Sunday, February 12, 2012

What's it like?

The idea of loving life is so foreign to me, as is the idea of loving myself.  I try really hard, because I know I'm supposed to know that I'm a good person and worthy of love and life.  I know I'm supposed to feel that way.  I really want those feelings.  It's kind of like shopping for trendy super skinny jeans in a very exclusive and expensive store.  Every time I try to squeeze myself into these attractive values, I end up feeling worse about myself.  I end up feeling unattractive and worthless.  I end up feeling like a loser--worse than I did before I went to the dressing room.

Like the DBT mantra, I desperately want to have a life worth living and I've tried so hard to find a way to do that.  I'm not really sure I'm worthy of a life.  I know it's not acceptable to blame myself for the things that I do.  I know it frustrates people how much I hate myself.  I know it pisses people off when I just can't seem to change those feelings and the urge to beat myself up.  The hatred I feel for myself is so intense.  I hate myself so much that all I really want to do is kick my ass.  I want to punish myself for being such a fucked up piece of shit.

Everything that I've lived through in my entire life has reinforced those feelings.  My life has proven myself right time and time again.  I deserve the horrible things that happen to me.  Zealie did not deserve to die, but I definitely did not deserve such an amazingly beautiful little loving creature.  She deserved so much better than me.  My sister deserves someone who knows how to take care of her.  Someone who knows how to handle her illness and keep her safe.  My girlfriend deserves someone better.  She deserves someone who isn't always depressed.  She deserves someone who is totally sure and secure in who they are.

The truth is, I hurt everyone I love.  I am being totally honest and sincere when I say that. I hurt people and push them away.  I can only keep up the "normal person" facade for so long and then I act like a lunatic and tell people to fuck off, in a much less vulgar way.  Then again, maybe it's not any less vulgar.  I just don't know how to be a normal, healthy, decent, happy person.

Not my legs
I hate myself.  I honestly, truly, hate myself.  And I feel that hate with such passion.  It's so painful.  It hurts to hate myself.  I hate myself so much.  It's easier when someone else hates you because you can say it's their problem, but when you hate yourself, there is no one else to blame it on but yourself.  The only opinion that matters is my own, and my opinion is full of venom and hate.

Since I got my cat killed, I have been cutting a lot, but it's been taken up a notch.  I've been cutting my legs and then punching those deep cuts as hard as I can.  And I do mean as HARD as I can.

Not me
The cutting doesn't hurt enough.  I want to feel the pain she did.  I deserve to suffer like she did.  It's much harder to punch my arms, but I've been doing that too.  My desire to stay out of the house and avoid the pain at home has changed.  I am almost incapable of leaving the house.  I've been been taking a lot of drowsy liquid medications, my own sedatives, and a crap load of wine, all in an effort to induce a kind of coma.  I literally cannot leave my bed and the self medicated coma.  The coma is an effort to escape my feelings, the cutting and self beatings, but also to protect the people I care about from the intense thoughts and desires about calling it quits, from calling in sick to life.  From putting myself down.  I really do want to die.  I sincerely have no idea where I am going to find the strength to keep going.  I know a lot of you are thinking, "come on, it's just a fucking cat."  But it's not just a cat.  She was a huge part of me.  When I was feeling so alone and desperate I used to scoop up my little kitty, flipping her over in the process and bury my face into her little soft body.  She was so happy to be held.  She would purr and purr and purr.  All I had to do was look at her and I'd get a little acknowledging grunt and immediate purring.  She was my living teddy bear.  She was my best friend and now she's gone because of my own stupidity.  Now I don't have anything to comfort me and I hate myself so much more for her death.

What is it like to want to be alive?  What is it like to look forward to the future?  What is it like to believe you will have a future?  I have no idea.  I don't remember ever feeling hopeful for the future.  I used to create these super extreme and lofty goals for myself and work so hard, all in an effort to escape the little muse that whispers thoughts of death and peace in my ear.  Her whispers are now screams.  My brain is screaming at me to end all my suffering.

Everyone keeps telling me how strong I am, but they only think I'm strong because "I'm still here."  If I kill myself, will I no longer be a strong person?  I don't want to be a survivor anymore.  I seriously have to keep myself in a self medicated coma to keep myself alive because I am not sure I will have the strength to do it anymore.  I can't think about anything else.  I can't do anything but search on the internet for the best methods and ideas to hurt people I care about less.  I don't want to feel this way.  I want to want to live, but I've been searching for a way to do that for more than a quarter century.  

I don't want to hurt anyone, but I don't want to hurt anymore either.  I'm not sure I'm strong enough to fight the urge anymore.