I have a terrible uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach this morning. I have tried to distract myself but it won’t go away. So I am now pretending I am invisible, non-existent. When I am invisible it’s easy to feel nothing…to be nothing. I don’t want to feel today. I want all of what I feel to fall into the Bermuda triangle never to be found again. I can’t even find safety in writing today. Today, even writing feels too vulnerable, too exposed. I feel that if I were to write my true feelings, put what’s really going through my crazybrain in words that they will be read by someone who will thwart my plans.

I have asked for help, I have reached out, laid myself bare for someone else to witness. I have sat in silence.  I have exposed the ugly truth of the past and the pain of reliving the past in the present…and still no one will help me with it. I have been vulnerable in the face of pain. I have screamed out loud and I have screamed silently inside my head. I have tried to express my feelings and needs in different ways. I have allowed myself to reach out in ways I have never done before. And yet here it is, the mess that is me…shattered on the floor in a million pieces, just as it was last month, last year, 10 years ago…all the way back to when I was an unfertilized egg.

I have listened and I have been open to new ideas and techniques. I have listened to someone condescendingly tell me, "I can only imagine the pain you feel" and tell me I have "courage" and "I am honored to be your witness" (all ******* cliché responses).  I’ve paid my hard-earned money for a therapeutic technique I knew would not work. I have tried to mirror the good and understand the bad. I have tried to nurture the little girl and soothe the angry one. I have distracted and half-smiled for over a year.  And it is all still here.  All of it...the nightmares, the SUI thoughts, the burning desires to SI.  

I'm tired of being told what I can and cannot do with my feelings while not giving me other options...words like "I see you struggling" mean nothing and are actually patronizing and demeaning.  Would you tell someone who was drowning the same thing? Or would you throw them a life vest?

I am no longer going to do it someone else’s way. No one listens to me so I am done listening to them. I am tired of trying to explain the reality of the ghosts who haunt and torture me and being met with only disbelief and “it’s not that bad”. So I have skillfully constructed my own plan and I have placed my carefully drawn plans into a black satin box and tied the box with ribbon the color of blood. And my plan will stay there, cushioned by the soft warm velvet until late this evening, when the moon is high and the night wind howls...then I will untie the ribbon, open the box, and expose the inside to the cruel reality of the world.