So far, so stuck. The world is a painting and the oil is constantly running never dripping, never running out. Still in a holding pattern, waiting, waiting, a small step forward back to waiting. I need to call about my second insurance card-still waiting for the pills. Benefits are almost exhausted, has it been a year? Reality is fucked. Panic attacks near daily. Severely impaired concentration, racing thoughts, violent intrusive thoughts, irritable often boarding on homicidal, and just out of my body. These limbs keep going numb, sometimes they disappear all together. The intrusive thoughts have gained definition with the start of my period and this surreal childlike glee sets over the feeling of crawling out of existence. Bleh. Spending my days echoing the living, breathing is sometimes my accomplishment. Things are moving forward, even if my mind says otherwise, and so I keep praying. Everything happens all at once and not at all.
28. It’s almost like a knife, but we’ll put that aside for now. I’m at a loss for words of importance save that with progress seems to come more loss. No matter I suppose I’ve perfected the art of losing. The panic attacks are worse as are most all other symptoms, but luckily my insurance has come through. Just waiting for it all to burn away. Here’s to another year and a new life-third times the charm.
I’m sitting lost, time has all but stopped yet my mind is racing. There is a hurricane inside. I’m hungry couldn’t eat this morning and I don’t want to say anything because we are at my dad’s I don’t want to go anywhere though we probably will have too.
Lately things have been… I’m not even sure how to explain it other than saying I haven’t moved. Time has all but stopped. I know it’s August, but it feels like February as though each day without having to think the thought I’m waking up for the first time on leave. The world looks like a painting from the moment I wake up, stoned when sober, lost perpetually though I’ve no idea how as nothing moves. Distressed with always knowing that the painting is not real hating that six a.m. turns to ten p.m. all at once. Intrusive memories/thoughts have been near constant seeing the events of my life again and again only this time seeing the golden thread so to speak. The tv snow vision that I was told was normal, the constant spilt attention, the rapid thoughts, the lack of feeling in my flesh, existing in eyes, and each memory from eyes, pov, not audience member watching myself, stabbing eyes with not knives. It’s exhausting.
I’m always so anxious. I don’t want to live. Thoughts flow through the mush that is my brain causing words to come out wrong. It’s like I’m speaking my dyslexia so frustrating, confusing, and all the more reason not to want to speak. I’m irritable, so irritable, I can’t take people’s shit I’m not even always sure it’s shit. Most of the time I feel I’m justified for being pissed, but it’s beginning to get to the point that when I don’t intend on saying anything I’m saying shit. I’m worried I may get myself hurt or worse that I’ll hurt somebody. I can’t find the motivation to do anything and since time is still there is no urgency. I just want to be done.
I’m high so I’m not distressed a bit sadden by the thoughts that have been slowly becoming clearer. Nothing is real even my memories feel like lies I’m so sure that certain things happened, things come up so clearly, and yet feel far distant as a memory of a book or movie. I speak and wild tales come out that resemble truth, but are just filler for a life unrecalled. My life feels all at once and not at all. I’ve memories, an existence that speaks to the creation of my history, but again it all feels so movie like. Is it normal to watch your memories like a movie? To see yourself move and almost unable of remembering sensory details, only seldomly feeling a participant in the frame rather observing myself through the film? All at once but not at all. Time moves for me, I know I age, and yet all at once a new born, a child, an adolescent, and immortal. This world is a dream that I can’t wake up from, reality a nightmare never changing, ever ageing, never still, but always moving. What’s the point of living when nothing is real? So many points to be sure, only few leaving me with hope, my mind is on even footing.
Where am I now?
Is this the same place I’ve always been? Is any of this real? Time feels like it has all but stopped though I know the days still pass. I have no sense of it other than the hours before sleep, before errands, visits, and the divide between feeding the Charles. I want to waste away, the only relief is when I distract myself from it all. That only further increases the symptoms of course. All at once everything is fine and yet everything is falling apart. My world is perfect and yet a wasteland.
I’ve no insurance, haven’t been able to see my therapist, and I’ve no motivation for anything. I finally applied for covered ca, and called my therapist to give her my update. Oh! I cut as well first time in like almost 3 years. Wonderful.
I’m lost. I’m floating. I’m not real.
Until next time…
I feel so empty right now calm on the outside as though I could smile and walk away from all of this. I’m up and down having intense panic attacks that result in the inability to move or speak for various lengths of time. The violent visuals are less, but the intrusive thoughts are fairly consistent through out the day often turning suicidal with no trigger. I feel am tightness in my chest when I’m happy that builds until I break or turn numb. If I go to long without smoking I become overwhelmed, anxious, and that much more likely to have a full body lock down. Those lock downs happen weekly working it’s way tip biweekly rather quickly. I want to die pretty much all the time, and though my faith has kept me strong the ups and downs are daunting. I’ve no insurance for the time being but Mitchell will be helping me figure that out though I’ve been without therapy almost a month… I need it I’m a wreck without a controlled place to get it out even if Dr Atkinson is annoying me with how far behind she is with getting to know me. I’ve been monitoring the depersonalization for a solid month now and I wake up that way… It’s basically my life and the more Mitchell and I have processed the more it all fits, but she doesn’t want me to be that complicated. She’s still hoping I’ll find the magic pill combo and turn into the patient she thought I was. It makes it hard to want to go because I become irritable, but she’s all I got for now. I need an honest to God assessment a full psyche evaluation, but I need insurance for it. Lately I’ve also felt like I don’t belong anywhere Mitchell does a wonderful job of making me feel home with him, but I feel so alien so surreal all the time and now that I know this isn’t normal I want to rip it out of me, but that would be death. I’m so lonely I want friends, I want to be able to trust people. It’s me, I’m the reason I have no one, because I can’t trust anyone. How do you trust someone when you can’t trust yourself? I feel so empty, so utterly mad, and I just wish I could disappear.
crying on the floor
the girl who gave it up
doesn’t live here anymore.
Face the same, body you claimed,
but the girl you knew is dead.
Ever changing, ever praying, ever lost inside this head.
Always bending, always shaping,
always creating how to live-
a dozen different colors
in this kaleidoscope of death.
Survival of the fittest-adaptation at its best!
Screaming liar, liar
pretending not to fall
a mind of changing colors
stained glass creates my walls.
Reality an adventure
mind adding to its thrill, visions sharp and vibrant angels always
at my heel.
Remember that I’m nothing,
no one, nor anything-
remember that I’ve fallen
there was never any me.
I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse to have identified what’s going on. To finally know that the way I exist is not how everyone else does, to know that nagging feeling that nothing feels real, the fact that I exist in my eyes just floating above this body, that my shoddy memory and so many other things aren’t normal. That I’ve lived most of my life depersonalized, derealized. The feelings that this life isn’t mine, that I don’t age or at the very least am ten years younger than I am make sense. Even the delusional period makes more sense it’s like the puzzle pieces fell into place, but still nothing feels right. It’s depressing. I want to hide from it, but the fact that the hiding is probably exacerbating the issues I have keeps it fresh.
I’m not doing well as much as I’d love to say it as much as I’m loving this day I’m not here. I’m in my head, out of my body, and away from my emotions. Clinging to the idea that I’m doing great and that everything is fine, because nothing’s ever wrong right? I’m not sick, none of this is happening, I’ll wake up tomorrow and everything will be back to normal. Even with that thought I find no comfort as my mind is telling me normal is high school right now or maybe not that far maybe just five years back? Did that all happen the way I remember? My brain tells me no, tells me that I never went to college that I’m not really living this life or any life that I’m just observing just a nothing floating watching.
I’m struggling to eat not because I’m feeling that bad about my body either, but because physically I can’t. I freaked out yesterday because I couldn’t eat, my dad bought us subs for lunch it sat in front of me and was left in his refrigerator so it wouldn’t go to waste proceeding to have an anxiety attack. I couldn’t think of a single food I could eat the mere attempt made me want to vomit, the nausea increased ten fold, and the lack of nourishment left me even more sick my whole body ached. Mitchell comforted me through it and through the power of pot I was able to choke down food. There was a struggle but once I was able to get the first few bits down my body commanded more. Luckily the resistance comes back quickly so it has stopped me from bingeing though honestly I wasn’t close to a binge. The truth is I haven’t been eating enough I’m thinking I’ve fucked up my bowel functions, my body aches, I’ve lost weight, hunger pains don’t exist only acid, bile, and the feeling of the body starving for nourishment. What the fuck am I doing to myself? Why can’t I stop?
I want to drown. I want to swim out to sea until my body gives out and the water claims me. This life is exhausting and I’m tired of living a life that’s not real, that’s not mine, when everything makes sense and everything screams nothing is real what’s the fucking point?
Not sure how to feel right now there’s a sense of relief, a sense of distress, and more exhaustion. I’m happy that I may have found the correct diagnosis though of course I need to talk to my doctors but reading the diagnostic information and the symptoms that belong with it it all just comes together. My whole life it all seems like it makes sense now, but it hurts.
I’m stuck. I’m tired. I’m just so fucking tired.
Everything takes too much effort, even thinking about killing myself, the thoughts come in waves; violence, blood, and death. So many twisted things I wish I didn’t have to see, and so many urges that I wish I didn’t have.
I feel torn between nothing, but torn all the same. I’m ambivalent unable to actually see either side. I keep having thoughts of absolution, wanting to drop to my knees and beg God to put me at Kushiels mercy. Perhaps that’s what I need, though, really it shouldn’t be a question I’ve required it for a long while now. M assists where he can, but there is no substitute for the mercy of the whip. I wish Catholics held onto that tradition, but like all the good of our faith humanity turned it into something blasphemous. So, I’m left basically licking my wounds. It’s a shame I’m too physically exhausted for sex as it can be a close outlet. Though, nothing could ever replace the cleansing of divine punishment and compassion.
I just want to disappear at this point I’m ready to bargain with God to let me start my days in hell early, but I’m not sure the humor translates.
As my beloved Samuel Beckett wrote; I must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on.