Sadness flows inside,
Flows out like water.
It’s been a while since I have written my thoughts on here. Of course I have written many other things. I have since finished therapy. I had in total 14 sessions. I didn’t find them very helpful. It was ironic in a way that I was there because I had stumbled into my doctor’s surgery one day to tell them I wanted to kill myself and it took so much inside to say what was at the root of that, my father, and yet, when I got to therapy, if I tried to mention my parents in anyway, my therapist would tell me that it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. And while this is true, it is in the past. Most of the occurrences are years ago. They are still big to me. I have not got over them and the parts inside me struggle.
Mt father is dying. He has cancer. He has had it a while and because he is older, it is taking a while. I do not imagine he will be here this time next year, maybe not in six months either. He is in the final stages now. I used to think I wouldn’t care if he died. Not because I hated him for what he had done, not because I had cut him off, but because I was sure that I wasn’t capable of loving anyone or anything. I don’t feel it inside for people, not until they leave. It was a terrible time when my children were growing up and I questioned continually my feelings for them. It feels like some part inside me doesn’t work.
My father at the moment was just awaiting tests to see if his cancer had spread even farther. He messaged me today to say that it hadn’t. I found myself disappointed with that and I have no idea why. It isn’t that I wish him anything bad. When he had a heart attack recently I found myself upset, but what I realised was that I wasn’t upset about him dying. I was upset that his chance to ever make things up to me was gone. The chance he would ever be my father was at risk.
I sometimes think that inside, I am a monster.
Twenty minutes of the thoughts from my head.
I think that my father cannot bear to let me have anything in my life. It doesn’t matter if it is good or bad. He becomes like some petulant child jumping up and down, screaming what about me?
Well what about you?
It’ll take me a lot to write this and to not allow the anger that is bubbling inside to come out and pour onto this page. I feel the anger from it and him and his words and his … I don’t even know the word to use here right now. But I feel it. I want ti cut it out. Nothing would please me more than to go upstairs to my bathroom and take out the blade I have specifically for my self-harm.
He did it again. Like always he comes in and lays waste to my already shaky foundations. He comes along and destroys what is there. It doesn’t matter how much building I do. How much protection I try to put between us, he knows how to shoot for my heart and he does it every time. He doesn’t miss.
I passed my first year of university not so long ago. I got a first too. I was very proud of myself. Of course my father felt he had to come along and claim his prize. Hold me up like some trophy and proclaim to everyone how hard it had been to bring me up. He bowed down graciously and received applaud for his efforts as a father.
I said nothing. It is terrible to say that I hope he has died by the time I graduate. The day I get my doctorate I don’t want him to be here. I don’t want him to take any credit. Even if it is fake. He had nothing to do with my education. I will have done it in spite of him.
He struck again a couple of days ago. Those who have me on facebook will know that there was a new addition to my family. A grandson. He is a little poorly at the moment. He was born early and his bowels were outside of his body, but he is recovering and coming along just great.
Naturally this meant that my attention was focused on my family and on this little guy and his recovery. My father thought or perhaps felt a little left out and along he came once more with his patheticness.
I had just come out of NICU when I received my father’s message. He wanted to know what he was to this baby. If he would have a part in his life. I want to ask him if he is joking. I know what he does with little boys. Does he really expect me to hand over something so innocent to him? He went on to tell me things about someone important in my life – things that I know are untrue. They still hurt to read, though. Not because I believed them, but because this is my father and this is how low he has to go to get my attention.
The closing part of his email was one of pleading. Asking me to end his pain, because apparently that is what I do. I cause him pain with how I am. He’s asked me to say goodbye to him. For him to be able to disown me. He won’t. I get this threat a lot, but it still hurts me every time I hear it. It still tears me apart to know that my father ever wants to hurt me. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I ever did other than be his child.
It all hurts inside and I am not sure how to get it out.
I keep seeing many posts around the social media that seems to me to be so narrow minded. Of course Robin Williams is still big in the news. I wish people would look at both sides.
I see people say that suicide is selfish. This is people who don’t understand. Imagine being hungry for a week, a month, or as with depression, years. Being so hungry that you would eat absolutely anything. The someone gave you a sandwich and put it in front of you, you could smell it, touch it, and you don’t even have to close your eyes to imagine how delicious it will taste and how much it’s going to take away the hunger pains. Your brain in the moment does not consider anything else but that sandwich. What if someone else wanted that sandwich? Are you going to tell the starving person that if they eat it, they are selfish for ending their pain?
I know that people say suicide is selfish and that the person committing it is not thinking of their loved ones, but isn’t it also selfish for those loved ones to want the suicidal person to stay? They want them to stay because of the hole that they would leave, so that they don’t feel grief, loss – a form of pain that is on the same unbearable level as the one wishing to leave this world? Isn’t that also selfish?
I am not condoning suicide here. Not at all, but don’t hate someone because they did it or attempted it. Don’t tell someone who is suicidal that it’s selfish, because it isn’t. Most suicidal people don’t actually want to die, what they want is the pain to stop. Not to end life. Not to cause more harm. Not to make others suffer, but to put an end to what feels so unbearable inside their minds.
I saw another post today also by someone with terminal cancer. Of course they ranted about how someone with everything, money, fame, family etc could wish away their lives and in Robin Williams case, take it. How could they do that when people like this cancer sufferer fought every day to live?
It’s a valid point. However, depression and any other mental health issue is a killer. Robin Williams didn’t kill himself, as nor did anyone else, their illness did. And if you don’t believe me, think back to the sandwich.
While I can never understand the fight and the fear and everything else that happens with some who is terminally ill, I do understand what it is like to want it to stop. I know what it is like to feel a pain so much in my mind that I have begged God or whoever to please not let me wake up again.
There was another status I saw after that too. Someone had posted that they would understand why he took his life he had been suffering a deadly debilitating illness and they were pleased that actually he might have been because he had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, so they understood that. Why do they not understand that depression and everything like it is a deadly and debilitating illness?
Imagine the one thing in the world that drives you so insane that you can’t think. Fingernails down a chalk board. The sound of a knife and fork being brought back and forth over a ceramic plate. A loud shrilling siren. Sitting on a nine hour flight with a screaming baby.
Imagine that sound and then imagine listening to it every minute of every day.
How would you switch off the pain in your ears?
It’s been a while since I have posted here. Actually it’s been a while since I have posted anywhere. I find talking so hard to do, even if it is just a message here or there. I feel like I am bothering people mostly. I do love to hear from people, though. I love the messages I get, even when I don’t have the strength to answer, the support is never lost on me.
I’m back in therapy. If you’ve read my last post here, you’ll see I tried to overdose. Of course I’ve since almost hospitalised myself recently with cutting my arms too. Therapy is like a huge big puddle that I am trying so badly not to drown in. Some days I wake up and wish there was a way I could just make everything stop.
It’s been ten weeks with my therapist. Ten weeks of feeling like he isn’t hearing me properly. The last appointment I had, though. He finally heard me. It felt that way anyway. I told him I felt like I had different personalities and there wasn’t a way to stop them coming out. I already know I am fragmented into parts, and I’ve never been able to get it across to him. This time he listened. It was like watching a light bulb go on above his head and I at least feel hopeful.
I guess there isn’t much to say. If you have read my books, maybe you would like to know that I have been posting the story beyond the books on Wattpad. It’s slow going because I am trying to give myself some time to write fiction. I love that the most and I think inside I just need a little make believe for a while, but I update it where I can. Read it here.
I’ll try not to be so long until I post again. Maybe then I will have found my voice once more.
I took an overdose yesterday (I’m okay. I went to hospital). The day started badly, that weird feeling inside, where everything just feels wrong. I think that should have been my first warning sign. The fact that I sat on the train going to university, and I just wanted to get off right then, I should have realised how bad my own mind was. I wanted to curl up somewhere and just cry. Even the most self-absorbed woman in the circle of university friends noticed that there was something wrong with me; it must have been very evident for her to see it.
I sat outside in the rain and wind, I was so cold. I couldn’t console myself, I couldn’t find an ending to what I was feeling inside. I couldn’t breathe from it. It has been a while since I hurt that much inside, maybe a year since, I did the only thing that I could, I took the painkillers from my bag and stuffed them in my mouth. I got half way through them and suddenly saw the faces of those who I know would be heartbroken. It is one of the worst feelings I have ever had to experience, I wanted to put the last of those pills in my mouth, but I couldn’t, I kept seeing the pain I would leave behind. I wish it wasn’t there.
My father is dying, he won’t see out this year. I’m afraid he’s going to die and never say sorry. I’m afraid he’s never going to tell me why he did the things he did. I think I have just been waiting so long for him to say to me, I’m sorry, I love you, I didn’t mean any of those things. It wasn’t your fault. That’s the part I need. The fault part. I need him to say it. I need him to tell me nothing was because of me. He’s going to die and I will never get that kind of resolution.
My children and granddaughter are moving out soon. They have another baby on the way; they have to leave because there is just no room. They are excited, I am excited, but I am also very sad. My son has been with me for twenty years. He’s always been here, not just as my son, but as my friend. It’ll be strange with him not being around talking about the latest gaming thing. Of course I worry too. He has Asperger’s, I worry how he will cope in a place without me. But I have to let him try. For him, I won’t always be here. I’m just going to miss him and his little family. He asked me the other night if our relationship will change when he leaves, he doesn’t want it to. I hope it doesn’t.
I’m doing well at university, but everything feels out of control. So many essays and exams coming up. With everything going on in my life. I feel like I am trying to ski down a slope filled with obstacles and I am blindfolded and out of control. I need to find a way to stop, to say I am okay and I can do this. I need to get down that slope slowly, and take time to enjoy things on the way.
I need to find peace with myself. My illnesses are so out of control. I self-harm almost daily and my OCD has me tied in so many knots, I wish it would leave me alone. I have a big messy pile in front of me. It is me. Somehow I have to sort through it.
Sometimes I miss you
Sometimes I miss you so much that it makes my breath catch and my pining heart beat faster.
Sometimes I miss the touch of your hand in mine, that I can still feel it.
Sometimes I miss the sight of your face, but then I open my eyes.
Your absence makes me see the real you, more than your presence ever did.
You blinded me, made it so I couldn’t see.
Sometimes I miss the lies I believed.
Sometimes I miss the fake comfort I had in the illusion you created.
Sometimes I miss what you only pretended to give me
My heart still feels bruised
Sometimes I just miss you.