Tw: self harm, suicide
Sometimes I look back at the last 3 years, when things started getting really bad.
Most days it feels like none of it really happened. That this is all in my head. Stories that I made up.
Some days it really hurts.
I’m either suffering from complex ptsd or I’m borderline. The symptoms are the same. The shrink at the hospital told me that I was borderline… And then there’s that.
The way she treated me thinking that I was borderline. Like she couldn’t believe a word Id said. I felt all her guards up around me. To others, she was the nicest person ever.
I wondered about that for a while. Then I met my friends wife. She had recently graduated as a doctor. We spoke about mental illness and she said that personality disorders are the worst. Those guys look normal but they are so manipulative and disturbed. I mentioned that some borderlines can be nice and they just attack themselves (as I do, I identify as quiet borderline) and she said that those are the worst because they’re covert. That borderlines are worse than narcissists.
My research suggests the opposite. That borderlines can be nice, they’re just hurt. It’s like they’re emotional skin is covered by 3rd degree burns and any touch causes agony.
I think back about all the therapists I reached out to for help. The ones that blamed me. The ones that told me I was fine and I should go home.
It’s the burden of being highly functional.
Because I can enjoy driving to the beach, I’m not depressed.
Because I can wake up and go to work, I’m not in any pain.
I remember begging one for anti depressants at one point cos I couldn’t do it anymore. I was barely functioning. I didn’t want to go to work. Breathing hurt. And she told me that I wasn’t depressed, that my depression was situational and I needed to fix the situation.
Like it was easily fixable.
I was stuck in a relationship with a sociopathic narcissist who had destroyed everything I believed in. I was stuck in a job with a boss that was bullying and tormenting me. I was struggling with a family who didn’t know a thing about me and had just learnt that my childhood was emotionally abusive.
But my pain was situational.
When I overdosed on pills, everyone told me that it was just for attention.
How is that a thing that doctors and nurses and people working in a psychiatric clinic can say to you? How do they not see how invalidating it is? How do they not understand how hard it is to get to that point to cut yourself and swallow tons of pills and injure yourself in a way that could lead to permanent damage? And then they say that it was just for attention. They tell u that you’d never actually do it. That you’d never be back in a place like this.
That morning before I overdosed, I went to see a psychiatrist at the clinic. I told her I was suicidal. That I couldn’t go back to my life. That I needed to be admitted into the clinic.
She told me that I was fine. That maybe there’ll be beds in a few days time. That I should come back in a week.
And when I went home and couldn’t handle my life and took a whole bunch of pills, she looked at me with a type of disappointment… Like look at you just trying to get your way. You don’t belong here.
But I did. I was so broken. There was nothing left of me. Most days, it still feels like there’s nothing left of me.
I can’t remember the last time I felt joy. I’m so good at pretending to be happy, at faking this life in which everything is okay, that all my pain just feels like a lie.
It feels like it doesn’t belong to me. I made all this up. It’s not important. It’s not traumatic enough. I don’t deserve peoples attention and love and kindness to help heal my pain because my pain isn’t real. It isn’t enough to deserve love and kindness and care. It doesn’t deserve help.
My pain is just a burden. I am a burden. I don’t deserve compassion.
I don’t know how to stop being functional. I go to therapists and I try to tell them everything but I smile and I rationalize everything and it all makes sense and they tell me that I don’t need therapy, I’m fine.
My recent therapist told me this in January after I’d cut myself again.
The truth is I’m struggling. Most days I’m drowning. I’ve spent most of the last year and a half, crying and wishing that I wasn’t alive.
I isolate myself all the time. I disassociate. I detach. I can’t get close to anyone.
My ex keeps calling me. Somedays he sucks me back in and I have to go through all the hurt and pain he caused and get myself out again.
Then I tell myself things like he never hit me. That no one will love me the way he did. That this is as good as it gets for me cos I don’t deserve any Better.
And I look at my life and say, see, look at how alone you are. Look at how you’re fucking up every other new relationship you try to maintain – your new boss, your new colleagues, your family…. Look at how none of them are around. Look at how they’ve all given up on you and they’ve only known you for a year and a half.
My brain never stops.
There’s days that I wish I could just give up. When it hurts so much that the only way to cry is in screams.
No matter how self aware I am, it becomes this battle between my rational mind and my borderline mind and the ptsd.
And I’m over therapy. All that money wasted on people thinking there’s nothing wrong with me.
People who still keep me coming week after week to take my money and tell me that I’m fine.
I thought by now I’d have healed a little bit. I have. I don’t feel like I can’t live without my ex anymore. I don’t feel like I’m nothing without him.
So there’s that.
The spirals are further apart.
And I’m trying to be more patient with myself.
Even though I’m 32 and believe my times run out for the man who loves me and the happy family life…. I still yearn for it.
My bro just had a kid and his wife is really great…. They support each other… And I want that. But I really don’t believe I’ll ever get it.
It’s not in my cards.
My cards had this.