God – stop*  WHINING  you stupid brat! Let’s look at the facts:

Don't you feel worse now than you did before? I know how to help you, you don't need them.

Doesn't the cutting help you? Don't you feel better now? Watch the  blood  flowing. Look at the color contrast of the dark blood making a river down your skin. Beautiful!

I’m here with you so stop whining! Brat! Are they here? No, they aren’t, are they? Just me.

I’ve told you a 1000 times that therapy is a crutch! You don’t need it! They doesn’t really care about you, you know that, right? If they did, they wouldn’t forget about you. Don’t you see that?

Let me say this to you one more time! Do not let anyone  EVER  get close enough to hurt you!

***!  You left them a message that you were upset, needing to talk and they didn’t even call you back! That’s  “care” ? That’s more like, Good God, do it already and stop talking about it! (BTW, if you want or need my help with that just let me know…I already have it all planned out.)

Yeah, you keep thinking they  “care”  about you. Keep the blinders on stupid!

Let me say this again:  YOU DON’T MATTER!  None of us do! We never have and we never will! And if you believe that you do – well, you’re even dumber than I thought.

And yet you continue to think that they  “care”  that they can  “help”  you.

You listen to me little girl, they do not care about you! You are not worth that!

Stop crying you stupid twit! You know what? I think you should just do it. I mean, really, you know you wouldn’t be missed. Think about someone other than yourself for a change - and what a grand present for them. Imagine the sense of relief they would feel. Then they could be  “real”  and stop pretending to care about the uncarable!

Just stop whining about it and do it already!  *BABY!

There are many things I cannot speak aloud, but writing about my fears, anxiety, and sadness seem to bring me closer to them. Seeing them on paper somehow makes them more real. I don't know why that is. When something troubles me, I seem to bury my words in a hole and cover them. My emotions are too strong and highly strung for me to word them sufficiently at a moment’s notice. My brain is not equipped to process the instantaneous rawness I feel. Wonder what is wrong with me and I will be unable to tell you, my mouth will remain silent. Even though my mind is screaming at me, my tongue will cease to work. I'm unable to voice my thoughts, unsure of the purpose. But writing, seeing my thoughts on paper, allows me to voice my opinions and insecurities with confidence and with purpose.

I have always been private about my grief and my feelings because I did not want to show I was weak. It is a force of habit to keep secrets, a habit I developed long, long ago. I was never one to trust easily, I never let my guard down. I was not always silent, but no one heard me. There was a time when I was a child crying and needing my mother's attention, but I never had the courage to ask for it. I never got to the point where I felt I had the right to ask. The same holds true of me now.

But through my writing I can guide through the rooms of my past. And I can allow you to see the shame and embarrassment on my face as we step around the images of the memories best forgotten. I can pick up the harsh old photo albums full of black and white pictures, faces you have yet to see, words you have yet to hear, memories I have yet to remember. I need help prying open the leather bound covers, seizing together stubbornly, trapping the faces of people and the images of times I try to forget. The photos reveal my family, everyday achievements, insane images that make me recoil, morbid times that fill my eyes with tears.

And as I continue to write my thoughts, I hover at the shrine of those in my life, their own set of memory albums and images project through me. I recount their loss, their story, and salty tears swim down my cheeks. Tears of sorrow and rejection tears of pain and suffering. I sometimes feel my hands tense, my muscles go rigid, I sob in self-pity but then smile remembering that they are just that- memories, never to be relived. At times the air is thick with raw emotion, vulnerability on the highest level.

I don't count myself lucky for all that I have lived and seen. At times I feel all rationality and normalcy slip through my fingers like sand pouring through each digit; the air thick with uncertainty and indecisiveness. And yet, the grass still grows, and the sky is still blue. My words still have meaning and beauty still exists. But my silence overwhelms me, forming words no longer achievable. I should be able to walk away, but the fear of not knowing what may be waiting for me is too much.

As I walk along this road, curves and crossroads slow me down and thoughts of past experiences flash before me, panic settling into my chest. I try to live for today but what about tomorrow? How can I stand tall enough to see the future when the barricades of yesterday haunt me into submission? I step forward, my mind temporarily strong, until the point when the nightmares of the past wash me in dread and nauseating self-doubts. The past creeps up behind me, its cold breathe breathing down my neck, paralyzing me. Occasionally I feel someone grab me and guide me, the grip of their fingers giving me strength and certainty. And spirits are lifted to see beyond my past, and I know where my road leads.

Someone once told me life is about faith and second chances. I believe that. And so I try to keep my eyes focused on the sky so I can see the sun when the clouds separate. Then the torrential rain of my inner turmoil will stop and it will cease to drench me in pain, and I will be dried in a towel of contentment.

Someday......

Each night it takes a tremendous amount of effort not to completely lose it...or hurt myself. I want to be numb…I NEED to be numb in ways that I can’t explain. Sometimes I can catch it on the cusp but most nights it hits me out of nowhere and pummels me, pinning me to the ground and restricting my breathing. I become engulfed in a fury of emotion and I wonder if I am even real.

At night, when the trauma thinking takes over the 5 year old struggles so much...she panics and desperately wants to call anyone, someone to talk to and hear her voice…any connection so she will feel safe somehow. The world is too big…too frightening and she just wants to feel safe. I don’t know what to do with her. I don’t know how to help her so I just let her cry and struggle…there’s nothing strong enough inside of me to keep me from slipping away. All I feel is pain…no one else can feel it…no one else can see what I see…it isn’t real to anyone else. I’m not real to anyone else.  No one.

I am not real anymore.  And I’m scared because I don’t know what the next step is…and it is nearly impossible to navigate my way through this with a broken GPS system. I keep thinking about my relationships. Looking back I think that I was so selfish...but then again, how could I trust anyone with that part of me? And so I felt like I had no choice. Now because of all that has happened I find myself hiding from people because I am not sure where we are now..and because I no longer think they can tolerate any type of harm that I may (unintentionally) cause myself...and I fear that they will over react to what I think is a normal part of this process due to the overwhelming trauma voices that take over my brain and react in bizarre and maladaptive ways.

I have done better lately but I still don’t think I’m good enough to stay out of harm’s way 100% of the time. And what happens the next time I become unstable and lost my ability to maintain myself in a safe way? I need someone to respond to me, connect with me, but not over-react…but I’m walking on a thin black sheet of glass now because I don’t know if that’s possible. It’s troubling…because I think I’ve worked through all of this, tried it on every which way, examined it inside and out…but clearly not…because it continues to resurface again and again.

I don’t know what’s right or what’s wrong…Do I continue to hide?  Should I quit now– and spare them additional emotional trauma?

I don’t know – but I don’t feel well tonight…and I’m struggling with a lot right now. Confused and shattered…Should I stay here or run and hide? I think hiding is the best option right now. I don’t know who to trust now – or if anyone can even be trusted.

I see my face in the mirror now and I don’t recognize my own reflection. As crazy as it sounds I sometimes talk to the face staring back at me to see if her mouth moves in sync with mine. I look closely at her, check to see if her eyes are the same shade of blue as mine, I touch my face and watch to see if she touches hers too…and many times I feel nothing.

*Am I real?
Do I exist?
Am I her?
Is she me?  
I don't want to be real now.
I don't want to exist now.
I don't want to be her.
I don't want her to be me.

You don't know the real me. I don't know the real me. I only know the parts.

Do you know the part of me who has no feelings, who feels no pain, that part of me who does not love? Do you know that part of me who survives despite the struggle not too? She punishes me, that woman. She will take everything I have and make it disappear. She will take it because she knows I can’t be trusted not to cave in emotionally. She is empty and she wants me to be empty. She feels nothing, less, than nothing, and she wishes to disappear. She will hurt me but she feels no pain. She wants to hurt, to be hurt, because she deserves the pain – she deserves to be hurt. She takes care of no one and expects no one to care for her.

Do you know the part of me who is explosive & raucous? The one who speaks before she thinks? Have you met the angry girl who spews venom on the rest of us…unconsciously yet fortuitous like a loud crash? Her words are frenzied; they engulf and hinder, they get in the way. And yet she is full of them…poisonous words that she is unable to contain. Her lashing anger is knee-**** and reckless, her words cut like knives.

Do you know the part of me who has emotions so overwhelming that her very presence chokes the life out of me? The part of me who vomits to get out the feelings of dirt and shame…she pukes until she is empty and even when there is nothing left, she cannot breathe. She used to be the strong one, but now she is weak. She is easily overwhelmed and she cuts herself to feel her emotional pain in a physical way, a way that makes more sense to her.

Have you met the whiny little brat? The 5 year old brat who weighs me down, overwhelms me with her needy dependence…Her feelings consume me, envelop me, and I can no longer hear myself because she  GETS IN THE WAY!  None of the others like her. She just needs so much! She can’t even take care of herself. She wears her weakness, her sadness…like a coat of arms. She is pathetic! She is the reason we are where we are – because  SHE  was the weak one, the one who couldn’t resist him. This is all her fault!

I have been betrayed, abused, and broken. I feel there is nothing inside of me holding me up…soon I will crumble like cinders…***** worthless ash. Leave me alone because alone is where I am safe. Alone is where I want to be. Alone is where I can take care of myself. But the rest of you, the freaks inside of me?

GO AWAY!  All of you! Go away! You all consume me and I can no longer feel me. I feel like there’s a cord tied around my neck and each of you want to pull the noose a little tighter, drag me down. You want me to weaken, so you can control me. You are all like an Achilles Heel – you all drag me down until I can no longer breathe.

Please go away. Please leave me alone.