There's a heaviness in my heart- something is trying to happen far away within a part of me I don't remember how to find. I feel lost and I'm just wandering around within my mind, waiting. Wishing for someone to tell me what to do and how - but I am on my own with this. So I write about it, because that's what I now know how to do. And the writing, it soothes me and teases me out of my own thoughts. So much hurt and anger.

Everything around me, and the very fact that I have to go on, whispers to me of my own failure and horribleness as a human being. I know all that I tell myself is not true. I could name a dozen things that make me a good person, but this is not the kind of thing I can just stop and tell myself, “Nita, be thankful and happy.” If there is a switch I can flick I’m unable to locate it and turn it off.

I see myself as a child. I see a little girl sitting in a dark corner, hugging her knees and trying to be as small and "out of the way" as possible. When she looks at me, her eyes are full of a terrible anger- rage, really- and pain. She is scared. I have never seen myself so dark. But she is undeniably me, and she must have existed during that time of my life. I have ignored her, I chose to ignore her because she did not fit the image I held for myself. She makes me think about everything that happened to me. So pain and hurt. The pain from it is unspeakable. I try to list the things my father said to me- did to me- not to relive the memories but to acknowledge the suffering I never could when I was actually going through it. I try to describe the pain and it's so overwhelming that no words will come.

I suppose there is no way, no road map, nothing but fumbling in the dark. I am so tired of walking this road alone. I am not tired of the pain and anger; they are mine- a part of me. But where do I go from here? So many people…they all say different things, no one agrees on anything. How do you know if you’re right or wrong? How do you know if you hurt or don’t hurt, or even if you have the right to hurt?

It’s dark now, the night, the darkness… its killing me! I can’t sleep, when I try I dream.  And I’m so tired all day long. I’m really not sure how much more of this I can take.

I think, “Nita, reach out to… Email someone…call someone…don’t let it end like this. But who??

So, grab the razor, reach for the broken glass….let’s have a look at the badness that resides inside of you. Get it out, Nita, let it out. That’s a good girl…watch the blood flow out of your body. It’s bad! It’s evil! It’s part of him.

You deserve to die! Do it already! Just do it! We hate you!

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.

I have been shutting the memories out of my head all day. My mind wants to remember more. My mind wants to force all that bad ugliness In. "I cannot just sit and think about this now I'm working!" I tell my mind. It does not listen, It forces It's way in anyways. I cannot run from It, I cannot hide from It. And I cannot function without It spilling into my brain like poison. I can tell It to go away, or come again another day. But when I shut It out I feel worse, I hurt worse. And It does not stay away for long. It always creeps back in on me, leaving me with this black cloud of pain above my head hanging there for the world to see. I wish I could release all of this hurt that is on my heart, just let It all go with one single action. Be done and move on. But it is not that simple. I do not want to remember today. I want a break. I am playing a game of tug-a-war with my brain. It's pulling the rope tighter and harder on It's end, while I lose the battle due to my weakness and crash to the earth face first. I do not want to remember today. I do not want to cry. I refuse to close my eyes; I refuse to let It control me today. I just want a break.

Please go away bad things I beg of you now.
I wish to sleep but I don't know how

I don't like these memories, or these pictures that I see
I screamed and cried but no one ever came to save me

Please go away and don't bring any more pain
GO AWAY I feel like if you don't I will go insane

I don't want to feel, or remember his touch
Run away memories, I don't want to see you, it hurts too much

Please go away, you've shown me what I never wanted to see
Slip from my mind, vanish from my thoughts, please just let me be

I don't want to remember his smile, sweat or his smell
Or the way he made that tiny baby promise not to tell

Please go away bad memories, It pains me to breath
Everything hurts, I need time to grieve

I don't like the dirtiness and the way I've carried this shame
I've spent my whole life walking this earth thinking I was to blame

Please go away bad memories, I wish that you had never come
When you grace my presence you make me feel numb

I don't like to hear the voice In my head of that child begging him to stop
Or remember as he didn't listen, threw her down, and climbed on top

Please go away bad memories you make my body remember what it once forgot
I also remember dolls, jewelry, and toys he left, making him think forgiveness he'd bought

I do not wish to see any further or to remember the blood that ran down her skin
What that father did was wrong, sick, and disgusting, It was the ultimate sin

Please go away I hate everything I see in these horrible, hurtful things
I feel like a bird lying waiting to die with its broken tattered wings

I do not wish to know what was done, be a victim, or live any longer in this past
I ache, I hurt, I scream, I cry, I beg, I see, I remember how long will this last?

Please go away all sadness you've been here far, far too long
My heart is always aching and singing its sad, sad song

I don't like these bad dreams or this life living with these fears
My heart is heavy and my body is raw, I am blinded by my tears

Please go away bad things I beg of you now
*I wish to sleep but I don't know how

I wish I could explain why I had to do this. I wish I could make you understand. The pain I have endured, has become too much...I can not seem to find a way to cope. Nothing makes sense to me anymore.
I wish it didn't have to be this way. I love you and know that this will hurt now but with time you will be able to move on. Sorry.

I hang on because I know I am not alone.
I know I have people who care about me.
People who listen, care, and give a **** about me;
Not the fake me, but the REAL me.
Accept me and love me despite all of my flaws and shortcomings.
You believe in me and send me love every day.

One moment at a time...
I can keep trying.
I can keep hoping.
I will do this.
I can do this.
I am doing this.

Thank you for believing in me.

Today was a weird mixture of happiness and sadness all at the same time. It was one of the most unusual experiences I have ever had.

It was not one of those, "I am sad. Now, I am happy."

It was more or less, "I am sad, no, I am happy, no, wait. I am both."

I don't really know if I liked or didn't like it. I think I am leaning more towards liking it.

I liked the fact that I was able to feel two different emotions at once and not feel completely out of control. I liked that it felt real. That sounds odd, I'm sure, but it felt like that it must be what it feels like when you are happy yet hear something sad and it makes your heart ache. It was kind of like that.

It was certainly a learning experience, that's for sure.

I hate myself. That's the short of it. I have struggled with this as long as I can remember. In talking with DT this week, he reminded me of some of the reasons that I am a good person. I hear it, my brain processes the words, my heart wants to believe it, but then the familiar words of "if he only knew" creep in and consume any hopes of believing it is true. Sad thing is, he does know. He knows more about me than any other person... he knows the nitty gritty details, the good, the bad and the dark & ugly. So if someone who does "know" can still find the good in me, then why the hell can't I believe it?

It's frustrating. I don't enjoy walking around feeling like this. Shame is my cloak and hatred follows me wherever I go. I envy the people who have good self-esteem because I am not one of those people. My husband is one of those who just looks comfortable in his own skin. My skin is too tight. So I cut.

I was taught to cut. By someone close to me who was hurting me. It is almost as if it was their calculated attempt to hide my feelings from the world and show me how to turn them inward. The sad thing is, cutting as I was taught did ease my feelings of guilt, shame, anger, etc. It was my release and my best means of controlling my feelings. A simple cut was a distraction to the larger pain. I believe this is where my self-destructive behavior took root.

Over the years my self-destruction has taken many forms. Alcohol, drugs, more cutting, binge eating, not eating, and pushing everyone away who even attempted to love or care for me. "I will make them leave before they can decide on their own to leave me", that was my constant thought. I've always thought it to be better anyways because anyone who got to know me surely would be repulsed by my secrets. I work hard to ruin my own success because I'm terrified of the good happening in my life. Good means that it can turn to bad. However, it sure is a lot of work to live my life like this and from the outside looking in, it must look strange to watch me ruin the good things going for me. I know my husband sees it as strange; a frequent argument between us is my resistance to let him love me. He knows me, maybe not all the dark and sordid details but he still knows me. And even then, I still resist the good that is him in my life.

All this leads me back to the silent treatment. I ignore my own feelings, thoughts, emotions, and dreams. In a sense, I give myself the silent treatment. And in return, that pain created by the silence, leaks out as self-destruction and hatred. When the good comes in my life I embrace it for a time and actually attempt to feel. But then, like clockwork, I shut down and the silence begins. An internal temper-tantrum eventually ensues, screaming to get my attention only to be met with more silence until I can no longer ignore it. By then I am so out of control that I resort to self-destruction which temporarily cures the larger pain in my life.

In writing this, I can see that I'm actually quite predictable. No wonder people close to me are maddened to watch this process happen time and time again. So here goes, I'm going to start listening to myself and hearing them out instead of screaming back to shut up. Hearing myself has to be easier in the long term than continuing to make a mess out of my life through self-destruction because now, for the first time, my own destruction is hurting those around me who love me and that is something I cannot continue to do.

Complete the sentences:
I am:  so much more than I give myself credit for.
I want:  to smile, and mean it.
I wish:  so much didn't have to be a secret, because it's tiring.
I hate:  that I don't hate him.
I miss:  normal, even though I am not sure I know what normal is.
I fear:  nights, noises, intimacy.
I hear:  the unkind words in my dreams. But also the kind ones, when I'm awake. ( I just struggle to believe them, but I hear.)
I wonder:  if he's sorry.
I regret:  not telling sooner.
I am not:  what was done to me.
I dance:  only when I am drunk.
I sing:  in the car.
I cry:  at night, most nights, as quietly as I can.
I am not always:  OK when I say I am.
I make with my hands:  representations of how I see the world, but sometimes they are disturbing.
I write:  in my journal, almost every night.
I confuse:  people's busyness with uncaring.
I need:  to take better care of myself.
I should:  think positive.

I am trapped in the shadows, where skeletons rise from the dead and moan in this cold and dead world
I detest the night...Thoughts tear through my head like a tempest pausing not for rest nor sleep. My past stalks me like the black shadow of death; a silhouette as thick as the everlasting night. She has manifested herself inside skin and bones, burrowed deep within a weak and hollow body. I walk around half dead and half human, unaware of any truth or peace. The truth only makes me hurt worse. It’s a brilliant paradox, really, that I can search so desperately for something that merely causes me pain.

I sit alone tonight feeling trapped in a moment. Time moves back instead of forward. She is screaming within me and I know not what to do. I try desperately to suffocate the terrifying voices rambling inside my head. There is an abundant amount of anger and frustration, memories and regret, loneliness and terror. Again and again everything surfaces and erupts like a volcano spreading hot lava, scorching every inch of my body. I try to desperately to see the line separating my past from my present but I am unable separate myself, instead wavering from one side to the other time and time again.

It is like trying to climb Mount Everest with no training.  It is over before you begin.  

I cry harder. I feel swallowed by pain; unable to speak and unable to breathe, longing for someone to help me…but there is no one here. The room is filled with a heavy silence, the aroma of the past drifts through the air, the pungent smell pierces through my nasal passage, and my stomach churns with the overwhelming urge to *****.

If I push it away it stays away for awhile, but it always comes back. I cannot do it now. Tonight I find myself without hope. Without hope. The darkness chokes me and I feel completely powerless – fear is etched into my spine. I am unable to face the fear alone, and yet I have no one to help me. I can no longer stash it away inside of a box or a bucket, it will not stay and I cannot do this alone. How do I face this fear? How? Never again will I allow myself to show the scary and shameful side to another. Never again will I allow myself to be vulnerable as another bears witness, showing me not acceptance but abhorrence.  There is no coach for this.

This task seems insurmountable. I have failed once again.

I sit here, shaking and staring up at the dark sky and I cannot find a single star hovering. I take that as a sign that more darkness is yet to come. And so I sit, and I wait; and I continue to stare into space…no star to wish upon…no light to follow. Just the darkness, the chill of the night air...the hopelessness.

Tonight, I feel physically sick and I am trapped in the shadows, where skeletons rise from the dead and moan together inside this cold and dead world.

One two…he's coming back for you...three four…try and lock the door...five six…he'll never ever quit...seven eight…he doesn't care; it's too late... nine ten…scared to sleep again...  He's back...

Hope is an oddity to me.  It is a double-edged sword.  Just enough keeps one going.  Too much can leave one in despair.

Throughout my life I have struggled to sustain a suitable balance between hope and despair.  The two seem to be interrelated for me.

There were days, even moments, where I had hope that my life would improve.  I saw a way out, I found someone who seemed to care for me, I made it through an entire night unharmed...  These things gave me hope.  I was hopeful.

Then there were other days, even moments, where I was filled with despair. My hope was lost.  My heart was sick.  There was no way out, everywhere I turned I was met with hatred or disbelief, I was torn apart at night only to be met with "nothing happened" in the morning...  These things destroyed my hope.  I was hopeless.

My inner struggle between hope and despair kept me alive.  I firmly believe this.  This same struggle keeps me alive, even today.  Too many times I have thought that there was no way out so I surrendered myself to dying.  But over and over hope has surfaced.  

So I fought.  Sometimes I fought against hope.  Sometimes I fought for it.  It was a sickening cycle.  Some days, even now, it is with a sick heart that I press forward.

Today it is with a sick heart that I write.  The enormity of my past is weighing down upon me.  Normalcy seems to be nothing more than a fleeting hope. One step forward, two steps back.  Hope and then despair.  My head is screaming once again.  It seems that everyone want their say.  Everyone wants to be heard.  I am one and they are many.  Today is a day where I am screaming at them to shut the **** up yet no one hears me.  They drown me out and I feel powerless.

Today he is in every corner, no matter where I turn.  He is smiling, licking his lips, and he is laughing at me.  I tell myself that things are different now; things are better.  He laughs harder.  Despair is setting in and I am feeling myself surrender while keeping one eye slightly open on the off chance that hope is in another corner that I just can't see yet.

Today is despair with a sick heart.  Perhaps tomorrow is hope paired with desire.  One can always hope...

It occurred to me today that it take a lot of courage to be hopeful. One has to walk into hope with the knowledge that hope is just a dream, yet, with hope that dreams can come true. What a dichotomy!
Often we have no hope at all that a certain desire may be fulfilled. So much so that we discard the desire as a dream that is dead and buried, and turn to a journey where we actively work for someone else’s desires to be fulfilled. As we travel the road of fulfilling the hopes of another, our own hope peeks out from around the corner then darts back out of sight as soon as we turn to look at it…taking its essence with it. (Wait a second! I saw that hope die and I buried it a long time ago.) Then, it begins to get bolder, and stays just long enough for us to begin to recognize its face. Its essence invades you, almost against your own will, to make a real change in your life.

You begin to question…Do I dare to hope? Do I dare to take the chance? Do I have “reasonable confidence” that this can morph from being dead and in hell into livable reality? I cannot go through much more pain, unless the pain actually produces some positive results. Is this a real hope, or only real because I secretly long for it to be so?

Hope is just a…thing. But what courage it takes to dare to accept it.

I guess I have begun a new journey. A journey of hope…this time for myself and not for another. So for today, I choose to be brave. For today, I choose to hope. Today, I choose to rescue hope from the hell to which I personally banished it…come what may.

Today as I spend time in my head and I am considering the "how" of things. How I want a fresh start...a better year....better relationships.

A fresh start... a better year... putting to bed a bad year... this year will be better.

I have never had a "better" anything. Maybe that is being too harsh. I don't see things as better or fresh...at least not where or when I an concerned.

A fresh start is a foreign body to me.  To do that would be to erase the memories, the scars, the voices in my head, the shadow people in the corners of nearly every room I enter.  All are impossible.  Especially when there are many, many memories below the frozen surface of my mind.  Frozen in time; so cold that it hurts.  

A perpetual brain freeze.  I wish for just one day without this pain.

No fresh start for me.  What I can do though, is obsess over the how of my life.  I have pretty much given up on the why.  There is just no good answer there; at least not at this point.

How doesn't have to do with other people.  It has to do with me.  How the **** did I survive?

There are a lot of awful childhood verses sung; a dysfunctional family, a leering dad, secrets and more secrets, an angry mother.  Each verse different yet fraught with painful similarities and fragile coping.  

And then there is me.  And others like myself.  I am shattered and still standing yet I have no idea how I got here or how I figured out that this was a life worth surviving.  

How did I not give up?

How did I put one aching foot in front of the other, day after day?  Night after night?  

How did I barely sit down at breakfast each morning believing that our dance in the dark was a household brand?

How did he know just how far to go?  Close enough to fearful pleasure.  Far enough from impersonal death.  

It is a precarious how.

You know how you have one of those days at work where time is crawling by and you want nothing more than for the day to be over and it feels excruciating? But then you put your nose to the grindstone and just slug it out. And you do not stop until the end of the day.

That is how I feel today, only I have different work to do. And the work I have to do is like that project you put off because you just do not want to do it. It is that file you put on the bottom of everything and just hope it will resolve itself. But you know it will not. Every day you pick up that file thinking today may be the day you will get started. But you do not. You have questions about some of the material in the file, you are not sure what to do, and you are unable to complete the project because there is nobody around to answer your questions. You have left several messages for her, the woman who was supposed to answer your questions, but she has not called you back. And now you are angry because you need guidance! You need her help you, you cannot do it on your own! But it has been too long now. She is not going to call you back...she is not going to give you the directions you need to complete this project. You know that you are on your own now.

That is how I feel right now. The file before me is filled with my life, my past, and my painful memories. It contains my feelings of shame, sadness, anger…hopelessness and worthlessness. The project is to take each page and fit it together like a puzzle…and once the puzzle is together, the project will be complete and I will be whole.

                                      But I do not know where to start.
                                                           I am lost.
                                     I feel like a ship without a rudder.
                                       A sailboat without a spinnaker.
                                       I am a tourist without a guide.
                  I am a lost child without her mother... alone and frightened.
                            I am crying…but she can no longer hear me.

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.

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.

I do not know what is happening to me right now… I have been having perverse and warped physical reactions to the flashbacks that are spilling out of me.  I feel like I am suffocating…I cannot swallow… I cannot breathe - I am too drained to fight it.

Still convinced I have to do it on my own I stumbled around the house. I walked around the kitchen, talking myself through each step, picking things up and telling myself what I was holding and seeing…this is my house, this is my kitchen, this is my desk, this is an envelope with my name on it…my phone bill – I am an adult, I am a wife, a mother, a friend…How crazy does that sound? I had to talk out loud to keep him away from hurting me again.

I do not remember what happened after that – a couple of hours later I woke up on my bedroom floor. A complete mess.  
What am I so scared of? Why can I not snap out of it???

It is all so warped and cruel. Experiences like ****** abuse and **** do more than just bump into us in the night…they critically wound us, sometimes fatally. Every single ounce of our being is ripped to shreds, our souls shattered. And we are left to pick up the pieces of what never should have been ~ angry…hurt…sad…hopeless…traumatized…full of shame and unable to trust anyone enough to talk about it.

Does anyone who has not been there really understand how traumatic and painful it is to hold all of this inside because of the fear of being told to ‘get over it’, or ‘shut up and behave’ or ‘It wouldn’t be so traumatic if you stayed in the present moment and out of the past’….so many secrets…so many years…so much energy it takes to keep it all in and ‘act normal’.  Does anyone understand how much it hurts to be told 'oops - sorry, it's after 10 now - you will be abandoned so make a different choice.'  It’s exhausting…But exhaustion feels like the better choice...rather than being abandoned.  And that's why I no longer reach out for help.  That's why she once again hides.  Because she was hurt time and time again...and now she's too scared.  Now, like then, 'in the face of expected abandonment...she makes a different choice.'

Maybe I am just too traumatized to ever fully trust anyone.  What if that is really my 'truth'?  Please do not let it continue tonight.  I am too tired...I am so scared and tired.

I often wonder if anxiety manifests in your body in a physical sense. I feel despondent today…I’ve been nauseous all day. I lack the enthusiasm and energy to do anything. I am fearful every evening of what will come in the night. I know I should just grit my teeth and push through this phase. ..but l currently lack the fervor and oomph.

Darkness has closed in. My body feels like it’s filled with lead. I am exhausted physically and mentally. I’m walking in the rain and the wind caught under my umbrella and pummeled me into a brick wall. I am constantly fighting against the winds. The winds of my fear, my anxiety, my hopelessness and shame…and the anger, holy smokes! The horrible anger that overwhelms me.

I don’t sleep, the darkness invades my dreams. When I do finally fall asleep, it’s only a half sleep. I toss and turn and wake up multiple times during the night.

So much of what I feel is irrational and the logical part of my brain tells me that – but Ms. Logic can’t win against Ms. Scared –Angry (she has a hyphenated last name). I need help – I know that. I know that I am not “me” and I am not in control of us, not anymore. I know that the strength and spirit and determination I had has been drained from me.

I have been thinking terrible thoughts at night. Thoughts like: what if I just take the entire bottle of ativan and chase it down with a chug of *****. It isn’t about suicide – I assure you, it’s about making it stop! It’s about stopping the crazy voices inside my head; it’s about killing the physical and mental pain in my body. I realize how twisted that sounds…like the mentality of an ‘addict’. Something I never want to be.

I never wanted to be ‘this’ woman. I used to be strong – a fighter! And I have been through worse! But I feel like a runner who hit the wall. I just don’t feel like I can push forward anymore, not now. Thinking about the darkness that overwhelms me at night is like looking down the barrel of a shot-gun. I just wait for the bullet to come…wait for the past to start ravaging my body and my mind once again. And I hate it! I hate it! I hate the voices, I hate the feeling that he’s here with me. I hate the way my body aches, the way my hips hurt and my chest feels tight. I hate the way my breathing gets shallow and I hate that I can’t seem to stop it. DT said I should be able to stop it. I don’t understand why I can’t do that. Why can’t I do it?

I feel so anxious so sad and scared. I am such a disappointment. I’m so ashamed of myself. People tell me how inspired they are by my courage and perseverance, and here I am…thinking of overdosing on anti-anxiety and sleeping meds. I need help. I’m so ashamed. This isn’t me – I don’t even know who this is. What do I need to do? I don’t know what the answer is. All I know is that I need something – something to hold on to. I’m overwhelmed by fear and darkness. Thunder and lightning are raging in my head ALL OF THE TIME! And I’m scared.

The SI is back, and I’m so utterly disgusted with myself for falling back into that! But like an alcoholic, I cannot stop after I make that first cut. The endless crying is back – it’s all back with a vengeance! The deep hole inside of me is growing like a cancerous tumor. It’s so hard to even stay alive and no one gets it. Each day is more and more difficult to get out of bed, there isn’t a better day now – and there isn’t another escape that I can think of. This is killing me anyway – a slow painful death, eating me from the inside out – what’s the difference? Why hang on for more pain, when I could just take a bottle of ativan and stop it myself. Take control of my own destiny. I just don’t know how much more I can take – I’m drained, worthless, helpless, sad, angry, disgusted, self-destructive…I hate it! I hate all of it! And I need it to STOP!

I am an evil, bad, mean, nasty girl! Father was right. I am terrible! I don’t deserve love or care. I am undeserving. Hopeless. It is hopeless. There’s nothing left. I’m too tired. I can’t bleed or puke the badness out of me. It won’t leave!