Wednesday, January 5, 2011


There are so many people in this world who don’t want me. There are so many people in this world who constantly break my heart. My biological mother writes me emails and in the past she sent me handwritten letters in the mail. Her letters are only written to tell me how much she hates me. She writes to let me know that she doesn’t love me. She writes to hurt me. Former foster parents contact me occasionally. It’s so hard to hear from them. It’s so hard to hear from people who didn’t want me as a child. It’s so hard to hear from people who wanted to be my family at one time and then changed their mind. My former foster mother, Maggie, has been sending me emails and text messages. Her most recent emails have left me struggling to make sense of it all. Why would she throw me away as a child, then come back into my life telling me how much she loves me and that she still thinks of me as her child and then tell me not to contact her anymore when I ask for answers? Why do people keep doing this to me? When I think I’ve gotten it all under control and I’ve gotten over something I fall apart all over again. How do I manage to screw things up so easily in life? How do I manage to push everyone away without even trying? I wish I knew what was wrong with me so I could fix it.

Sometimes I wish I could just sleep forever. I wish I could just go to bed and never wake up. I can’t sleep at night, even with the help of sleeping pills, but I can’t get out of bed during the day. I don’t actually sleep much during the day either but I can’t make myself get out of bed unless there is something I have to do. Nothing seems worth the effort. I didn’t leave my apartment at all today except to take my dogs out. I walked my dogs and went back to bed, then only got up to walk the dogs again. Before my girlfriend came home from work, I got up and changed my clothes so it didn’t look like I spent the day in bed. Sometimes having a job with such a strange schedule isn’t good for my mental health. It’s hard to pretend that life is great when you have nothing to do.

I’m not sure keeping this blog is good for me either. I can’t decide what I want to share on this thing. I can’t decide what is over sharing. I want to pretend that I don’t care what people think about me, but I do. Blogging boundaries are hard to establish and follow. I want to be interesting but then I mostly want to write for myself. I try to only write for myself, but then I get myself in trouble by posting things I’m not really ready for the world to know about me.

I keep waiting for my life to start. I’m waiting to stop struggling. I know it’s up to me to make my life better. I know it’s up to me to stop struggling, but I just can’t seem to do it. I don’t know how to do it. I know I am the one who makes my own life hell. I am the one who chooses to be depressed. I am the one who chooses to dwell. I am the one who chooses to carry everything around all the time. I want to put down all those things that shouldn’t bother me anymore. It all happened so long ago. Why can’t I just get over them already? I want to stop carrying around so much all the time, but at this point I think those things are stuck on my shoulders. Those things have grown into my flesh. They’ve become part of me. Getting rid of anything has become so painful and so scary. I’m afraid to let go. Even though they hurt, they also protect me. They have been my armor. I will feel naked without them. Maybe it’s become impossible to let them go. Maybe they have become part of me forever. Maybe I’ll never stop struggling.

One of my biggest fears in life is falling into severe mental illness. I don’t want to become my mother. I don’t want to become my sister or brother. Is that my future? Am I destined to become my biological mother? Am I destined to lose my sense of reality? Will my heart always be this broken?