I am stuck in this place of begging for someone to listen to me and denying my own desires to talk

It is still here – the longing to cry with someone – but it is impossible now. It’s been impossible for so long I don’t know why I even bother with any of it. I don’t know to help her…no one knows how to help her.

It doesn’t matter if you feel like a victim or a survivor, or at times, both…it still happened. It was me. It was me lying there – it was my body. I am no longer that little girl but it was undeniably me. I was hurt, I cried, I yielded all of my power to him. Me. It was me. No one helped me. I can’t make that any different. I can’t change that….not through my writing, not by speaking, not inside my mind. I can’t undo it.

I want to bury this hurt in an airtight coffin until it suffocates and can no longer damage me. I want to smash the pain with a boulder until it is crushed and no longer alive in me. I am stuck in this place of begging for someone to listen to me and denying my own desires to talk. It all comes back to the forbidden words of trust and need and I’m having a difficult time trying to shift and re-position myself in a positive, healing way.

It’s difficult to get the words out without the tears and emotions. And I won’t cry in front of anyone. There are times when I am aching with the desire to talk about difficult things and I hold back. Why? Multifaceted…complicated question and an equally complicated answer. First, there is a part of me that does not trust anyone, or even want to trust anyone. A part of me is embarrassed at the Nita that will be seen when the tears start. It is not the me that everyone knows…it’s the miserable, self-indulgent, childish, hopeless me. And I cannot risk being seen like that. And there’s a third reason…it feels incredibly undignified to cry in front of someone when they just sit there…silent and unmoving.  Late at night, when it is overwhelming and relentless, I ache for someone to talk to about this pain, someone who loves me, not someone who is paid to listen.

I feel like I am in constant state of falling. Like when you are having a dream and you fall off a cliff, and then you wake up kicking and trying to grab hold of something. That is how I feel when I am awake. The ground just suddenly shifts out from under me and I fall. I am constantly kicking and grabbing. Searching for something or someone to save me. But I just keep falling.

I am falling into a never ending tunnel. I am being swallowed up by the earth. These dark memories of him wash over me and I start to fall to my death. I am falling. As I fall I remember his lies. As I fall I feel his touch.  As I fall I see him watching me. As I fall I hear his voice making promises he could not keep. I am falling. There is nothing, no one to save me.
I am searching for something or someone to save me. But I just keep falling.

I am so tired of kicking and fighting. The constant searching for that thing to save me. What if I am wasting all my time and energy just grabbing at thin air? I wait and I wait and I wait for the end…the big SMACK. The sound it will make when I have stopped falling. Then will all this pain be over but that never happens.
I am searching for something or someone to save me. But I just keep falling.

Something always pulls me back up, briefly I regain my footing. But why? Why can the pain not just be over? What is saving me when I cannot even save myself? Why am I here fighting so hard every day, fighting so hard just to exist? Breathing and existing, carrying on in this world takes so much effort.
I am searching for something or someone to save me. But I just keep falling.

Why am I fighting so hard? What if forever I stay broken, hurt, sad, and unsure? What if this is my forever? Each day breathing and existing…carrying on only to have him come back and hurt me again. What is my purpose for fighting so hard? I wish someone could tell me….stop the perpetual fall.
I am searching for something or someone to save me. But I just keep falling.

Why am I fighting so hard? Help me understand. Tell me that one day things will be okay. One day I will be stronger, wiser, and braver.  And soon I won't feel like I'm falling anymore but like I am solidly placed in this world. That my life has a meaning, that all my fighting, and suffering, and searching, and agony was not in vain.
But for now I am searching for something or someone to save me…I just keep falling.

I am so tired just trying to survive… I don't have the energy to live

When I was a child I just focused on surviving.
Now I am sick of working so hard to survive…when do I get to just live?
Not relive… live.

How do you find the balance? How do you let yourself feel and not become overwhelmed? How do you listen to the hurt ones and not blame them, feel too much, and become incapacitated by them?

Both Sunday and Monday nights I found myself so overwhelmed with the pain that I was lying on the bathroom floor in a full-fledged panic attack; alternating between shaking uncontrollably and hitting my head on the floor, to pacing the floor considering ways to **** myself. In that moment, anything, including death, is better than living like that night after night. Major crazybrain freak outs both nights!

I feel so far away from myself. Each morning, after a night of dissociation fear and destruction, I try to put myself back together again. But each time I break apart, it gets harder and harder to fit the pieces back together again. Somewhere in the midst of these nightmares I lost my soul. I am not connected to this soulless body… it is merely a carrier for my traumatized brain. I feel tangled inside a mind I cannot escape.

Every night so many voices, so much confusion. His face before me, his hands on my body, his breath breathing on my neck. She takes a step back to avoid contact with him. She cries out. He advances toward her. She takes another step back, retreats further into the dark abyss waiting for another to help with the pain. Hopeless. She reaches out faintly while being overtaken by the memories boiling over. Step back! Get back! Step back! Get away! Over and over, night after night. Shame. The unspoken pain and shame.  What happens when it truly becomes so overwhelming that it does **** me?

The ticking clock, a symbol of time moving forward, leaves me in a peculiar paradox, wishing time forward and also fearing the night...

I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. But what choice do I have other than to trudge on like a quivering, jangling, empty cadaver, shuffling slowly and quietly in the dark, flinching at shadows, caught up in the cluttered mishmash inside my mind. I ache and I throb with exhaustion. I am fearful and crazed and the machinery controlling me continues; whirring along, shifting gears frequently, and causing my words to become disjointed. As my heart beats it sends something blistering and rancorous coursing through my veins. The sadness of the past few days has given way to an acidic anger that I am having trouble harnessing at the moment. There is no prioritizing the distress. I have attempted to alleviate the pain but seem to have lost the ability to soothe and pacify them today. It is not possible to mitigate or ‘make space’ for the parts of Nita right now, and the fear of the familiar internal hostility is hanging above me like a looming funnel cloud.

The clock ambles on…slowly…leaving me in bizarre paradox as I seek to wish time forward and yet at the same time I fear the darkness of the night. This constant battle within myself stretches me to the threshold of my very existence. So many nights I find myself here, in the early hours of the morning, trying to write out the congealed sediment of my mind just to keep myself from dying. I realize that sounds dramatic and theatrical, but it’s how it feels – as if at any moment, it will finally become too much and my heart will simply stop beating. It’s like somehow I believe that if I can just purge all of these thoughts, memories, feelings…if I can somehow allow all the parts of myself to write out the pain and the anguish that is rooted into the innermost part of my being, that the lethal depression will dissipate and I can salvage what is left of me. Metaphorically speaking, I want to dig deep and wide until I pull all of the shame and pain out by the very roots that continue to allow it to grow like a **** inside of me, smothering me, taking away my oxygen, until I can no longer breathe and I just wither away… and I’ve tried. The struggle of putting it out there, on paper - words that I have been unable to write, or speak, even to the one who knows more about me than anyone else, still feels like too much, and my own fear of judgment and ridicule, disgust and abhorrence, prevent me from exposing too much of myself. I cannot permit those parts of me to be seen, taking the chance that anyone who may read my words might see the true me, the real me, as I often see myself~ bad, *****, worthless, unlovable…disgusting and ugly.

Unable to purge all of this shame out of myself, like arsenic, it continues to poison me, as each night I find the different parts of myself thrashing and straining, fighting each other until every muscle in my body aches and cries out in pain and anguish. They carry me away to somewhere so dark and desolate that each night I fear I may never return. And each morning I feel even more battered and bruised from the battles of the previous night and each night I struggle to make it till morning.

Every night, as I wait for the cocktail combo of drugs and alcohol to take away some of the pain, I listen to the clock ticking away the minutes, the minutes turning into the hours, as I face the East, awaiting the first light of dawn, a sign that I made it through the darkness of yet another seemingly hopeless night…

Dearest Therapist:
There is nothing wrong with me. I don’t see what you see. I feel fine today… it must have been a dream. I don’t know why I ever told you anything at all. I have no problems, there’s nothing wrong with me. How could there possibly be? I am the perfect girl. Things like that don’t happen to girls like me. I have the perfect life, with the perfect kids, the perfect friends, the perfect job, the perfect house, the perfect smile. There is no way I could have ever suffered something like that. I am not pathetic and sorry. Girls like me don’t have problems. Girls like me don’t feel pain. Girls like me have everything anyone could possibly wish for, and then some. There is nothing I cannot achieve. I am so sorry for wasting your time.*

WHAT ACHES TO BE SAID BUT WILL REMAIN HIDDEN BEHIND THE SMILE:
I am not that perfect girl. My heart and soul have third degree burns that cannot be repaired. It hurts so much inside that at times it is unbearable and I cannot remain here, housed in this body. I hide behind a smile because all I have left is a small amount of pride and a whole bushel of stubborn will. My life is one big lie. No one will see me with my head in the toilet or the scars on my arms that were once covered with blood. No one will ever know that the perfect girl is not real. The reality of it all is way too difficult to divulge and much less complicated to conceal. Tonight I cry alone but when tomorrow comes I will once again live that ‘perfect life’… the life of no pain, the life of no shame, and the life with no fear. And you will never know that when the darkness falls, and I am once again alone, I will feel the pain I push away all day long. And I will lock myself in the bathroom and I will sob on the cold tile floor. But I will do it in the silence of my bathroom, alone, in the darkness.

**You will never know….because I will not speak...I am not allowed to speak.

I walk a dreadfully narrow & fragile tight rope and there often there is no safety net beneath me. And as such, a slight wind will often make me stumble and fall right back into the cavernous black hole that I spent a significant amount of time climbing out of. I used to be so thick skinned, but my skin seems to have been scoured into a transparent epidermis that now barely covers my flesh. And I do not know why words seem to rip right through that now clear layer of covering and sear through the sensitive tissue beneath. But they do, and just like that, I am back in a place where I feel like I must punish myself. And I want to feel the pain externally on my body because the interpretations of the verbal words I hear resonate through me and each time the words are repeated, the internal pain increases.

And it does not stop there. The words become thoughts and the thoughts turn into internal voices that torture me and say terrible things. They torment me and tell me that I am worthless, that I will never be able to get through this, that I am a bad, filthy little girl and I deserved everything that happened to me. And the truth is that I cannot find a voice to tell me that is not true and it then feels commonsense and spot on to me. And the frightened little Nita says, “I know, I deserve to be hurt. Let him hurt me because I am bad. I will always be bad.”

During the day I manage to quiet the voices, and push them deep down inside of me because I have to function during the day, I cannot allow myself to fall apart. But every day I am a virtual time bomb that cannot be disarmed, and when the darkness falls, the device beeps and I blow up. And the reality is there is a gaping chasm between ‘healing’ and where I am right now. And frankly, I am not even sure healing is possible. And I want to give up. I work so hard to climb out of the darkness, back onto the tightrope, toward the light, only to have something else knock me back off again.

When that all too familiar wind blows and knocks me from the rope, I try to hang on. I try not to allow myself to fall completely into the darkness, the place where there is no shred of hope left. But I often wonder what it is I am holding on to, and what I am holding on for. And I do not know why I am still holding on. Not anymore.

There are too many competing voices. They all have wants and needs and I am too tired to listen to them anymore. They will never become one. They are too different to be integrated. And I am so tired. And the rope is burning through the already thin layer of skin on the palms of my hands and it hurts and I want to let go. I want to let go. I want to let go of the rope and the pain and the anger. I want to let go of the depression and the tears and the fear. There is no balance now, there is only vertigo, and it is so hard to hang on.

It would be so easy to just let go.

Today…my 6 month SI hiatus came to an end, and the clock had to be reset.

Some nights the pain overwhelms me and I do not know what to do with it. It suffocates me and traps me and I cannot find a way out of it. Nothing feels safe and nothing brings comfort. I shake and cry and try to quiet the angry scared screaming voices inside of me – but I cannot escape the brokenness.

That happened to me this afternoon. I locked myself in the bathroom and at first I tried to talk quietly to those inside as I rocked myself in an effort to soothe them. But it didn’t work and so I tried to call a friend, she didn’t answer. So I tried to call the therapist, he didn’t answer but he did return my call an hour later. In the chaos of my mind I did not hear the phone ring, but I did get a voicemail from him. In his voicemail he said, “ I’m sorry you’re having a rough day. If you feel the need to give me a call back I’ll be in the office until 3:30. I do ask that if you call me back I do want to know not just what the problem is but the things you’re trying to do to at least tolerate whatever’s going on...so we need to have a constructive conversation. If all is alright, that’s fine too - you don’t have to call me back, but if you do, bear that information in mind and we’ll talk later.”

The therapist’s voicemail made me feel like a failure. Obviously he didn’t think I had tried to self-soothe and just expected him to fix everything. I felt angry and ashamed and I did not call him back. I took a razor and I cut myself instead. I cut myself because I could not limit my exposure to the chaos inside my mind. It hurt so bad I tried to cut it out of me. I cut myself because it felt like the only option left for me. My body was shaking so bad I could not escape. I wanted someone to help me calm them, calm myself, but I felt like a failure for reaching out because I couldn’t do it on my own. And I shouldn’t have relied on someone else to help me. And so I cut myself.

And I now I am soo tired. I feel even more ashamed and I really just want to stop breathing – I want it to stop – I am afraid I will cut again because I am now constantly thinking about it. I have broken the seal on the dam.

I marked the calendar with a big red “S” for shame and I started the clock at zero. Six months of SI free is now gone. I touch the scab of shame and I chide myself for giving in, for giving up.  I feel even more ashamed because now I have to face what I did in front of the therapist. I tried, nothing else was working. I was not able to limit my exposure. I was drowning in the poison and I had to cut- and cut big. And now I have to wait for the incision to heal – and hope I haven’t made everything worse.

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!

I feel like I don't belong on this planet.
Like I am an alien and every day I wake up and put this human suit on.
I zip it up, look in the mirror,
Adjust it, and go out and enter the world.

Desperately trying to blend with the other civilians.
I don't understand their language,
Or their struggles that seem so big to them,
Yet so small to me.
I don't get them.

They cannot see the little green alien monster that I am inside.
They see what I show them.
A regular girl that hides behind a smile.
I have them all fooled.
They think I am like them.
But I come from a different type of world.

A very dark and scary place.
A wasteland full of trash and rotting things.
Everyone is angry there and everyone is unkind.
There are other girls, aliens like me there
And they go by names like *****, Filthy, and Shame.
My name on that planet was Ugly because that what I felt inside.

That's what those unkind people told me I was.
I hated that horrible planet.
10 years of my life I wasted there.
But then I grew up and I moved far away.

The people here don't understand
What it's like to live in a world that could be filled with such hurt.
Or what it’s like to be named Ugly, Filthy, or *****.
We aliens work so hard to fit in,
Be like everyone, not stand out
Or be judged for what we suffered or from where we come from.

But...sometimes that mask we put up, our human suit slowly starts to slip off. Revealing parts of who we really are.
And sometimes when people see this,
People that do not understand, they get scared.
What we have gone through makes others uncomfortable.
Some choose to walk away from us, leaving us when we need them most.

When this happens I build my human suit tougher.
Shielding more of me and pretending to be this new person.
But if I need to pretend to keep these people in my life...
Do I even really want them there?
This suit I carry weighs me down.
I need people who don't care where I come from, or how different I am.
I need them to just care about me.
The real me. Not who I try to be for them.
I need people that will help take the weight of the world off my shoulders.

If I am different,
If I am a little green alien not like everyone else
Then I think it’s okay to be who I am.
It's okay to be different.

I will never return to that place I came from.
This is my home now and I don't want to blend anymore.
I want to stand out.
And I want to support all of the other people out there that don't fit in either.
By being different we form a solid union of uniquely similar people.
We are all different and that makes us all the same.
And we should all be able to live without judgments.
Not having to hide where we come from
Or be ashamed of a life we had no control over.

I'm tired of hiding me.
I am who I am.
I come from where I come from.
You either accept me or you don't.
You either love me or you don't.

I'm done! Overdone! BURNT TO A CRISP!

I am so sick of people looking THROUGH ME!
I spend all day…every single day… attending to the needs of others! Work demands...there's always a fire to put out, 250 people to deal with, each having his/her own special 'need' or demand that must be met, no matter what.

"Nita, I need this information now!"

"Nita, they don't understand, they take advantage of me, I need your support."

"Nita, I realize this isn't much time, but can you pull this together by Friday?"

"Nita, I understand they made a mistake, but can you just correct it?"

"Nita, can you please do 'this' for me, my child is sick, I received some bad news, I just need a favor, you're the 'favorite' - he listens to you....." and on and on and on...

Then home demands...get the kids up, clean the house, do the laundry…and on and on it goes…

After work: dinner, walk and feed the dog, do the dishes…and on and on it goes…

"Mom, can I have some ketchup."

"Mom, can I have some more milk."

"Mom, can you help me find my toothbrush"

"mom, can you...mom, can you...mom, can you..."

Friends need consoling, flowers need watering, dog needs petting, kids need tucked in, husband needs attention...I need a DRINK!

No one ever asks how "Nita" is doing.

No one says, "How was your day, Nita?"

No one says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Just ignore me, as though I'm no longer here.

Dear husband goes to bed, falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, while I stay up, take ativan after ativan...wash down with a glass or two of wine...just pray for it to END! All of it!

My chest is constricted, my breathing is shallow - I HURT ALL OVER! I'm exhausted but cannot sleep. Does anyone even notice? No...

Last night, took pills, tried to **** the pain, the voices, the hopelessness...I picked up yet another glass of wine, looked at it and a fleeting thought told me that I probably shouldn't drink it - that I had taken too many ativan, that it probably wouldn't be good...but I didn't even care. I just needed PEACE & QUIET!

From the outside world, and the inside turmoil. I woke up at 3am, outside on the swing...did anyone come to check on Nita? No - because no one cares, that's why.

I've known since I was 5 years old that I was born to serve others. My needs don't matter...most days I try to forget that I even have needs. Of course, thank you therapist for reminding me that it's "okay" to feel, and to have needs…because that actually hurts even worse! Actually feeling "needy" for a minute but no one gives a ****!

I want to disappear. I want to cease to exist. I want OUT of this "Contract"...I need to know what the rights of termination are!

Because I'm DONE!

FINISHED!

Je suis fait!

Sono Fatto!

Estoy hecho!

Ich bin fertig!

and...in the white trash language I grew up with:
F$%K IT! I'm finished!

It doesn't even matter anymore…In fact, it never did!

I never mattered, I am worth nothing....that's the way it's always been, that's the way it is now, and how it will always be...if there's nothing to look forward to in the future, but more of the same, I say, why bother?

No one would notice my absence....well, until they needed something.

There's no "life worth living"! It doesn't exist! Face it, Nita, your father f$%ked you up beyond repair! Throw me out with last week's leftovers! I can't do it anymore!

I realized something today:  I’ve lost hope.

I go through the “motions” of living, but I’ve lost hope. I have lost the support of someone I “thought” cared for me – and now I trust people even less. And I want to retreat inside myself even further. The part of me who was starting to feel hopeful – beginning to trust – she feels dead again.

I’m not sleeping and I’m exhausted – I am not the person I was before.

I have lost hope.

I am exhausted from constantly fighting. Who or what am I fighting? Myself? The girls inside me? No amount of excuses seem right – nothing can ease my guilt. I know that I am the one to blame. This is no game – no self-indulgent pity party. This is a bit of fear blooming into a swirl of rage. No amount of time will ease this pain. Pangs of guilt will always reverberate out of my empty, blood-drained heart.

**Tired and angry – angry and tired – it’s never ending.

“How shameful and absurd it is for the spirit to surrender when the body is able to fight on.”* ~ Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor

His words resonate through me tonight, like many nights before…I am borrowing the Emperor’s words tonight to express how I feel. I feel like my soul was murdered a long time ago. My body is here – as ****** up as it is – my heart still beats – but my body is empty, void of a soul.

I have no fight left in me now.  My heart is still beating...but I'm no longer here.

I have been unable to cope at night the past couple of weeks. Unable to do anything that resembles healthy.  I am angry and lashing out at everyone I love. The little girl whines and cries; then ****** angry girl lashes out because she cannot take the crying. Then the unfeeling/super independent one screams that she needs NO ONE, and we would all be better off if everyone would just go away! For good!

The torture at night is often unbearable. The little girl cries because it hurts so bad, physically hurts, and it is agonizing and beyond painful. And the terror is real to her and is happening all over again. The apprehension of waiting in the dark, alone and scared...part of her praying he will not come and another part of her wishing he would just hurry up and get it over with so she can go to sleep and escape. Why prolong the inevitable. It is going to happen, so just get it over with! Just do it already!

                                       What does that mean?
  Does that mean she is bad because she was wishing he would do it?
                        Does that mean she wanted him to do it?

And now she is crying. We all hear her. She is scared. Get it over with already! Just do it! It is going to happen so just do it now! She will not stop until someone hurts her. Because that is how it has always been. She cannot fall asleep until it is 'over with'.

So ****** angry girl hates everyone because for awhile she felt safe, and the little girl was safe and promises were made that nobody would hurt her anymore. So why is she hurting now? Nobody can keep her safe anymore. And she does let him hurt her. After promises were made and the little girl believed. Nobody keeps their promises.

I try to tell myself it will be okay. I try to rationalize all the different feelings. I try to get all of these girls to work together as a team, rather than the constant fighting and struggling. But I am not currently strong enough.

                 I am as far from okay as the Earth is from the Sun.

She tries hard to hide her feelings ~ and not wear them on her face
But look closely and you can see them ~ things that time cannot erase

The secrets that she carries ~She is not allowed to share
Although she wants to tell you ~Fearing judgment she won’t dare

She struggles just to stay alive~ Trying her best but you can’t see
Others tell her to lay down her burdens ~So then she can be free

Her vulnerabilty invisible to others ~ Tears shed only when alone
On the outside she is perfect~On the inside broken and alone

She hesitates to continue on ~balancing high up on the ledge
She wonders what would happen~If she were to leap off of the edge

Fearful of the future~Unable to work through the past
Strength and courage once her armor~Are now things of the past

Her trust and faith once again shattered~Why take another chance
She wonders if it is better to walk away without a second glance

I find myself standing before the gates of hell. It is here, in this place of fear and pain, that I must fight my battles and face my enemies. The smell engulfs me…the stench of ignorance and glutting fill the air. The wind blows with the sounds of nothingness and you destroy who I was and I try to hold back who I want to be.

It is before the gates of hell I face you. My blood flows with each blow I allow you to make. My adrenaline pumps with each strike and contact. Vengefulness lingers in my heart. My body is hot while my skin is cold to the touch. With each thought I relive the pain you inflicted on me. I bleed from the wounds you made. My heart aches and my soul cries out.

I stand alone, here at the gates of hell. No one to have my back. No one to put you in your place. I stand alone to fight a battle I ignored for many years. Trying to erase the marks you left on my body. Trying to eliminate the scars you put in my memories. Blocking out the sounds when I said NO and you refused to hear me.

I stand here at the gates of hell; alone, cowering, crying, and searching for someone to hold me, to tell me all will be okay, to keep me safe, and help me up when I fall. Someone who will be there for me when I seek help.

It is at the gates of hell I throw my punches, scream my brains outs, and there is nothing but silence and emptiness. My punches make no impact, my screams have no sound. It is here at the gates of hell I stand.

                                                                     *My own personal hell.

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.

I am so tired tonight…I don't know if I even have the energy to let out the tightness I am feeling inside my chest. I don't want to lie down, or close my eyes… I fear I will become overwhelmed with negative thoughts. I find solace by clicking new document button and typing away like crazy. Writing is cathartic for me.

I sit here, night after night, oblivious to the storm raging in my head....please, don't let me hear....please, make me not feel anymore....and I barricade myself, waiting for the night to end.

Some days I feel like this is HELL ON EARTH!

It's on these days when I swallow my screams, I tell myself "this too shall pass"...and I hear a faint voice inside my head echo my thoughts....'soon...soon...soon', she tells me. There is no use screaming, or begging, or reasoning with myself, or the others within me. Please don't let me lose it tonight...I don't want to fall back again...it is not worth it.

WHY? I ask the question in my mind over and over again: WHY? WHY? WHY?

There is no answer tonight, there is never an answer. There is only anger, and sadness, and so much pain. I don't want to hate. I tell myself I don't have to take it anymore...soon...there is an end. His face taunts me, his angry voice fills the silence, his sarcastic laugh envelopes me in fear, his evil snort makes me cringe, his stale breath makes my skin crawl.

Where are you? I cannot find myself. Some days I see a shimmer of hope which I visualize with every beat of my heart. But I no longer hold any expectation… it's easier this way.

I’ve been fighting. Fighting, struggling, and lashing out at the faceless, formless thing that chases me ever since I can remember. I’m so very angry now, tonight, all day, – technically a lifetime…whatever. Angry and tired, I sit with my hands on my knees and my head bent, rocking…weak but wishing to be strong; held captive but wishing to be free; alone and afraid, wishing for comfort and courage.

I am sad as hell and I have no one in real life to talk to because no one cares or understands and whatever I know that it’s my “fault” that I don’t have the support system in place when I am in dire need of it…which would be now. I know that I ****. Got. It. I am a bit on the ‘not-lucid’ side tonight and a wishing I was drunk! It is so hard to stay sober and I am starting to doubt the worth of it.

There is a part inside who has been researching how to die…quickly and painlessly. Last Friday it was an overdose of medication (I won’t say what med it was because it is now in the past and I don’t need some well-intended person yelling at me OH MY GOD THAT COULD **** YOU in all caps - sometimes we are still in quite a fragile state.) I write this because I feel like those of you who have been a part of this journey with me should know what’s going on. This is what’s going on: I do not feel better. I do not have a good support in place here. Shame. On. Us. We have not done a good job at getting this done. I have continued to pretend like everything is fine when there everything is so very un-fine. not-fine…so very opposite of fine.

I can’t cope with the frustration and invalidation tonight. I can’t cope with the screaming. I am not coping at all. I’ve tried. I can’t. I am struggling right now, tonight, to make it minute to minute. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I feel like I am fighting a losing battle and I have no coach. And I do not feel better.