Stay alive and die or take my life and die…?
Is there even a reason to stay? These thoughts get louder and louder and louder as the days go on…it’s a fierce battle within…question upon question…and I can’t get the volume to turn down. The pain is intense. I can’t turn it off. I don’t want it anymore. I’m tired. I’m alone. I’m dying inside. It’s slow and agonizing. Torture. This is hell. This must be hell. How do I get out of here?
I find it hard to understand how I will ever be able to escape from this madness in my life. It permeates everything. EVERYTHING. “Keep fighting.” “Keep going.” “You’ve made it this far, don’t give up now.” WHY NOT? What am I even going to gain in this battle I am in? There’s nothing to gain. I have lost so much already and will continue to lose. What is there left to fight for?
I don’t even know how to live a normal life. I don’t even know what normal is. My normal is messed up, twisted, hard, pathetic, exhausting, and hopeless. I’m afraid I won’t even recognize “normal” if it hit me upside the head. And who defines normal anyways? What am I striving for? My whole life others have been defining my normal. Do I have a normal? Do I even get to make that choice ever as to what my idea of normal is and live it out?
I’ve never had choices. I’ve thought I had choices but I’m eventually reminded that what I wanted or desired or felt didn’t matter, only what others wanted of me, that’s all that mattered. That’s the extent of my worth. That’s what I’ve been taught. Over and over and over. I have no say in my life. I never have.
I want my life returned back to me. Is that selfish? I’ve been told I’m selfish when I fight for a voice or want to do what’s right for me. I want to make my own choices and choose what’s best for me. I guess that sounds selfish, but I don’t see how sitting through this agony is best. I don’t see how I’m useful or contributing to this world. I want to go. I want to get out. I want peace. I want quiet. I want the pain to stop. I want the nightmares to end. I just want to sleep. Forever.
I’m not living right now. I’m dying and I’m giving up. I’m going to die anyway. I will die someday. Right? So why not die the way I choose to die? Why go through this torture and live in this hell? Can I at least have that choice in my life? Probably not.
I had a conversation today that left me feeling weird. Unsettled. Like I was more stuck than I actually felt I was to begin with. I can’t pinpoint exactly what spun me out of control. In my world of chaos nothing seems to make sense. I try to process and address the issues that come up. But then something else barrels in that throws me off balance that I wasn’t expecting and I need to reprocess everything again. To make sense of it or try to understand, even if there is no way to do that. This sounds very vague, I know, but I want to believe there is someone out there that understands exactly what I’m saying.
Why is this a bad thing?? Trying to understand trauma and process it is hard. Especially when you don’t always believe yourself or have confidence in your own memories or experiences, past or present. When I have been taught over and over and over that my reality isn’t true, perceived correctly, or am manipulated to think my life is normal and nothing is out of sorts, why should I just assume when you tell me it’s not, or something that happens “was totally expected,” that your voice is the right one?
Because I didn’t expect it. I didn’t know it was going to happen or that it follows the pattern of abuse because I don’t always connect it as quickly and I don’t want to believe this is happening to me. I’m still learning this, remember? Why does it feel wrong for me to want to be sure about something before believing what you tell me? Why downplay my feelings in the moment and say something dismissive like I just need to “move on” or “focus on me?” Aren’t I doing that by trying to gain understanding? Is it really that hard to listen to me process out loud or revisit something again?
Maybe I just need to hear over and over and over that I’m not crazy. Maybe I need to hear more than 5 times (or 100) what the pattern of abuse is and that’s what was happening again. Maybe I need to hear it like it was the first time hearing it. Isn’t that how I learned to conform before all of this chaos began to emerge? Maybe it will take me 5 years of hearing this to really believe it when that information competes with 40 years of learning and hearing something different. Maybe I need to stay in this spot a little longer before “the next step” in my healing so I really understand what has happened and can begin to accept it because I feel really confused and unsure right now about everything. So why would I move to the next thing when I’m not even sure where I am in this moment?
Maybe after having a brain scan that verifies and validates I have trauma markers from the past and present was really a lot to absorb when all along I’ve been trying to find ways that I was wrong that this all existed. Maybe I need more answers to my questions about that because a ten minute explanation wasn’t really enough. Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that I feel like I was hit by a truck two times this week, even though what happened in the first incident and what I learned in the second were both “expected.” But it doesn’t mean that it is as easy for me to move forward and move on as it is for you.
I still have voices in my head that yell at me from the past. And they still yell at me in the present to try and maintain control of me. I’ve just learned to recognize these voices. I’m still learning that maybe those voices are not what I’m supposed to be listening to or following. It’s a process. It’s my process. Sometimes I just need to revisit and reprocess and think about it again. Not because I’m trying to spin my wheels and stay stuck. But because I’m trying to spin them out of the mud, and sometimes that means moving backwards to reposition the wheels so the treads can grip something new to pull me out.
A violent bloodbath occurred in my entire inner being and my heart exploded into tiny, painful shards of emptiness as I hugged my son and told him with as much sincerity as I ever have that I loved him. I couldn’t even feel the anguish that was pulsing through my body because the intensity of this feeling was just too much to handle…it had been building up for weeks and I have been forcefully pushing it down each time it welled up. I knew if I looked him in the eyes I would lose the tiny shred of control I had left in me. I lowered my gaze and turned and walked away, heartbroken and empty.
I have an incredible sense of insecurity in all of my relationships. It seems as though every important being I have given the entirety of myself and all my trust to has turned against me with hurt and rejection tenfold. The few that have nurtured me, and I am invested in and proud of, I hold very close to me with a white knuckled death grip of determination to not lose the tiny bit of good that I receive from them in my life.
I fear I cannot handle any more loss in my life. And while this occasion was supposed to be one of happiness and joy, expectation and excitement, adventurous and liberating, it has left me, unexpectedly, with such a sadness that I can’t even describe. I wasn’t expecting this. I’ve been fighting for him to get to this point, unscathed and in one piece; advocating for him and his ability to grow in his maturity, character, young adult wisdom, and wit. But amidst all that, all I want to do is crumple to the floor in despair at the thought that this baby of mine is gone, off to conquer the world and do great things.
Selfish me has a hole inside that needs to keep this precious one close so that hole does not spiral into an abyss of darkness where I fear I cannot get out. I can’t bear the thought of losing one more person in my life that I have loved so unconditionally. In my world of insecurities and uncertainties I want the relationships I have confidence in to stay close to me. It’s too hard to let them go when they are the only ones that keep me going in the midst of all the rest that break me down and kick me into a state of motionless defeat.
My children are my lifeblood. They keep me alive. I am so proud of them and who they are, even when they aren’t the greatest they can be. I love them with all of my being, even when I can’t find love for anything else. I am so proud and in love with this young man but so sad about this change and emptiness I must endure as he goes out and discovers the world with his own eyes without me. I didn’t think he would be the one who broke me down like this but I should have known…it’s always the ones I least expect that do.