Someone got me good the other day, real good. In my therapy group one member brought up a subject (referring specifically to me) that’s been brought up loads of times in the past. One that I’ve spoken about myself. Maybe it was because of who said it, though I can’t figure out why. Maybe it was the immediate circumstances, or the topic that led to it, or my state of mind. I don’t know. Whatever it was doesn’t matter right now. What matters is how the fuck do I deal with it.
It was a challenge, in every sense of the word. I can’t hear myself someplace at the back of my mind shouting ‘it’s what I need’ I got quite upset, for a moment and steered away to avoid crying, it’s bonkers that that’s still a big problem. But that’s another story, or is it. Although I felt and was very calm, I did my best to stay present and keep listening while people continued to critique me. My voice wavered just before I almost cried. My chest was tight with emotions and my vision narrowed. I’m sure that it was written all over my face and I could feel the sympathy eminating from others, couldn’t meet their eyes, only the eyes of the facilitator, and the person who raised the original point. They did not look back at me.
As I write I’m making more connections between them and my mother, which would go a long way to describing why it hit me so hard. Right now I want to hit them, hard.
I’m terrified of having been institutionalised, by the backwards thinking self serving government, by my actually severely ill but despirate for attention so will make herself ill mother, by schools, society, the whole fucking lot. But mostly by my parents, both of them are equally responsible, just as I am not responsible for what happened to me as a child. Nor for what happened to my siblings either.
I have worked so fucking hard to not be them. And every time I think maybe I’ve made it, I realise that no I haven’t. I’ve just hit another wall. I am not responsible for then, but I am responsible for now.
I am responsible for shaking off that bullshit they saddled me with, that’s kept me down and behind my whole damn life. I have to stop being like them, stop being scared of not being ill, stop being scare to take chances. I am not sick. But I am damaged, and that I need to repair. I can’t tell my sister that the only reason I don’t end my life is because I don’t want to hurt her. She’ll probably, hopefully, never read this but if you do, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I
didn’t couldn’t protect us all, I’m sorry you got hurt. And I’m sorry our brother got hurt. I failed. I failed to protect you, and now you don’t need me. I have no purpose. And I really need to find my purpose or I can’t go on. I’m trying to come to terms with the idea that it make take me time to realise what the fuck it is. Trying to get comfortable with the idea of just being okay to soldier on and be patient while I figure that out. And with trying to figure out if I actually want to keep living. Coz right now, it doesn’t appeal.