Please do not do this to me. Please stop giving me days where all I can do is hide in the house and flinch whenever anyone passes the window or door. Please do not give me the world’s shortest attention span. Please stop your constant guilt-tripping, your self-hatred. Please, please stop it.
I am sick of having all my plans derailed by panic attack. I hate the paranoia. I cannot stand hearing the voices of the dark passenger say all that hateful shit to me. I don’t want to live through another day where I feel like a little girl, terrified and alone and wanting the bad dream to end.
Today was that day. I lived in a nightmare all day. I waited for it to go or for me to wake up, but I couldn’t do it. I have been in my onesie, huddled up on the sofa, the tingling of my skin reminding me that yes, I did take a shower, but the disgust inside still claiming I am dirty.
I had to tell my mum I couldn’t do class because I was terrified to step outside the front door. She STILL doesn’t quite get why I couldn’t. She is angry with my ex for intimidating me, but tells me to go to class anyway, because I will beat him that way. I wish she was right. I wanted to scream on the way home from the tube this morning. I was convinced he was going to be waiting for me, in a dark little flat in London. Thank gods my mum doesn’t get it, though. At least that means she is safe from all this bullshit that invades my head on a daily basis.
Brain, do me a favour. Let me not feel this socially and emotionally inadequate. I am so tired of the endless guilt! I left my mum with the impression I am ok now, and she told me I had to tell her when I am feeling bad. I can’t. I am so conditioned to rely on myself, I don’t even want to ring up J and let him know. He is close to me, and I don’t want to bring him down either.
One day, you tell me, I will whinge so much that both my family and J will tell me to shut up.
On that day, you tell me, this little dream of “it’ll all be ok” will end forever, and back will come the self-harm, the pain, the suicidal intentions and of course, the dark passenger will break down the door in my mind. Already smoky, threatening tendrils are creeping from underneath it and tapping me on the shoulder again.
On days like this, brain, you make me believe that there is nothing left for me. You pull me to my knees with a barbed wire noose around my throat. I hurt everywhere, and I think you secretly enjoy it.
I want to sleep and forget, but you even make my dreams hell. Where is there to run now, what with your constant abuse making every safe haven another lie?
I don’t know what to do. I want help now, but it’s four months down the line.
I knew this would happen once I left J and my family. Today, I wanted to get on the first plane out of the country and be back with him, taking my family too, but instead I was trapped in my living room, feeling useless.
Thanks, brain. Seeing him everywhere I go is a real treat… not. That, and seeing people who don’t exist; reliving anniversaries of arguments and trauma in flashbacks (emotional, mental or physical); de-realisation; dissociation; and of course, depression.
I feel so fragile, and it is all your fault.
Oh no, wait, it isn’t.