Why I didn’t want to be cured of depression

When I was younger, I thought depression just meant you couldn’t be happy like everyone else. And, of course, I wasn’t happy the way everyone else was (or seemed to be). I think my thought was “I do not feel happy, therefore there is something wrong with me. Therefore, I am supposed to see a doctor and be cured of that so that I can be happy about everything no matter what.”

But why would I want to be cured of everything I feel? I want to be able to feel both the good and the bad, otherwise there seems to be no point to things. What is the point of fine art if you discern all art as good and find happiness in anything no matter how cheap or low quality? What is the point of taking showers if you are perfectly satisfied with filth? What is the point of eating if you’re happy with being hungry? Why try for anything? Why strive for anything? Why not wear ugly clothes, get an ugly haircut, be content with things you normally don’t like…

I don’t like my life.

I don’t like my clothes. I don’t like the people around me. I don’t like the sights I see when I open my eyes first thing in the morning. It’s like I’m living someone else’s life, not my own.

I feel a sense of suffocation, like I just want to be able to go out there into the world, to be free. To go somewhere pleasant, somewhere that makes me happy.

As much as I wish I could find the special pill that would make me tolerate an inescapable life, I still somehow would rather put up with the misery. This is because being “cured” sounds like killing my standards and discernment. It’s like it would change everything I am. If I’m happy no matter what, I would have no reason to seek out better art, entertainment, or music. Unfortunately, that is one of the few things I live for. The ability to make decisions about what I like, dislike, and love is one of the few things I have in life that gives it much meaning. If I took away my discernment and was just happy with this ugly life I have now, then what’s the point of anything? I have nothing else to find meaning in since those meaningful aspects of life are cut off from me (things like raising a family or being part of something, or whatever else it is that gives others meaning in life.)

No, I still want to be able to appreciate the things I appreciate, to still be able to find value in them. I still want to discern good from bad and what’s worse and what’s better, what’s tasteful and tasteless, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to really appreciate much. I would not really value hard work, skill or creativity. I would just be satisfied, rather, happy, with anything cheap, bland, meaningless, or ugly like my current dry, ugly, painful, empty life that I’m supposed to be happy about.

I Don’t Want to Relive My Life

Me: “I don’t want to reexperience this.”

Therapist: “Once you process it in therapy it’s never going to happen again.”

Okay, the conversation actually went a little different than that, and I’m still not sure what she really meant or was trying to say. So I just paraphrased what I thought she was saying.

Anyway, her words did not give me any encouragement. I mean, how is therapy going to make my whole life go away? I don’t just need one thing to change or go away. I need the whole thing to change. I need to be somewhere else. Around different people. Doing something else. With resources and capabilities I can’t get.

I need to be completely reincarnated into someone else’s body and someone else’s life.

I don’t need this life.

The whole thing. Not just parts.

How do you explain to people that life itself is the trauma? Somehow it seems that people always think it’s one or two things that causes unhappiness in life. Some incident or some tweak you have to change or go away or some bad memory that haunts you. But what if it is you, your life and circumstances beyond your control that you don’t want? And what if there’s nothing good in that mess, at least nothing worth living for?

I chip away at this life, trying to make little improvements here and there, trying to give me something to be happy about, but I still end up in the same place. I still wake up in the morning wondering why I’m alive. Wondering why I’m doing this. Trying desperately to find motivation to do the things I need to do to live a life that goes nowhere, a life I don’t care for.

As silly as it sounds, this is one reason why I wish I could date and find a romantic partner. It seems like something that would give me something to get excited and happy about in life. Someone to share joy and fun with. Something beautiful and fun. But I’m not sure that sort of thing really exists. I know that for people like me, life was reserved to be somber. I was never cool enough, fun enough, sexy enough or appealing enough to have fun friends or have boyfriends.

I was just too drained and quiet, I guess.

So I’m supposed to find motivation, drive and purpose in the somber life, the quiet life.

I can’t find it.

I want to be somewhere else where I can connect with people.

Where I don’t feel so claustrophobic, stuck in the same, small, overheated, oxygen-deprived room day after day.

Somewhere where I have control over my circumstances and not wait on comfort. Where I am around people who respect that and want me to be happy, healthy and comforatable.

I want heaven, basically. A life that doesn’t exist for people like me in today’s day and age.

And I keep thinking, maybe it does exist in today’s day and age. Maybe I’m just not good enough. Maybe if I work on myself. If I could be more attractive and lovable.

Or is that just a fantasy? Who’s going to treat me better? Where do I find people who treat you better? Or a world that treats you better?

I’m just stuck here in this room. It’s hard to imagine a life outside of this room.

And in this room, there’s no one. No friends. No wonderful fun lively people. No opportunity. Limited resources. Nothing to live for, to strive for, to look forward to. I just want to not be in this room but there’s nowhere to go.

What if I was amazing and people loved me? Sometimes I wonder that. Not that that would change anything. But somehow I think it would open doors or open up my life a little.

Why would anyone want me around? Why would I think that anyone could? If anything I feel like the whole world wants me as quiet as possible, that the whole world wants me to disappear.

That is my life.

I want out of my life. That is why.

I want cake with icing to cool down my body. I’m overheated. That’s really the only true motivation I can think of right now. Why does being hot make me crave icing? I’m not sure but I’m guessing it’s probably a common craving for people with my illness. It’s hard to deny.

I wish someone cared. I wish someone saw me miserable and said, “Hey, let me help you out with that so you can feel okay.” Just one little tweak and things would be okay.

Not being ignored like this. Like I don’t matter. Like I can’t have any faith in humanity. Like there really is no humanity, just annoying roommate making fun of me and acting like I’m annoying, like I’m just a joke to him.

Why take life seriously when it’s all just a joke? Why take people seriously when they’re just a joke and they’re there for your gratification?

I’m tired of being the whipping boy. I’m not the whipping boy in the most literal and direct sense. But others mistakes, laziness, poor character, etc. ultimately leads to me being punished with poor circumstances, pain or illness. Others don’t keep up with their responsibilities and I end up dealing with the brunt of it while they get a free pass. I’m the whipping boy. They feel no empathy. They don’t care. It seems more than anything that they like to see me down, they like to make sure I never get my head above water. They don’t want me free and strong. At least that’s what it looks like. Why would they have so many double standards? Why do they whine and complain at the slightest thing but expect me to have endless strength to put up with anything without making a sound?

I wish alcohol would save me from this heaviness that I feel. It seems to be what everyone else uses. But it never did anything for me. Maybe their problem is not the same type as mine. Maybe alcohol won’t help my discomfort like it does for their discomfort.

If anything, I feel like alcohol would just make me too hot, and I’m already too hot.

I want a cold bathtub and some cold drinks.

Will this list of phone calls I have to make for medical appointments and therapy help me get there?

Doesn’t seem like it.

I just want cake. It’s the simplest, most straightforward and intuitive solution.

I’m tired. This is what I get tired of. I’m tired of this.

This is all life is. I’m tired of this. Why would anyone want this?

And I want someone who cares. Someone who sympathizes. Not someone who expects me to put up with it. What kind of person is that who just expects you to put up with stuff when they would never put up with it?

I don’t want this. I don’t want to deal with this. The lack of sympathy. The deprivation. The feeling of my insides being sucked in, imploding, that comes from deprivation. Being barely able to lift my head off the bed and having to live me life hour after hour day after day like this.

I just want out. I want a way out of this. I want kind people. A safe comforting place to go. No weird creepy people that seem out of touch with reality like they’re in a cult or possessed or something.

I need something safe.

No more liars.

No more wordplay or weird logic that ultimately has the same effect as lying anyway.

Just something safe and comforting. People who really care. People who don’t treat me like I’m worthless.

No more of this drama and confusion and this game you can never win.

No more ownership or possession by another person.

I just want to win for once.

What Negation Does to You

Note: I’m referring to the negation of self that happens when one is abused, invalidated or deals with lack of money and resources, illness or other issues that lead to loss of rights and freedoms.

You have no sense of direction. You think of cleaning your room or house, but why do it? Why pack, why clean, why dress up, why shower? Your life’s not going anywhere. It’s like the concept of being all dressed up with nowhere to go.

It’s not that you never do anything or never go anywhere. It’s just that it’s not really “your life”. Or you don’t even feel like you’re “there”. One or both of those can apply. You can’t really take credit for your accomplishments. You don’t live your life with meaning and purpose. You don’t even really know what you want or need. You can’t feel it. That part of you is gone.

The only thing you can live for is hedonism. Moment to moment pleasure. The things you have to do to reach your goals aren’t always pleasurable, but you have a reason to do them if the goals really means something to you. If the feeling behind the goal just doesn’t exist, it’s hard to find motivation to do meaningless and unpleasant things. You can do them, and maybe you still do them, but you find unhappiness and dissatisfaction with life sets in pretty fast.

You’re just tired of doing things.

When you can’t feel your wants and needs, you lack a sense of direction. Or the want and needs somehow feel negated, like they’re barely there or they just don’t matter.

So you can’t truly make life goals and feel excited about them.

When I was growing up (having been raised by parents with cluster B personality disorders), there were very few things I had control over. The one aspect of living I really remember feeling I had control of was my choice of clothes.

That wasn’t enough to get me excited about life. You can’t live for clothes.

I knew something was missing in life. I knew I wanted to be my own person. I saw how other kids had such a strong sense of self. However, I seemed to have a diminished sense of self. I didn’t act out of my own instinct, out of a fire that came from inside me. I felt I had no personality.

“I” seemed to be missing.

Again, I didn’t know why. But it was something I saw in others that I wished I had.

And still I feel this way. I see kids way younger than me with a strong sense of autonomy. Yet I find myself confused. I wish I could want something. I wish I could do the things I want. This state now as an adult has been the result of illness and lack of money, but also the result of abuse.

You could grant me one wish and tell me I can have anything I wanted and I wouldn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t even know what I wanted. I wouldn’t know what I needed. Just an escape from this. This mindless, pointless life. But I don’t know what I need to escape this.

Well, I do know. It feels like I need too much, like I need everything to escape this. I need freedom to be myself. I need validation. I need safety from people who disrespect my boundaries. For that, I need so many resources I don’t have.

After that, I can recover my sense of self and truly know what I want and need.

But you said just one thing.

There is no “one thing”. Er, how about a completely new life? Does that count as “one thing”?

Once I have a new life full of resources and opportunity, as well as safety and security, I might be able to regain my “self”, to feel what I need and want so that I can pursue it.

But I can’t escape my life.

I’ve turned it over and over and over, and found no solutions. And, of course, no one else is going to help me brainstorm or research this issue.

Sense of security is one reason the military is so appealing. Guaranteed housing. Guaranteed meals. Enough money to buy everything you need with some extra cash. Relative safety. Relative freedom from isolation. Protected boundaries? Questionable. Emotional support? Perhaps, partially.

Yes, I wish I had real friends. I wish basic human rights were respected and valued.

My friend does not allow me to feel. He is soulless himself with no real sense of direction and vague goals. His only goals in life revolve around hedonism. It’s cyclical. He uses hedonism to escape his emptiness and his feelings and his goals are to further pursue more hedonism to fill up an empty life and empty soul.

It is depressing, but you have to see it with your own eyes in order to see how depressing it is. A man without a spine who gets stepped on by everyone. Who never complains because he stands for nothing. With no boundaries who justifies and accepts the abuse of others because he can’t feel his own self. It just doesn’t exist. A person that drags his own semi-lifeless body around as if it is a puppet. The most soulless, lifeless zhombie you’ve ever seen. Will not lift a finger to do the right thing yet fels nothing when things fall apart in front of him. And after a tragedy, just goes back to his entertainment as if nothing happened, without the slightest twitch of a facial muscle.

A man with no ambition. Devoid of purpose. A strict hedonist. Relies strictly on entertainment and finds everything else boring or a waste of his time. Refuses to work towards goals, problem-solve, read a book, or listening to a boring lecture because he has to fill every minute of his time with entertainment. Is easily frustrated and pained if he has to help another person out.

It is a very disturbing image to people who haven’t embraced a life of pure meaningless, purposeless hedonism.

The visual is more disturbing. He looks dead. He’s doing things, but he looks dead while he’s doing them. He is standing in front of a computer, seemingly in an active state of mind, but his body is lifeless. When you look in his eyes, it looks like no one is there. It feels like you’re looking right through them like you’re looking at the eyes of a man who is literally dead but somehow standing. Or a literal zhombie. Needless to say, he doesn’t dance and when he tries to be expressive it looks awkward and forced. That’s probably because it is. He has no natural impulses in his body.

Having to be around him with no one else in my life feels like pure terror. For these reasons but for others as well, which I won’t get into right now.

Somehow, I never ended up as bad as him. I’m not sure why. But being around him makes me feel like I’m being pushed and influenced into zhombie-dom. Be a zhombie like me, feels like the push I get from him. Partly though his invalidation, his silence, his lack of emotion and feeling, his boundary crossing and negation of me and other overt abuse. Just being around him feels numbing. When I see him, suddenly, life feels drained, empty. I can’t feel a spring breeze on my skin anymore or enjoy the grace of a fluttering bird. I find myself searching desperately for stimulation to fill the void.

I find myself becoming someone who I don’t want to be — a person who lives a life of meaningless stimulation who can’t sit still and focus and work towards goals. And I wish he would go away so I can find my peace and feel pleasure,joy and patience again.

Sometimes he admits that he feels empty.

Yet, he embraces hedonism and his lifestyle fully with no regrets and no desire to live otherwise.

He crosses my boundaries seamlessly, making me feel like a rag doll. If he can’t feel anything and he’s content with it, why should I feel anything? must be his reasoning. He must believe that I should be content with this loss of self because he is content with his emptiness. I tell him to stop, but he makes the decision for me. He doesn’t care that I want him to stop. He is the adult telling the child what to do. He makes the decision that I should be impinged upon. Lose my self. Become soulless like him. He isn’t bothered by the fact that he snuffs the light in me. He makes the decision that I am wrong to complain, suggests that there is something wrong with me if I complain.

He says my emotions, values, and beliefs are wrong.

He will continue to invalidate me.

He will continue to say yes when I say no. Sometimes he says he’s doing it for my own good, as if I can’t be trusted to make decisions for myself. Sometimes he says he lacks self-control and I have to try harder to stop him. But my soul leaves before I have the chance (ie, I become paralyzed and have trouble moving my body).

Who knows what is really going on in his head or if he knows or cares. Does he realize that he contradicts himself? Does he realize that he has multiple explanations? The real truth is that he’s compelled to cross my boundaries, to take from me. That’s all there is to it, regardless of his explanation for his actions.

A zhombie that’s also abusive. Negating. Soul-sucking. Disrespectful.

For some reason that’s something he loves to do, is not respect people. He doesn’t respect anyone. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him have respect for a person. Does he have a natural compulsion towards disrespecting others?

Regardless, he is a zhombie that wants to make you a zhombie. He wants everyone to be a zhombie like him. Zhombies are superior, in his book. He hates spirituality in any form. He hates ambitious people and wants them to “chill out”. He thinks he’s making me a better person by teaching me to give up and quit caring. He hates things that are done for practical purposes rather than sheer aesthetics. He hates when I’m honest about my feelings towards him. As much as he dislikes people and their actions and values, he surprisingly often has a liking for the narcissists that others so often dislike. He doesn’t seem very bothered by their pathological lying, stealing, jealousy, gaslightinng, boundary violations and disrespect of others. Rather, he appears charmed by them.

I push myself every day despite the lack of meaning and purpose. I cannot find my reason, I cannot feel it, but I keep going. Someone said that you have worth even if you can’t feel it. I can’t feel worth, purpose, or anything else. They seem like complete fallacies. What’s more true and real is my life right now. This self-negating life with no end and no escape.

It feels like I’m in prison for life. A life sentence.

(I’m glad I don’t hear his voice in my head right now mocking my grammar or the way I write. — Another strange, unnecessary and off-putting aspect of his behavior that I don’t understand. But I won’t get into it right now.)

I want to end this. This life I have now that goes nowhere. This numbness and soul-depletion, this joke. I’ve secretly wished that someone would save me. That a family member would pull me out of this mess. (But they only want to hurt me and punish me and rewrite reality in a way that suits them because they are cluster B’s. Dealing with them is a pact with the devil.)

Abuse, Isolation and Helplessness

Things just hit me after a recent sexual assault. (Something that is a common occurrence for me due to the circumstances surrounding my life.)

I keep feeling like I’m holding my breath and not breathing at all.

I think I know how to interpret these feelings, but, honestly, I get my emotions and bodily sensations confused. Sometimes the only way I know how to figure out how I feel is by using images. The image in my mind right now is what I wish I had, an image of bounty: lots of nice, warm comforting food; a nice big clean safe place, and a general feeling of safety.

Right now, I feel shriveled up, cold, exposed, vulnerable.

My throat is closing up so that when I try to breath, it feels like I’m trying to breath through a straw. There’s an obvious feeling there of pain and wanting to cry. That’s why my throat feels tight. But for some reason I don’t cry. Everything feels tight and blocked. I just feel like I want to moan like a wounded animal.

I don’t want to feel this way. That’s all I can think. I can’t seem to think through solutions. I just want out of this.

Betrayal and being alone underlie these feelings. More specifically, the one person I rely on is taking advantage of me. And I have no one to turn to, so I’m trapped. There shock and confusion as well.

I’m not sure I could ever explain this to people but this feeling has happened to me a lot. It goes something like this:

I lack resources due to ill health, unemployment and lack of support –> I end up stuck in a bad situation due to an inability to do anything about it –> A feeling of shock and terror sets in, and I kind of feel like a deer in the headlights

I just want someone to pick me up and save me. That’s another image. Being somehow taken out of here and being somewhere happy and safe.

I feel a void inside of me. A coldness.

I want to make it stop, so I can gain my strength back. What do I want to stop? My friend and roommate’s abuse of me. I feel cold. I want to stand tall, but I can’t. It feels too vulnerable. I wish I had armor in front of my body. I wish I wasn’t exposed.

If I wasn’t abused, would I feel better? Well, then I’d end up somewhere else with other problems. Being completely alone in the world doesn’t help. At least there’s still some support that you get from an abuser as opposed to having no support at all. Cue the image of being completely alone in an empty place. Cold. I feel cold again. Cold and scared.

I want to puke when I think of him.

Is this so hard for people to understand? Apparently.

I could go through life with this closed up throat and feeling like I want to collapse into the fetal position. I could go through life like this, but it just feels off. It’s the difference between gong through life feeling cold versus going through life feeling strong and warm. No matter what you do, life’s not going to feel great when you feel like this. You can’t be happy, you’re just going through the motions.

Just waiting on life support.

Just waiting and hoping, so that one day you can let your guard down and breath and feel warm and alive. I tried reviving myself before and just got shot back down by abuse. I want the abuse to end. I know that should be obvious, but it’s not. You get used to being numb. You don’t realize anything’s missing anymore – you just know you feel empty and don’t know why anymore. I have to remind myself, “I want the abuse to end,” because I need to remember that that place in my image where I am safe and strong could be real. I need to remember that abuse is the reason why I feel this way.

I am cold. I am alone. I am unloved. I am used. There is nowhere to turn for comfort and safety.

I want that to change. But I can’t turn to anyone for help. I have nowhere to go that feels safe. I just attempted to tell my therapist about it, and I know she’ll just brush it off. Somehow, they go through all that schooling and still don’t understand what the key to happiness is.

I walk in circles in this life. The world is an endless desert with no oasis.

I’m tired of running through solutions. I’ve tried all the solutions. I’m spent. I don’t think I’m ever going to get anywhere doing it on my own.

After all this, who am I?

I’m just a person who will never be.

Who will always feel trapped. Negated. No life.

I’m Worthless in Other’s Eyes

I’m worthless in other’s eyes. Plus the fact that I can barely afford to do anything with my life makes me even more worthless. I have to remind myself of this to remember why it is that I have no will to do much of anything or try anything anymore. Why it’s so hard to fantasize or imagine a positive future.

I get reminded of my worthlessness to the world and triggered frequently. It seems like on a daily basis. I just had a trigger — I just saw a person offer to give money to someone in need. And, of course, I wish someone would help me out, but things like that never happen to me. Deep down inside I just feel like I’ve got that curse or I’m just unlovable or whatever because my whole life I’ve seen others be appreciated and helped out while I get stepped on and lied to. Or I just get ignored. I just go on and on never crying out, never asking for help. Most people would not land in situations like I did for so long. Someone would be there to care about them. But there’s just something about me, I don’t know what. And I guess, after holding it in for so long, I always feel like I have to do something to break this thing. And the only thing I can think to do is to do something to myself. Maybe I feel I want to break this thing that is me that is so broken and wrong? I don’t know. I really just want to punch myself in the chest to stop the choking and tension. I don’t care. I have nothing to lose. I just want freedom from this.

This is why I think so much that I wish I was lovable. That there was something precious or beautiful about me. That I wasn’t just trash to the world. I think a lot about what it would be like to be lovable but I realistically don’t know that there’s anything I could do to myself to become lovable. I feel like there’s just some magic that other people have that makes people care about them. You’d think it was goodness, but that’s not it. I know a psychopath who’s rude, judgmental and likes to cause drama and she is loved and has everything. So being loved has nothing to do with being a genuinely good person.

I imagine myself being somewhere else, not here in this life, because that’s the only option of having a “good life” that I’ve ever had. Real life just isn’t good. But having an imaginary life and not a real life just means nothing is real and therefore nothing really matters. And that’s how I feel. People live and die and I can’t feel anything. It’s all in our heads anyway, isn’t it? This life? I can’t be attached to anything because none of it was precious. I can’t fight so hard about a stupid career or an imaginary fake love life or friends who are just pretend.

I know I don’t matter because no one hears me. No one sees me and no one cares. And if anyone pretends to, it’s all superficial. I just broke up with my therapist without telling her I was breaking up with her partly because the whole thing was delusional anyway. Talk therapy felt like it was all about fantasy. “Let’s pretend this or that is possible! Let’s pretend anything is possible! Let’s pretend real life isn’t happening.” She really was good therapist in that I felt we were communicating…. It’s just that this whole talking thing doesn’t change what is. It’s just about putting nice ideas in your head. Fantasies and nice thoughts. I’m already good at that. It’s the real world that hurts. If someone is stabbing you in the stomach, how much does it help to have a therapist cheering in the sidelines, “You can do it! One day the stabbing will end!”

It doesn’t help me too much. Because the stabbing is continuing and I’m still getting beaten down by it.

As far as I know, I have no talent, no beauty, and nothing to offer the world. So there’s no reason why anyone should support me. There’s no reason to try anything at this point, to keep trying anymore. I’m just boring and I ramble and no one even notices or cares because they lost interest long ago.

So now what?

I can’t answer that. I have no answers to that question. I just barely get by, like I’m just a placeholder. Not someone who will ever be loved, not someone who will ever live. All I really feel like I can do is crawl into a fetal position and eat myself to decay. I don’t know what else I can try. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve spent so much time trying things and it’s just exhausting. And it pulls me further and further into apathy. I just want to have fun, feel something good — food is the only way I know because I don’t have drugs or sex to enjoy. Wow, I’m so bored of this life along with being completely spent to the point of pain and apathy.

Speaking of triggers, there’s something about someone offering to help you, offering to save you, and then withdrawing any assistance as if you never really mattered that makes it worse. Maybe another reason seeing another person being helped hit hard at my worthlessness.

Therapy actually left me uplifted

I know the positive feeling won’t last. Getting encouragement in life apparently makes a big difference in me, and it makes me realize that it’s something I haven’t gotten much of in my life. Of course, my family never encouraged me in anything (unless they were encouraging me to do something they wanted). And I haven’t had friends like that either. The lack of positive encouragement in my life led me a down a lot of wrong paths in my life (how and why is another story). I’ve always had this desire sitting in the back of my mind to have someone to encourage me. And when I’m around people who don’t encourage me or who discourage me, I get this feeling like, I wish they’d encourage me. I don’t know why I’d need someone else to encourage me. Why don’t I just encourage myself? Maybe because we’ve already given up and we need someone else to say, “No, you’re wrong. Why don’t you think more about this? There might be an option there.”

Why turning to a schizoid for emotional support hurts more than anything and is a big mistake

Turn to a schizoid about anything bothering you and he’ll act like it’s some weird thing, like you’ve got some special issues.

He doesn’t understand that that’s how normal people are. Somehow, after all these years of living life, it never occurred to him that the majority of people are like that. The majority of people have emotions, anxieties, apprehensions, etc and like to turn to others for comfort and support. Whoa! It’s still hard for him to comprehend after 30 years of being in this world. (Perhaps it’s because he’s “experiencing” the world and learning about it mainly through books and media rather than through actual social contact?)

So he acts like you’re special. You’re different. You have issues. You know, you’re just like that. According to him, you have a weird way of living in the world and interacting with the world.

Excuse me? This is weird? What about having no social connections, not caring at all about your family, having no desire to go out and do anything with your life, having no goals other than to read another book or level up on a video game. Trying to take as shallow breaths as possible when speaking so as not to express emotion other than irritability. That’s not weird?? That’s normal???

But here I am getting gaslighted, called a weirdo or a crazy person just because I wish I had someone to turn to for emotional support. Seeking support is just part of my weird crazy personality. I just need to chill out and just enjoy the video games and endless barrage of movies and entertainment.

And his reaction, insinuations and gaslighting do is leave me feeling empty. Wishing I was dead.

Dear, I wish I had someone to talk to. Not someone who I turn to who’ll only make me feel sick and empty for wishing I had someone who cared and understood and could share life with me.

I can’t explain the cold and empty feeling that comes from engaging with an emotionally unavailable person.

I can’t explain the rage. This thing inside me that wells up, pounding inside my chest. I see myself screaming inside a cave and no one can hear me.

Being alone is better than having friends. It’s better than being around cold neglectful emotionally unavailable people who bring on this pain, rage and emptiness.

I can’t handle it. I feel like I’m much calmer if I just lock myself in a room and stay safe and comfortable. I can’t handle people and I can’t handle life. I don’t want to do any of it.

I wish I was lovable. Not lovable by a schizoid or an emotionally unavailable person but by someone who is full of life. Someone who can feel with me. Not someone who puts out my flame but someone who lets it grow.

I don’t like this sedated feeling, this blunted feeling with inner silent screams of rage.

He loves to suggests things as “There’s something wrong with you.” He’ll latch onto any evidence that something is wrong with you without any justification. I can’t help but feel he’s trying to suck me into his numb world by bringing me down, trying to gaslight me into thinking it’s wrong to feel so I have to swallow my feelings. I end up searching for answers and solutions for this horrible feeling I have now that I’ve stuffed my emotions. I feel numb and apathetic like him. How does anyone survive this? All I can think of is eating food to help me feel something because I feel so dead.

I wish therapy actually worked. But it’s really all based on the concept that there’s something wrong with you if you feel or have needs so we need to help you turn of those feelings and needs.

I don’t want to be turned off.

The desperate search for peace and comfort

My whole life is a desperate search for comfort.

Or, in other words, a desperate attempt to escape pain and discomfort.

I just really need metal. Hard, aggressive insane metal.

I don’t think listening to metal would be a need if I could find peace.

I don’t know why metal is so comforting. I don’t know how people get by with chronic pain, weakness and illness without something to help them. I don’t handle it well. My body feels like porous sandpaper. I don’t know if others would know what I mean by that.

Really, all of reality feels like porous sandpaper. Dry and abrasive.

Empty like an ocean dried of it’s water with dust in its place.

Unpleasant like a dusty room with only the sounds of appliances and the highway to bring “life” and “cheer” to the place. (Yeah, I hate my room. It’s great for people with sensory processing issues. *sarcasm*)

I’m so tired of trying.

I try to hard, harder than my system can handle, and it hurts.

I need to relax.

But, no alcohol for me. Can’t relax that way.

No outings for me.

And the TV is too abrasive for my sensory processing issues.

I wish I had a pleasant place to go. But the word pleasant means something different to me than it does to other people. My sensory environment really affects me. The visuals. The surroundings. I want somewhere with a nice sensory environment. And pleasant company.

But things also can’t be pleasant for me unless I don’t have to care anymore. I don’t have to think so hard anymore. I don’t have to worry about every little rule and every other little thing. And I can just flow. Something that brings me out of hyperfocusing.

I want to be soothed.

I have a desperate need for something I can’t have and it feels like it encompasses my whole life.

I always think I’m going to get there. If I do this or that, I’ll be soothed. If I have this product or try that thing.

But then I doubt myself. Who am I to be asking for so much in an attempt to feel better? Isn’t that gluttonous of me? How much money will I spend? What sort of luxurious environment do I expect?

Maybe it’s my parents’ hateful voices in my head. Maybe it’s all of America in it’s judgement, jealousy and blame. Maybe it’s the Christian church, telling me that living anything more than a humble extreme minimalist life is wrong.

I’m pretty tired of it all.

I just want relief.

This life I live, this isn’t my life. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much and feels so empty to be alive. Because I can’t get joy or meaning from a life that isn’t mine. Where I can’t express myself. Or act out what’s inside of me on the inside. Or be seen for who I am. All my life really is is a desperate search for escape from pain and illness. That’s all I really am. And then what? What’s the point in that?

One day I’ll find peace. And I think it will be before I die.

One day I’ll know happiness. Actually that’s a lot harder to imagine than finding peace. Although I’ve often thought that I’ll find peace by finding happiness. That finding things that bring joy would help me find relief or comfort from pain. But I’ve grown out of thinking like that. Now I just feel like I need to get rid of the pain itself.

No one ever cares about the chronically ill

My body was failing me, and I ended up living with the relative of a friend. I kept thinking I could make it work, that I could get a job, but my body and brain were failing me.

For no apparent reason, she kicked me out. She claimed the only reason she let me live there was for my friend. Wow. I’m used to having no one care about me, no one caring about what happens to me, no one making sure I’m okay, no one helping me out.

The truth is, I’m always the one no one cares about. I only had a place to live because she cared about my friend, not me. (What is is that makes him worth something and me nothing? Why am I nothing to no one, someone of no importance?) She cared nothing about me, which is why she was so willing to leave a chronically ill person to die out on the street. (I did sort of end up living somewhere, but I was very ill there and lucky I didn’t end up living on the street.)

I know the world doesn’t care.

I know this when I think about how precarious my living situations are. I wish I could just tell people that I have special needs, that I would appreciate it if they just made some minor adjustments to help me keep my sanity and well-being. But I’m really just afraid to be seen as someone who is a problem and run the risk of getting kicked out of my rental situation. And this time, I’d end up dying outside for sure. (Well, really, my health would deteriorate rapidly and my brain will barely function. I know this from past experience.) Rarely will people ever say, “Oh, I feel bad about that. I don’t mind making accommodations for you.” It’s more like, “Well, you don’t deserve it. That’s for people who pay higher rent or who can afford their own place. You have to sit here and suffer quietly or else you’ll be homeless.”

I don’t care. About anything. I am virtually nothing to the world. I don’t matter and there’s nowhere to go.

Someone called me selfish. She was trying to get me to cut ties with people in her family, somehow twisting it into saying I was selfish and that was the reason I shouldn’t associate with them. Calling the chronically ill selfish is pretty much how society works. She wasn’t about to help me out or try to accommodate for my needs. Instead she called me selfish for having special needs. For being so incapable. But not only that, she wanted me out of her world. No one cares about you. You’re just another nothing to just throw out and let die.

I’m only doing this for you because you have a friend I care about.

When do I matter? When does my life matter at all? I am nothing, nobody. Everyone cares about the elderly. Everyone cares about them getting caronavirus. Even if no one’s met them or knows them, they still matter. Why is that? Why don’t we matter?

I’m sitting here knowing that with any misstep or simple bad luck, I could end up in a worse position than I already am. I don’t even want to be where I am right now. I’m barely holding on, and really wish I could let go. I don’t want to be wandering the streets in the cold for hours feeling numb and brain-dead and confused. (Yes, that is something I’ve had to do, and that is how my body responds to being in those conditions due to my illness.) I’m so desperate for a heater to sit by. I’m so desperate for some fresh air. I’m so desperate to sleep at night. I wish I could sleep at night. But, I’m desperate for someone to care. To genuinely care.

Why I Hate Life

Life mostly consists of activities that I hate, such as:

  • Reading
  • Talking to myself/having no one to talk to
  • Being on the computer (I hate most computer activities)
  • Eating alone
  • Obnoxious noise from the highway or household appliances
  • Random pains in my body
  • Having no one to really celebrate holidays with
  • Trying to listen to music to get something to be excited about since I can’t go out and have fun
  • Thinking there should be more I can do with life but never being able to figure out how
  • More body aches and pain
  • More endless days of white noise and highway noise with no living person in sight
  • Lots of wondering what I’m alive for
  • Lots of things I could do that would get me out of this mess but not being able to afford it
  • Waking up confused, but not in a pleasant “high” way but rather with a sense like I’m not completely awake and part of my brain is gone
  • Finding it harder and harder every day to motivate myself to do unpleasant tasks with the minuscule hope it will get me somewhere
  • Thinking I should reach out for help but then realizing I’ll get slapped in the face
  • Being aware there is no compassion
  • Realizing I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life but realizing I probably will have to
  • Deluded people that think that attracted to them

Really, it’s hard to explain why I hate it all so much. It’s like having food shoved down our throat that tastes bad, day in and day out, all day long. And, on occasion, you’re allowed to eat something good, but it doesn’t give you much reprieve from the bad.

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