Not Enough To Go Around

Life isn't going so well.

I just started a new job and I tried to quit today. The only reason I didn't quit is because the owners, Andy and Cyndy, made me feel so much better. We sat down and talked about it and they were completely understanding.

I feel like a wreck. I had the worst day. Everything was going wrong. I just freaked out. I couldn't do anything right, everything was just so overwhelming I burst into tears over any little thing. I feel like I'm drowning. I can't seem to see a way out. Every time I think I've figured it out, something else goes wrong and I feel like everything is pressing in on me. I can barely breathe. I hate this feeling. I just want it to end. I was fantasizing about getting hit by a truck today. Why would I think that? That's not normal. I don't know what to do. I am afraid to talk to anyone. I have a really hard time telling anyone anything negative about myself. Even when I try, it's like I've got an invisible hand clamped over my mouth that won't let me speak.

I stopped taking my meds about a month ago. I don't think they were working any more. I started having panic attacks again, so why take the meds if they don't stop the panic attacks? My mom thinks that I should get a different prescription, but it's so hard. It took me over a year to find a psychiatrist who actually listened to me and did anything to help me, and then a month later he went out of business. I don't want to deal with it again. It was so hard. I hate psychiatrists. I hate counselors. They do nothing to help, they don't know what it's like. It must be nice to be normal, to be able to handle things without freaking out.

I'm sick of it. I don't know what to do. Everything is so overwhelming. If I could just get a few nights of uninterrupted sleep, maybe it would be ok. I don't know. I am gasping for air under water. What do I do???

--Dragon Read more!

I've Been Here Before...But Not Like This

This will likely make sense to no one.

For sorrow. There are always those secret hopes one keeps locked away in their hearts, silent and guarded for fear of ridicule or worse. The dreams that press themselves against tightly sealed lips, begging for an audience when there is none to be had. Even when you know the dreams will never be, you hold hope hostage. And you walk your line and you play the game with veiled thoughts and bitterest hope that all is not lost.

And so it goes-- for ages. Weeks, months, years even. 10 years is a long time to hope. 10 years is half a lifetime... half my lifetime. A stupid thing to wish for at any age. And then hope is lost. Reality and the hard truth shatter it, a stone through glass. You wonder how you could have been so stupid, so naive. How you could have allowed yourself to entertain such a rediculous fantasy even in the face of blatant proof that there is no chance for your dream to come true.

But hope, even shattered, is a powerful thing. And so after a while, after you push away the betrayal and searing pain that comes with dreams broken, it begins to rebuild itself. Insipid, it worms its way back into your thoughts, your dreams. At first, you don't notice. Then, when you do, you curse yourself for holding on, for allowing your desire for that one little thing to return. You become disgusted that you can't seem to shake it, no matter what you try.

And so in spite of yourself, it grows. It poisons you slowly, devouring any innocent thought or emotion, destroying any chance you have at happiness outside the dream. Every once in a while you find out something, hear it, see it, that fuels the dream. Even evidence to the contrary is explained away. Still, you tell no one. You do your best to stand in its way, even though every time you do, it kills you a little more. You are at cross purposes with it. And so every time you try to get in its way, every time you help to further the cause against it, you feel sick. You hate yourself. Yet you have no choice. You've had your chance and you missed it, why punish anyone else for your mistake? Ahh, why indeed.

Such is love, or whatever twisted caricature of it this has turned into. I wish I felt nothing at all.


--dragon Read more!

Hostage

This post was inspired by a recent post of Thordora's. (I just noticed it said "Thoradora" and not Thordora. Silly me.)

The black ball-- it's always there... maybe the size of a pebble sitting in the pit of my stomach, filled with all the hate and rage I've ever felt just begging for the right moment to be released. It's the evil little voice that makes me tear others apart, when I think of how disgusting morbidly obese people are, or how I hate those stupid skinny rich wenches that get everything handed to them and have never had to work or think for anything. It's the part of me that forms no attachments and knows that I could just walk out the door with whatever money I could get my hands on, a change of clothes and a stack of CDs, and just drive and never look back. The part that hates my little brothers for being weaker than me and succumbing to my dad's delusions in the midst of his illness, for giving him the ammo he needed to leave my mom and leave me feeling like I had to always be there for her and protect her from herself.

When I get angry it grows and grows from a leaden ball in the pit of my stomach to a black rage that envelops my entire body and holds sanity and reason hostage, that makes me scream and shove and punch and claw viciously at my own arms to avoid reaching out and tearing the skin off of the person that I am angry at. Anger is so completely insufficent to describe how I feel in those moments. It's an absolutely mindless rage. Murderous. I feel like a hostage when it takes over-- I am sitting inside myself watching and screaming myself raw trying to stop, to calm down and walk away. It takes every ounce of my strength to get it under control and I am exhausted once the ordeal has passed. Even when things are fine and I have no reason to be angry, I can feel it smoldering, waiting for the right time to escape.

Things have gotten better. I am taking medication and reason and sanity are much louder and firmer, holding the rage at bay. But still, I feel it sitting there, waiting. Waiting to drag me down again. Each time it gets worse-- blacker and stronger. I fear that one day, it will devour me, and I will be left as nothing more than a timebomb waiting to explode, a mindless hate that will destroy everything in its path.

--dragon Read more!