I woke up at my normal time but was able to go back and hold my love while he slept for 45-minutes before I had to get ready to go see my shrink. I am getting sad – he is leaving in two days and although I am disappointed in how my depression has affected this trip, I cannot imagine standing at the airport, saying goodbye once again. I know the tears will be flowing down my face. I will be alone again, in the town that is too far away from anyone and everything I know. Anything that gives me comfort. I hate this place. Ironic, isn’t it? I thought this would be my haven…
I saw the shrink this morning, and just as I predicted she was stone-faced as the tears filled my eyes when I spoke of my mother and her illness, the selfishness of my father, the change in the daylight that is making my head explode. She just sent in refills for my prescriptions and said to come see her in two months. I didn’t tell her about the cutting – why would I when she obviously does not care? If I tell anyone, it will be my therapist on Friday, but I don’t know what we will focus on in that session.
The next two days are going to be the hardest. I feel as though I am chained to this place. I have meetings lined up for times when I should be home, but have to accommodate everyone else’s schedule, so it fucks with mine. My heart is so beyond any of this now. I have no drive, no mission, no belief that what I do matters to anyone, so why put in the goddamn effort?
I am done in so many ways. Done with people. Done with living this lifestyle where we get jobs and are around people we work with more than those we actually care about. I spend my hours feeling constantly under attack, or unworthy or belittled in some fashion or another. Last night, my partner tried telling me again that I wasn’t in touch with reality. Fuck that. I shut him down immediately and told him never, EVER, to say those words to me again. I think any high-functioning person with a mental disorder knows that reality is skewed for them. They don’t need it crammed down their throats by those people considered “normal”. Sane.
It has been raining for weeks. It’s monsoon season and I am tired of the dampness. With my partner here, the one who loathes air conditioning, everything in the house is damp. He did cede to my insistence last night that we slept with the A/C on, as I cannot sleep if I am covered in a sheen of sweat.
All I want is forward motion. Something that tells me that something good is going to happen to my life. I want the universe to open up its benevolent hands and offer me something to change what is happening, and has been happening for the past 8 months. I consult my horoscope. I play with tarot decks. NOTHING happens. No matter what they say, day in and out, the same monotonous routine fills the hours. I need this. I am crying out to someone, anyone, to have something GOOD happen, where I can feel as if I have a purpose again and am not just a fucking cog in a machine, waiting for my inevitable death.
Because who will remember me when that day happens? If it occurred today, I have no offspring (by choice), I have no legacy to leave behind. I am simply full of anger and resentment and I have no one to express this to. They are either too wrapped up in their own dramas, or they simply don’t care. Do I need them to care? The way I feel these days, no. The way I feel these days is cutting all my ties and simply disappearing to an island somewhere where I can write and relax and get myself to a place where I am happy and there are no expectations placed on me – as has been the case for the majority of my life. I need to breathe again, and every morning when I walk into this building, I feel the life being suffocated out of me.
I want to break this cycle. I am so tired of feeling like a victim, but I don’t know how to fight back anymore. I don’t even have the energy. I slap on the facade of happiness as needed, but when sitting here in my office, all I can think about is how much I hate my life and how lost I am. I need a trail map. I need something to show me how to get out of this. But nothing is happening. No magic, no wishes on the stars in the night sky, nothing is making a difference. And it is so frustrating.
Because I know I am better than this. I am better than this place and certain people who work here. I know I am better than going home day after day and just hiding away, napping to try and regain my energy, my sanity so I can somehow face the next day of ennui. The only reason I am eating this week is because my partner is here. Otherwise, that wouldn’t even be a thought in my head. As another form of self-hatred, there is a part of me that would love to starve myself into nothingness. Like cutting, hunger makes you feel something – it makes you feel. And when you are as deep in the hole as I am these days, you simply want something to remember you are alive, and most of the time that comes out in self-harming ways.
What will I do after I say goodbye to him on Thursday? I do not know. I do not know if I will spend the evening carving new designs in my skin. I do not know if I will eat. I do know I will unearth the pack of cigarettes I hid before he got here and smoke half the pack. And I will keep writing, because it feels like the only release I have these days. The only way to get these feelings out, rather than having them develop into cancer cells in my body.
All I can hope for is that someday the sun will shine again. But until that day, all I can think about is the rip tide that is pulling me further out to sea, until no one on the beach will see me and eventually the scant energy I have left in my body and my mind will leave me, and I will sink slowly to the bottom of the ocean.
© Sorrow & Kindness