Monday, November 1, 2010

Waste Of Space

Do I really care who reads this freaking blog?  Yes.  No.  Yes.  No.....MAYBE.  It's seriously making me angry that I can't decide.  I think this blog is so personal that it's scary for me to think about what others think about me as they read it.  I know they are thinking, "WHOA, this chick is nuts."  I know they are thinking that this is all way too much information.  Part of me doesn't give a crap about what they think.  Part of me feels that if what I write in this blog makes people think negatively about me, then I just sped up the inevitable and saved myself some grief down the road.  What if my therapist somehow found this blog?  I would be mortified if my therapist read my blog.  I wish I had been more anonymous in the beginning.  I was way too open with my identity and even posted a link on my facebook for a few minutes.  Does anyone from facebook read this blog?

The truth is, I am ashamed about what I write in this blog.  I am ashamed of who I am.  I am ashamed of how I've lived.  I am ashamed that no one wanted me.  I am ashamed that I grew up an orphan, totally alone and unwanted.  I am ashamed of how freaking crazy I really am.  I don't want to be ashamed.  I feel like my shame makes me crazier.  If I am ashamed of my whole life, how can I get over it and move on?  How can I get better?  I wish there was a shame switch that I could flick off.  How do I move on? 

Anxiety makes me an idiot.  It makes me jump to conclusions.  Anxiety takes away my ability to think things through.  It takes away my ability to rationalize.  When I get anxious about something I act impulsively and then ALWAYS regret it once the wave passes.  Why can't I just wait for the wave to pass before I act on things?  I hate this about myself.  It gets me into trouble a lot.  It makes me angry at myself often.  Right now I'm really upset with myself for making someone else feel bad for doing nothing wrong.  Why do I do this?  No wonder no one stays in my life for very long.  I wouldn't stay in my life either.  I wouldn't even be my friend.  I truly am a horrible person.  I just hide it really well.  I'm a sociopath.  I'm a selfish jerk.  I'm weak.  I am insane!  If people only knew what goes on in my mind...  I loathe myself, inside and out.  My life is a waste.  I am a waste of oxygen and energy.  My mother wrote me an email on Thursday, my birthday, that said, "Bad things only happen to people who deserve them."  In her mind, I have deserved everything that's come my way because I'm a horrible human being.  Maybe she's right.

Today at work I watched parents love on their children as they dropped them off at preschool.  Both fathers and mothers were so affectionate with their young children--hugging, kissing, with genuine love flowing towards their children.  It was sweet.  It made me happy and it made my heart ache.  I doubt any of these children will ever end up in foster care.  What makes these children more fortunate than others?  Why do they deserve all this love while children like me did not?  It's something I ask myself often.  It's constantly on my mind because I'm bombarded with images of family all day long.  I can't escape it.  l am flawed, unlovable, and unwanted. 

I feel like there is there something wrong with me.  What is therapy doing to me?  Before therapy I didn't care if there was something wrong with me.  I never thought about it.  Before therapy I didn't want a family, or at least I was convinced I didn't need one.  Before therapy I didn't think about this all day and night.  Before therapy I was fine.  Therapy is ruining my self esteem.  Therapy is not making me better.  It's making me worse.  I feel worse.  My anxiety is worse.  My nightmares are worse.  My self harm is worse.  I think about it more and act on it more often.  My panic attacks are worse.  My dissociation is worse.  I'm worse.  I understand that Therapy takes time, but I'm just not sure I have the ability to continue this way.  My brain is tired.  My emotional resilience has reached it's limit.  How can someone be so resilient as a child and be so fragile as an adult?  I'm not sure I believe my therapist when she says that I'm struggling today because I never dealt with things from my childhood.  It happened so long ago.  GET OVER IT ALREADY!  Just fucking move on!

I hate my therapist for encouraging me to cry.  Tears are stupid.  Tears are for the weak.  Tears never fix anything.  Tears only make you red, swollen, and wet.  I hate my therapist for making me cry.  I feel like I'm constantly fighting back tears these days.  I don't want this!  This doesn't make me better.  This doesn't fix anything. Tears don't make things easier!  I don't even know what I'm feeling.  I can't name feelings.  I can't say, "oh, I feel sad right now."  I'm an adult, I should be able to do this by now!  All I know is that these things called feelings overwhelm me.  I don't feel just one at a time.  I'm flooded with hundreds at once.  They weigh too much.  They create battles between me and my tear ducts.  I have no idea what my feelings mean.  I really don't.  I'm like a preschool child and need a chart to identify them, but even then I'm lost.  Feelings don't make any sense to me.  I want to feel nothing again.  I want to turn them off.  I hate feelings.  Feelings are not helping me.  Feelings are hurting me.  Feelings are pain. Feelings are overwhelming. Feelings are agony.