from.
Life just went on. No matter how bad or devastating something was there was not time to morn. Grief was not allowed. Today, that same grief still haunts me wherever I go and each year on anniversaries. Physically, I do not feel well. My stomach hurts and I can barely keep my eyes open. Mentally, I cannot focus and thoughts turn to dark places.
Yet, today is another day and no-one cares. There is not one person who can see the pain and agony on the inside. There are no physical wounds to show. There is nothing that is “wrong” for anyone to see. Everything is invisible. Once again, I just have to deal with it and go on like nothing has happened.
Another 10 hour day. My therapist has recommended noise cancelling headphones to try to decrease the irritation that I feel during the day. I am looking into them. Apparently, someone who I know has children who use them.
This morning sucked!! Resiliency. Yes some people have the ability to bounce back and think positively. What about those of us who for some reason cannot just “get over it.” I feel defective. Like I should just be able to magically get rid of all of the nightmares, flashbacks, sting issues, problems socializing, and all of the rest of the symptoms that I had. Why are myself and people like me looked at as weak, while they are looked at as strong and likable.
It makes me question the future. Will I ever have anyone who is willing to hire me? Can I even work when I get so irritated and hyper-vigilant around people. If I am hired, what do I say about children and family? There are no easy answers. There is no guidebook for having a screwed up life and then having to turn around and relate to those who have not experienced anything.
It feels like all of the hurt, anger, despair, and all of the other crappy feelings are just going to continue. I am not in a place to rationalize things. Being irrational is not good according to my doctors. I am “burning bridges.” Maybe I was not ready to make them in the first place. Maybe I am not up to that yet.
It seems like I spend a large part of my week sitting in waiting rooms. That is not including the almost hour drive to get to the waiting room.
One waiting room has classical music playing, there is a machine where you can get coffee or tea, magazines, and mints for grounding. The other waiting room is in the middle of a hall. It has one chair and that is all.
The experiences inside of the office are night and day. One is sterile and uninviting. There are so many walls up that I feel I cannot get through. The other is welcoming and willing to talk about what is going on with life. One is willing to share a little of themselves and the other is closed off.
I miss my former psychiatrist. She was interested in my art. She would laugh and she would be empathetic. She was willing to work with a patient and see where they needed to go, then gently guide them there. I feel lost without her. She would have celebrated my accomplishments and been there through the rough times.
The waiting rooms now have me hoping for something more. Some kind of reaction. Some kind of person. Boundaries are a good thing, yet to many keep you separated to the point where there cannot even be a therapeutic relationship.
I keep hoping that something will change, yet maybe it won’t. Maybe this feeling of loneliness will persist.