Tag Archives: pain

Vanish

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Everyday feels like I am running through mud with my eyes closed and going backwards when really I should be going forwards, yet I see no point in it. The most I can do is stop and try to breathe. I wish somehow I could lift the ache inside my chest. I feel so much like a fraud living through every day. I go to university and sit in my lectures and I look normal. I look like everyone else, yet I am not. Every move I make is thought out. Every door I open, I don’t touch. I feel like I’m living in some kind of bubble that any moment is going to be invaded by I don’t even know what.

My mind is so crazy. No one knew today as I sat with a couple of class mates in the canteen and declared, no, I’m not hungry, I had a huge breakfast that I was lying. My stomach inside was starving. The smell of the soup from my friend’s tray, or the look for the chilli on the plate opposite me was like torture, but still I sat and did not eat. The stupid echo’s in my mind. Sometimes I wish they would just shut the hell up and get lost. I cannot eat, I don’t deserve too. It’s like having a voice on my shoulder, every time I go for food it starts with the names and the reminders and I just walk away defeated again.

I wish it would vanish.

I wish I could vanish.

It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t expect anything off my father as usual. He hasn’t bothered for 36 years, what would make 37 any different? But of course still there was that hope that never goes away. Maybe this year will be different, but it isn’t. He did message me a couple of days after, to tell me that he forgot. What kind of father forgets his child’s birthday? No matter how old they are. Why tell me? Why point out how useless you are and always have been. Is forgetting some kind of excuse? Doesn’t he realise it makes him look bad rather than excusing it? tumblr_lctztxzXNK1qcqnroo1_400

I get mad at myself when I have anger at him. He had a heart attack and what if he dies? It wasn’t so long ago. I broke down when I was told, but I realise the reason I broke down wasn’t because I was afraid of losing my father, I wasn’t scared that he might die. What I was upset about was, he might die and never make amends. He might die and never say he’s sorry. He might die and never realise he is actually my father.

I realise I’m waiting for the impossible and I don’t know how to let go of that hope that keeps breaking my heart.

Please Turn My Life Switch Off

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1

 

There was a man once; he was in so much agony from his illness, when he died, while that was sad, it was also a relief. His suffering was over, his eyes closed and for the first time in a long while, he looked truly at peace.

He’d spent so long fighting. He had taken all the drugs and treatments going and fought with every breath he had just to get through the day and the pain he suffered. He held on every minute of his life, even though, some days the pain was so excruciating, he would curl up on the floor crying, begging someone to please take it away and no one could. 1385972_257464541068177_1105653773_n

Occasionally the pain was so bad, he couldn’t even speak or think, all he could do was roll around in silent agony, waiting for sleep to take him and the torture to stop, just for a slight reprieve, but those reprieves weren’t long. The pain would be back, it would keep him awake through the night and he would lie in the darkness, alone, with no one who could make it better.

What a tragic, horrible way for someone to have to live, that death is the only mercy. Often we would say, this person is in a better place now, their suffering is over. And yes, while the family is upset for their loss and they would give anything to have this man back, they never want to watch someone have to live in such a way again. It is a sight that they will probably never get over.

Perhaps you think this man had cancer, HIV/AIDS or some other kind of debilitating cruel illness.

What if this was inside?

Why do people’s view change? Mental pain is just as bad as physical pain. The suffering is the same.

I see so many posts on suicide today and this last week. In September it was national suicide prevention day. Sometimes I think those posts should be labelled, keep the person alive to suffer day.

People who commit suicide are sometimes called selfish or a coward, but go back and read the above. Imagine keeping that inside and smiling outside.

I talked to a friend last night and tried to explain how it is for me. That from the moment I open my eyes, to the moment they close again, I am in such pain inside, a pain so deep and big I can’t even find the words to explain it. I wish there was a way to show people, but I there isn’t. Every moment of every day it hurts. Sometimes sleep doesn’t even let me escape and I am woken with nightmares and suffering.

As I explained this to my friend, I wish with every part of me that I could make it all go away. I wished that I could go back to a time when I was a teenager and make it over then, when it wouldn’t matter to the people it would now. I wished so hard it felt as if I could almost make it real, but I can’t.

And I know, many will tell me to look at what I have to live for, all the good things in my life, but tell that to the man above. Whatever illness you thought he had.

 

I know what I have to live for. That is why I am here typing this, because I can never give to my children the pain of losing me, but it doesn’t mean tomorrow I won’t think or fantasise about being able to turn my life switch off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haha, you’re mentally ill.

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5

Today I asked a deaf man to listen to this great song and then I laughed when he couldn’t hear it, I also asked all my friends on my facebook to laugh too. Then I put something too high up and asked a crippled man to reach it down, it was so damn funny when he couldn’t (please note I didn’t really). Sounds horrendous doesn’t it? Yet this is how I feel when I see such stupid things as the picture I have posted at the side. I hope it creates a good laugh, and then I hope those who laugh realise how cruel that is. This illness is an illness, it is serious and debilitating and certainly not a joke. It makes me sad when I see such ignorance. 1379856_10200784363384001_904517282_n

Perhaps you want to tell me to lighten up, it’s just a joke. Have a laugh. Take it easy?

I saw on an Asperger’s awareness site a post saying put OCD on your profile for a laugh. I was disgusted, not just at that, but for something that raises awareness for an illness, can belittle another one in such a way.

Today I reach day eight of not eating. This is due to my OCD, maybe it’s funny. Maybe I should be laughing.  For me it’s a nightmare. For me I am living with a crazy person inside my head who is so afraid to eat.

I bought a coffee this morning, pretty simple thing, but for me, I try not to watch the person serving, because I know if I do, I find a reason not to drink it and to pour, probably a perfectly good coffee away. I nearly did that today when I saw the young girl pig up my cup from the top. What if her hands were dirty? That’s what my mind started at, and then onwards it went to the many disastrous things that could happen if I drank that coffee.

Sometimes I am rebellious, it is like my OCD is a separate person to me, I havre to do things to annoy it. Like put my cup to my mouth and take a sip and then laugh at my OCD as it clutched its evil little head, because now it was too late, any form of harm or germ in that cup was in my mouth, so I might as well drink it all.

I saw this also today in a group, Obsessive Compulsive Cosmetics. What an awful name. Perhaps they will instruct as that poster said, Nike, to make running shoes for the paraplegic.

OCD I hate you

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5

OCD I hate you. I do today. I’m tired of it. Tired of thinking about every little detail of everything I do in order to keep myself safe.

My OCD is going downhill these last few weeks, months really, I guess I get the odd days reprieve, when I feel strong and yeah, I can take my OCD on and beat it, but for the rest of the time, I’m running up hill, through muddy water.

I went to the supermarket today, nothing odd about that of course. They have mince pies for sale, my favourite thing. Its like someone bringing me Christmas early. I stared at them and stared at them and a million things went thought my head because they didn’t feel ‘right’ to buy. Not right as in its too early, but right for me, the one with OCD, where everything is controlled by what feels right and what doesn’t. So I left them. Went off into the supermarket to get what I wanted, but those damn mince pies played on my mind because I really wanted them. They really, really are one of my favourite things. I could taste them. I could imagine them. And god the thought just made me want to eat one in that moment, but then I thought, I can do this.

So I walked back to the front of the supermarket where they are and thought, it’s just my OCD talking. There’s no real danger. It’s just this thing I have. I can get them and I can eat them and I will be fine.

I Look at them, pick them up, imagine eating them and then it starts again, that stupid voice that’s plagued me all week long. What if it’s this packet. What if it’s this box. What if they make you sick. You don’t know who’s touched them, you didn’t see them get made. What if you’re sick at university tomorrow and you can’t get away?

I put the mince pies down and walked away. I wish this illness would go away. I wish I could just be like other people and buy something and eat it and not think what if.

It’s been a week like this. In a way I guess its good I can go a while without eating and it doesn’t bother me so much, because while I am at university at the moment, I can’t eat. I find my old fears coming up. Fears of a child, what if I get sick? What if I am sick in the wrong place?

I know my mother isn’t here and no one is going to beat me for getting ill on the rare chance it did happen, but still, when I go to take food, I am, just too afraid.

A Waste of Time

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8

I’m sorry for the swearing and any typos in this. I don’t have it in me right now to go over it and correct them.

A waste of time.

That’s what I am. that’s what I feel. I had an friend just recently tell me that our friendship for almost for the last few years had been a waste of time. A waste of her time. For years she used to tell me i was worth something and that i meant something to her. She encouraged me and helped me, but in the end, it was a waste she said. I guess it’s true. I look back at our friendship, then i look back at my parents too and everyone that has followed them. I was a waste of their time too. I seem to be a waste of everyone’s time. They knew, right from the start. They saw it. They knew I wasn’t worth loving. They knew all along, they were right. I should have listened to them. Parents are always right.

I keep asking myself why i am still here. I don’t want to be and it is clear throughout my life, that aside from my children, it would probably be better if I wasn’t. People try to be my friend, but i hide away. I don’t want them to see the badness that is there. Its always been there. People who read my books just don’t want to see it, they see an innocent child. But its a lie. He’s a lie. I’d hand him over to all those people again myself if i could go back in time. He deserved it. He deserved everything.

I hear his cries in my head and i want to scream at him to shut the fuck up. This is what he deserves. It all is. Because, as people say or prove. He is just a waste of time and so am I.

Originally i was going to blog about something that felt like a victory to me this weekend. I had bought fresh chicken, touched it and cooked it. Having OCD, that was a huge challenge for me. But today I think why. What kind of idiot cant even buy a chicken without standing for 10 minutes in the supermarket and trying to hide the upset and turmoil inside about which one feels right. Which is the one that wont cause something bad to happen. And i look at myself and wonder why people don’t see how pathetic i am. I see it.

This morning at 4am, i woke up from a bad dream and the first thing i see is the bad man from my childhood, stood opposite me, on the other side of the room. Of course he wasn’t there, i was just having a flashback. I closed my eyes, unable to move, told myself i was safe. That he isn’t there anymore. He isn’t real. Isn’t that stupid? I’m a grown up. An adult, and still i get afraid of the monsters in the dark. Why cant I just be normal? Instead of this god damn stupid freak that i am, who is a waste of time. To everyone.

I gave in and self-harmed this morning. Isn’t that as pathetic as everything else? It didn’t even help. I can’t do it properly, like I need to. I wish I could cut through my own skin. I wish i could cut so damn deep that i wouldn’t be able to feel anything else. I wish i could do it until i was totally gone and then i wouldn’t need to waste any time for anyone else.

I wish i could go away. I wish that child had of died.

 

Silence

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2

It’s funny how, after finishing a book and releasing it, I always feel quiet. Not that I don’t have things to say, just that I have said a lot and I feel guilty. I feel immense guilt at telling the world about my parents, as if I have betrayed them. It makes me even more quiet than normal; this of course gives me time to think. Not just about my writing, but many things.

A friend who will ignore me in a desperate time, yet issue cruel words when I  give up and walk away, or the father who offers me many things, only to take them away when I reach to take them. Now reprimands me, when he offers, and I say no. photo(1)

I seem to be learning many lessons, but for every lesson I learn, comes another consequence.

Each day is a fight.

One day in the last couple of weeks, I don’t know what day it actually was, I sat in my car, just pulled up and looked out at the river in front of me, a place I like to go and spend time. I felt like I was ready to jump. I couldn’t for one thing, think of a good enough reason why I shouldn’t end it right there and then.

I knew I couldn’t because of my children, but it left me pleading inside someone to help me and make me go away, because in that moment, I just couldn’t stand the pain of many things, things that I will never understand.

The only thing at the moment, that is letting me breathe, are the days I give in and self-harm. Yet as much as I self-harm, I can’t dig in deep enough. I daren’t even try, because what I am fighting with at the moment, is the child that doesn’t want to be here anymore, because he took his heart out, and realises it is broken.

Goodbye Teddy

Goodbye Teddy

It’s her shame, not mine

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Today

I feel so bad today, inside it feels like I can’t breathe, I want to cut so badly. I even visualise it, not just doing it, but the pain that comes from it, like unzipping my skin to let myself breathe, the same way one might do to relieve the strain on a tight pair if jeans.

That’s what I need to do. I watch the blood in my mind, it rolls down slowly from where I have cut, it’s warm and soothing, like a miniature carrier, it’s transports my pain to the outside.

I try to ask myself why I’m feeling this way, what’s causing it. Things are happy, I should feel happy. I shouldn’t feel this emptiness inside, but I do.

Then I realise, maybe it’s the child inside, the one fighting and hurt with so many things going around my mind and no one to sooth him.

A dream from a couple of days ago, one of a memory and I think, I can’t share that. I can’t tell anyone. But I can. It isn’t my shame. It’s my mothers it’s all hers. She did it to me, not the other way around.

I feel like I’m choking in the memory of her telling me to touch her tongue with mine, and her doing the same. Hers so much in my mouth that I couldn’t breathe.

It’s not my shame. It’s hers. She did it. Not me. Not me. Not me.

I think about the things she did. Where her hand went, the way she laid on me. I can feel it there, almost like it’s right now.

I get afraid to share this. I want to hide and run away.

But it is not my shame.

She did this to her child. The woman that was my mother. Not me.

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Whatever

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19

Whatever.

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(Sometimes I just write to get things out, this is one of those times.)

I want to hurt because it’s there. I want to scratch it out and make it go away. I want to make me go away. I want to turn it all off. I can’t cry it out enough, shout it, say it, or do anything to get it all out and gone.

It’s anger and aloneness, all at the same time. I want to curl up so it will go away and leave me alone. Then I don’t have to feel it any more.

I want him to take it away, say he was sorry, and know what it feels like. I want him to feel it so he really does feel sorry, not just words, but for him to understand. I want him to go back and fix it.

I want to be normal, go back, and make me be normal then. Why couldn’t I have proper things like food or clothes or just to feel safe? I do not know whose fault it is. It’s a mess.

I can’t think. It makes me want to put my head through a wall. There doesn’t seem to be a point. I can’t undo any of this. I just hide. It’s all a secret. People think I am one thing and really, I am something else inside.

My brother said when he moved out of my father’s house that it would be the end between them, but instead, he gets a normal relationship. His father coming to his house to help with DIY projects. My brother pops to our dad’s for things, he has a key, and he just walks in like a normal son. He gets everything and I have nothing.

I keep my dad away and I feel bad for it, but if I don’t, then it doesn’t change. He touches me, he hurts me, he leers at me and reminds me it’s all my fault because I was a ‘nice’ child. It was me. I turned him on. I flirted. I was the one with the smile and the face that promised more.

That is how I get everything.

That is all anyone ever wants.

It was me who climbed into his bed and I never said stop, not when he started to remove my clothes. I could have. I wasn’t afraid. I could have got out of the bed but I didn’t because I wanted that and he knew it. He knew it all the time. When I would come home from school and get changed; the way I got changed and that he could see me, made him want me. When I took a shower or a bath and walked passed him in just a towel.

It was all me, not him. Not him, because he didn’t make me. I got him to do those things. Not him. Me. It was me.

That’s why I don’t get things, because I’m the bad one and my brother is innocent. I am hard faced and I don’t feel anything and I don’t care. I am bad.

 

Roller coaster week

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8

What an odd week I have had.

So many things have gone on that my head feels like it’s on some odd kind of rollercoaster ride and I can’t quite get off

I lost a friend this week, a friend that acted in a cruel manner and I broke my making it to 1st October with the self-harm issue because I’m not equipped for such conflict. My count is back to zero. It had built up so much inside that I just had to let it out. It even made me ill enough that I got sent home from University. While I feel a lot of guilt that I gave into my own self-destructive behaviour, it was such a relief. It was like being able to breathe.

Of course, it hasn’t fixed the situation, I think it is probably for the best in many ways. I have days of wanting to be silent and days of talking. It’s too much to expect someone who doesn’t understand to handle I wonder if I should blame my parents for stealing my present too or if I should somehow tell myself to just deal with this and make myself get on with life.

I wrote today. It’s a part that has taken me a long time to do. It’s probably one of the hardest parts for me to write. It brings about so many feelings and so much anger that I don’t really know what to do with them. It feels like I can’t scream loud enough or I can’t get my words out. Nothing I will say will take away what I feel inside.

I think some part of me gets mad at the place I got sent; that it even exists at all. We read in the papers or see on the television often about how some person got arrested and had hundreds of indecent pictures of children on their computers. This is how the law cracks down on child pornography.

While I understand this part of the action, I don’t recall ever seeing news that the police closed down such a place where these images are made.

What about the poor children who are in these pictures? What about the adults that are also with them and doing many disturbing things? When will the law crack down on child pornography that way?

My father was a great one for that. He would rant and rave about these kinds of people that had these images. I would stand there and think really? It almost feels like I lived a different life to the morals he seems to spout to the world.

I remember coming back from such a place as this and my father asking me if I had had a good weekend. I was seven. What was I supposed to say to him? Yes? Should I spit out the horrors that I had just endured?

In my mind, I thought he didn’t know where I was or what I had been doing. He never spoke about it. I just got collected and delivered like goods. The things my parents said in normal life were the opposite of their actions on the other side.

I don’t think I know how to put it all together and tell my mind that my parents knew exactly where they had sent me; that it was their choice so, when my father asked, I had no choice but to nod in silence and tell him that I had.

Inside, I had died; even more so when I listened to the tales from my brother about everything that I had missed whilst I was gone. The things he had done with the family. A trip out to the funfair, a drive up to the country, new toys, new games, clothes, sweets, books. Everything that I didn’t have. I could never work out what I was doing wrong.

I wish there was a way I could get this all out in words. That I could take it out and put it here and leave it. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to say to make it go away.

I guess this is kind of a ramble of things.

On a plus note, I got some replies from volunteering. Perhaps, at least, I can help someone else along the way.

The revenge of Yes-Man

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14

The revenge of Yes-Man.

If there’s ever a post I regret putting online its yes-man. Not because I regret my words. I meant them. I still do. But they were mine, meant for me. A sort of pep talk to myself to say its okay if once in a while I said no. I thought posting it up I was just sharing. It’s there for anyone else with the same problems to see and there for others to just read.

What I didn’t expect was the repercussions of it. And good god did I not expect them. I’m not sure why people have taken it to act on what I said and now assume they are bothering me so they need to leave me alone. I don’t recall handing out boxes of kid gloves at the end of my post for people to wear and use to handle me with.

I hate being treated like glass. Like I’m going to break. Maybe that sounds harsh, selfish even. I know people mean everything with the best intentions, but what gets lost along the way is I’m a man. On here, this is the broken part of me. The bits I get stuck at. The pain I have to let out. But really it’s just a little part of me, not all of me.

I’m crying inside, not me but the child. A boy I was, locked inside in pain. His sadness is there. Sometimes I’m sure he’s going to take me down and have me curled on the floor sobbing for all I’m worth.

Then there’s the man, the anger, confusion, frustration. He’s not sure if he should point at the boy or point at the parents, sometime he’s so locked in doing both he wants to rip his own head off.

That was me today. The man. We did a thing today in class on my course about safety. Feeling it. Of course I couldn’t think of a single thing. I realised I’ve never felt safe. Not once. I’m always looking over my shoulder and always have.

I’m not sure what this triggered for me. I wrote about it, no doubt I’ll post it another time, but what I got left with was feeling miserable. Sad little boy took over and I felt helpless. I was hiding him. My smile was fake and forced, there was so much inside he wanted to let out but couldn’t.

I realised in general I don’t have a support system. But Yes-man I see stole that from me tonight with his negative effect. Everyone saying something along the lines of, your not feeling good today, I’ll leave you alone. Or you don’t have a lot to say ill leave you alone and I’m bothering your evening, I’ll leave you alone.

So what happened?

I got left alone. The people that care about me, decided to act on yes-man and give me what they thought I wanted. It’s hard not to be mad. Mad because no one asked me. But I have to answer this with, their intentions were good.

The downside is, I was alone, when what I wanted was someone, anyone I guess.

It’s all become such a mess I’m not sure how to undo it. People treat me in premeditated ways. Their actions are thought out and I can feel it with each of them, so they get a guarded piece of me back, one that acts accordingly to them.

In many ways I wish people that knew me, didn’t know my story. Then they’d treat me like they treat any person, but on the other side, I wish I just had someone I could talk to, someone that isn’t so emotionally involved they try to fix everything for me.

I just need someone that wants to listen and will treat me like a normal person.