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I'm sorry

I should never read my own posts.  The same way I don't read my writing.  I don't know why I feel the need to have someone see what's going on inside me.  It's not something I should care about.  People scare me.  I don't know why I want to connect with them because it never lasts.  The closer they get, the easier it is for me to pull away.

Tonight it's difficult to deal with.  I'm so tired and so confused.

This post was supposed to be an apology for all the crazy things I've posted and said.  Guess I got off track.

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more

scared.  isolated.  doesn't matter.  nothing matters.  nothing will help.  my fault.  all my fault.  world gets smaller each day.  my choice, its choice... doesn't matter.  outcome always the same.  extremities become normal.  one day we all die.  nothing will change that.  but no fear.  no anxiety.  aching need.  finish it all finally.  something to make me free.  smothered, unable to breathe.  let me out.  let me out.  already dead.  too far gone.  no going someplace safer.  never for me

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untitled

what good can come of someone seeing my thoughts and feelings here?  want to burn the place down with the morose thoughts, scare people.  tell of the words in my head.  insistant whispering, repeating until it's all that can be seen.

no way saying these things will help.  no words will save me.  already too rotted for that.

what do they mean by crisis?  every moment of every day i think of death.  is that crisis?  or is it when i'm parked outside a gun store?  or is it when i make time alone so if this is the day, it could be done?

there is nothing but death and violence and terror.  but i'm the selfish one.

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again

ideation taking over again.  this could end.  no outlet, and all alone.

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can't speak

not even to myself.  writing has died.  visits here have died.  i can't bring myself to talk about everything going on.

it started because i couldn't do it without crying over my current situation.  now it's all... numb.  i don't want to talk.  i don't want to see the people i knew.  i can't say anything new, and i can't what they want me to be.  as if someone cares.

can't make a sound or the world will flood in.  the safe place i had is gone.  now the words will hurt more than ever.

 

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it all comes back

can't.  just can't.  no fair that it comes back.  no feeling in my arms or legs.  floating.  not a part of this body.  worthless and self hating.  can't think of a reason not to finish it.  none of the reasons are good enough.  nothing is good enough.  least of all this person.  stop before you say too much.

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don't

don't do anything stupid.  don't do anything stuipd.  don't do anything stupid.

so tired.  so done with this world.  no feeling.  no love no hate no joy no sadness.  just a desire to leave through any means.  chest hurts again.  anxiety, or the ache of desire?

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needy things

stop needing me.  stop wanting things from me.  i'm losing it.  chest pounding heart rending terror.  too anxious to eat.  i force myself to see people because i'm not supposed to isolate according to my doctor but isolation is all i want.  just leave me be.  once again, i'm sure i'm the selfish one here.  as always.  constantly told my wants are selfish.  they are just as selfish as i am.  it just seems that their selfishness is the kind that's acceptable, whereas mine is the bad kind.  screw them all.

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nihilism

i hate myself, my desires and needs, my life.  i hate everything about me.  i disgust myself.  can't stop the self hatred and can't believe anyone that tries to tell me i'm not bad.  i hate the world.

i'm so tired and the pain is too much to bear.  physical pain enough to drive anyone mad, yet i was already mad when it started.  i just need a way out.  living a lie i don't want to be a part of anymore.   it never stops.  i chose the wrong path long long ago and now i'm stuck.  only one way out that i can see.

this world is harsh and terrible.  why am i the only one that sees it all?

nihilism:

1a: a viewpoint that traditional values and beliefs are unfounded and that existance is senseless and useless. <--- check

1b: doctrine that denies any objective ground of truth and especially moral truths <--- check

2: a doctrine or belief that conditions in the social organization are so bad as to make destruction desirable for it's own sake, independent of any constructive program or possiblity <--- check

i am a nihilist.  not that anyone gives a good god damn about it.

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my starving life

as a disclaimer, i will say that i am within healthy weight for my height according to the "experts".  still, i've started dropping weight and sizes fairly quickly again.  i doubt i'll remain "healthy" for long.

food food food.  ugh.  been keeping track of what i eat for a week to get a glimpse of how many calories i get in a day. it is nowhere near what i should be eating to even maintain where i am at...  i am starving.   since this latest depression started, i've gone from a tight 12 to a very easy 8, honestly more of  a 6 since the eating has dropped more and the weight loss has picked up.

food makes me ill.  it hurts to eat, and i feel physically awful after.  sometimes i don't eat when i'm hungry because i know i will get sick if i do.  sometimes i won't eat because i simply don't want to get fat again.  i do enjoy the control.  does this mean i have an eating disorder?  i have no clue, but i'm not totally honest with my therapist about this.  he knows i don't eat enough, but we've not talked about the fear of gaining weight, nor the control issues.  maybe it's time to come clean.

some stupid website tells me at my height and weight, with my level of activity i will need to eat nearly 1700 calories a day to maintain my shrunken weight.   there is NO WAY i will be able to consume this much.  at 600 to 800 a day that i'm at now, i see no way out of this death spiral of starvation.

this is what i call passive suicide.  when i get actively suicidal... either way, i feel like my entire life has become either daring or begging to be hospitalized, if they would just notice.  then again, i can't afford any more health care, so it's all moot.   i don't see a way out of this, and i don't want to live anymore.  anything to get me away from this life.  this life i'm supposed to care about.  if it's accidental, then they can't be as angry.  maybe it won't hurt them as much.

 

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even deeper

lyrics provided by mr. trent rezor.  (i wish i could write half as well)  this is from memory, so if it's wrong, don't complain to me.  also, the song is at the bottom of the page, in case you care.

i woke up today to find myself in the other place, with a trail of my footprints from where i ran way.  seems everything i heard just might be true.  you know me, well you think you do.   sometimes i have everything, yet i wish i felt something.  do you know how far this gone?  just how damaged have i become?  when i think i can overcome,  it runs even deeper.

in a dream i'm a different me, with a perfect you, we fit perfectly.  for once in my life i feel complete, and i still want to ruin it.  afraid to look, as clear as day.  this plan has long been underway.   i hear them call, i cannot stay.   the voice inviting me away.  do you know how far this has gone?  just how damaged have a i become?  when i think i can overcome, it runs even deeper.  everything that matters is gone.  all the hands of hope have withdrawn. could you try to help me hang on?  it runs....

i'm straight, i won't crack, on my way and i won't turn back

i'm ok, i'm on track, on my way and i won't turn back

i'm straight, i won't crack, on my way and i can't turn back

i stayed on this track, lost my way and i can't come back

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i'm not that

i'm not who you think i am.  i'm not anything.  empty, dead things aren't allowed to mix with the live beings.  there is nothing that you see that is real.  just an empty shell that moves on instinct.  so tired of acting like i belong someplace i obviously don't.

supposedly it's just life to do things when you don't want to.   somehow that doesn't seem like enough

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spd and depression

i can be schizoid and depressed at the same time.  disconnection feels like the right thing to do.  not in a mental illness sort of way.  more like an i need to get out of bed and function sort of way.  i've barely left my bed for a year because i let the emotional part out in an attempt to stop dissociating.  i had to put the emotion away and let the more capable part of me take over.  dissociation isn't an awful thing for me.  it's pretty much the only way i can live.

the great bi-product had been that i was able to not feel the depression as strongly during the process of disconnecting.   everything good and bad gets muted when i accept the schizoid part of myself, and let it make the decisions.  only getting lost in the fantasy half the time must be better than living there.

not even protecting myself from all feelings can keep suicidal ideation away.   getting away is the most important thing.  it always will be.

 

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2am thinking

Embarassment is a constant companion.  I'm embarassed every time I open up.  Embarassed about my therapy sessions, about chats with friends here.   That I can't seem to get it together enough to clean.  Or eat. Or get out of bed. That I'm writing this right now.

This is all my fault.  If I were better, then I could forgive myself.  I could change, I could believe what I'm supposed to.  I see the people here that have found some measure of peace, and I know they have something I don't.

In this between time, before the suicidal ideation comes back, I am empty and apart.  People that know me will get tired of this at some point.  I cannot continue to lean on people and be open and expect unending support.  Sooner or later everyone notices that they have gotten better and I'm in the same place, or worse than I was before.  So speaking brings embarassment.  This post will take up more brain space than anything of so little consequence should.

If I could only shut my mouth.  Or change.

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hanging on

I am feeling very much like a failed experiment right now.  All the pills, years of therapy.  It's still the same.  Actually, it's worse.  I've lost the ability to do so much.

I hate this stupid body.  It forces me to eat and it keeps running even though I want it to stop.  I have no say in this.

Yesterday I told them they should be more scared than I think they are... I believe the words sailed past them.  I don't think I was heard.

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I'm sorry

I'm sorry that my stinking mental illness has scared more people.  I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable.  I should know by now that it's best to keep your mouth shut. Silence is a skill I've never mastered.  I have to say the awful things in my head.

This medicine is hard... It makes things more distant.  Cold logic and distance have pushed me to my limits.  I am capable of anything when the cold takes over.  I know I should call my doctor and tell him this bit of info.  Don't think I will.  I am going to take this 3x a day every day until the day he notices and makes me stop.  This med could fix me, just not how the doc planned.

I am sorry for being so quick to trigger.  I am sorry if I've hurt anyone.

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ugh

I have to pull myself out of this... I'm scaring my friends and myself.  Never been good at getting out of this place.  I need help that isn't coming.

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more rantings

I should never get excited about medicine.  I should know by now that it will stop working if it provides any benefit.  I'll keep taking it, hoping it will work again, but instead I'll just have the side effects left.

A week free of suicidal thought.  It's more than I ever thought I'd get.  Then the slide begins.  Down each day, a little more each day.  Then one day, the slide stops and it's a crash landing in the pit.  I'm used to it.  If there is anything even resembling a real me, than this is it.  The dark thoughts, the unreality of it all.

I want to isolate, to get away from everyone, everything.  I can't even go to a hospital... it would bankrupt me.

My shrink is worried.  I am worried.  But I won't tell anyone, because nobody can help.

It doesn't get better.  It's not a permanant solution to a temporary problem.  It's a permanant solution to a life-long problem.  How can they know?

Even you guys don't know.  Pretend to know me, to like me.  I'll pretend that I believe you.

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sigh

Got a call from my daughter this morning. Woke me up, but I knew it was coming.  She was crying because my mother, once again, hit her at her weakest point.  Threats, intimidation, bribes... this is how the lady I've taken to calling my birth mother relates to others.

Yesterday I told myself I would lay into her today if I got this phone call that I knew was coming.  Either I'm psychic or the crazy lady is very predictable.  So here I sit, thinking of what to say, all impotent rage and deep weariness.

I struggle every day to remain alive, to find some reason to continue today.  I say today, because I can't look to tomorrow.  That's too far away.  Yet, somehow my mother finds a way to make it harder on me.  I am beginning to believe she wants me dead.  I know she wants me crazy, so we are on the same level.

Almost 40 and I have to deal with a woman that I thought I got away from when I was 17.  Please, just stop.

 

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my mother and my daughter

Both of these ladies are driving me to the brink.  For those that don't know, my 20 year old daughter and her fiance are living with my mother in the city until she can get established and get her own place.  Recently, mom hired my daughter for a receptionist job with a charity she's on the board of.

My mother is crazy beyond the pale, so when she suggested this, we asked a lot of questions.  Who will be boss?  "I will be for a short time, but I'll almost never be there", she replied.  Is the pay above-board? "Of course, the charity will pay and it will be fine", she replied.  Question after question, to which I received satisfactory answers.  So I told my daughter she should do this, get some experience, and then move on quickly.

Every answer she gave was a LIE.  She's boss, and she's awful.  The charity doesn't know there's an actual employee, my mother pays her out of her own account, then reimburses herself through the charity.  She won't allow a lunch on a 7 hour shift.  My daughter came home for Easter and got sick.  I talked to my mom and explained we're all ill and I couldn't have my daughter driving 150 miles with the stomach flu.

This caused my mother to get angry...  She should be at work, even if she's ill... No sick days, no breaks, no lunches, no nothing.  My daughter got in trouble at work because we walked 2 buildings down to order a pizza when I came to visit.  5 minutes, and she got chewed.

I shouldn't be surprised that she lied, yet I'm angry and I want to confront her.  Any time I take her side, I get burnt, and I want her to know that.  I also want her to know that any employee can reasonably be expected to quit in short order with these Industrial Revolution era work rules.

My daughter is far from perfect.  I would like to take my mother's side on some of the home issues, because she's not always wrong.  I am sick of her making me the fool when I do take her side...  I hate dealing with my mother.  I don't know what to do anymore, not that I ever knew what to do before.

Such an easy liar.  I always thought she was a narrcisist.  I'm beginning to suspect she's actually a sociopath...  I can't deal with this crap.

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Rambling

I can't get the suicidal ideation out of my head.  It's strong and it doesn't seem to matter how hard I try or how much I don't want it here.  I want to beg for help, but I'm already getting so much help.  So much more than others.  Yet I'm in this place, dealing with this crap.  I can't see a way out and I don't see this getting better.  A lifetime of messed up thoughts and constant danger has taken it's toll.

Pills don't work.  Therapy doesn't work.  I can't see the use of trying so hard and failing every time.  Of course people are going to say "It will get better".  It does for them.  They've not lived a life where it doesn't get better, ever.  Same as it ever was.

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it doesn't matter what i say here.

nothing really matters.

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Thoughts after therapy

Part of me so much wants to be better.  Part wants to fail.  How many times am I going to fail?  How many more failures can I survive?

Even trying to be honest I fail.  I might already know all the answers.  Everything I claim I don't know.  Things I won't be able to hear or face.

The inside is still empty.  I've constructed fanatical avoidance.  Don't look inside.  Don't listen to it's words.  Don't look directly at it.

Tonight I can't turn my gaze away.  Is it my fault?  If some part of me wants it, I must have brought it.  But it is me .  My head spins at the situation.

Love the depression.  Hate the depression, anxiety, rage, obsession.  Love the warmth and protection.  I will continue to fail until something is built inside.  Something other than the rage and terror.  Something more than self-hatred.  Make me more than hollow.

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the real me

I'm afraid I will be too confessional here.  My thoughts aren't accepted or acceptable anywhere but with a doc I think.  I don't want worried replies.  Please, if you read this, don't freak and don't worry.

I call it depression, but it's not even that.  It's the constant urge to die.  No space for normal thought in my head.  I move with no direction from my higher functions.  Those are all used to think about how I will do it, when.  To think about my desires, fight against them while holding them tight to me.  Release is what drives me.  The thought that it can all be over at my command is something I need.  Doc I told me this week that his goal has always been to keep me alive.  We both wonder if that's possible at this point.

I don't want to try anymore.  I keep trying to hold off, tempting myself, hoping I will slip and just have to finish the job.  It hurts worse when I try to stop it and it doesn't even stop.  So why hurt myself so much more?  The answer has been staring me in the face for 25 years.  25 years ago, I realized it's an option.  Every single day since then, I've had to deal with the images.  Suicide will be a memory for me when I do it... Done it so many times, so many ways.  Burned into my head, into my memory.

I wake against my will day and again.  Wake from dreams of killing myself.  This has consumed all of me.

So I sit quietly in the room, wanting to scream this out to everyone, unable to make a sound.

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tired of trying *triggers*

I'm sick of trying to get better.  It hurts worse when I start thinking maybe I can be better.  If I believe with all my heart that I will always end up back at the same spot, it's easier when I do end up there.  If I believe that maybe I have something more inside than the emptiness, it hurts when I can't find it.

So yeah, I want to give up.  I want to just slit my wrists and finally be done.  Take all the pills I've saved.  Shoot myself in the face.  Quit trying because it's not helping, it's hurting.   Don't listen to me, don't say anything.  Just let me go.  They won't let me go.

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