she likes to think she’s reasonable. She pokes her nose into my life without invitation. She gives stupid advice with implied critisism and gets offended when i don’t follow her suggestions. She insults me. She belittles my choices and when i argue she claims i attack her. She rages at me. Then hours later she apologises, says she’s tired or stressed and i have to comfort her. It is soul destroying.
I wish i could just cut her out of my life. She wouldn’t understand and would rally the family. There’s been too much drama already. The old man is a drunken craven fool who is a manipulative cheating bastard and likes to wheddle her case.
My sister has cut me off because i didn’t want to fake sympathy at his hospital bed. I despise him and hate her. Admittedly she tortured me as a child and he just stood back and let it happen.
If it wasn’t for my brother i’d go totally insane. He gets it. He has the same experiences as me but in his case the violence was mostly physical. She beat me too but mainly tried to destroy my self-Esteem, confidence and humanity.
But i am alive and can avoid her most of the time. That has to count for something
I want to slice my wrists open until blood is flowing down my arms, changing the grey of my life to red, staining the sheets.
But I don’t because it would cause too many questions.
There must be some kinda way out of here. Out of the grey, dead feeling of my brain. Out of the cold of the unfeeling place.
I exist but I do not live. I am grey.
I hate this life.
I used to be alive.
I left a message on the answering machine of a counsellor. Feeling very nervous about starting this shit again but I’m not getting any better.
I’m completely thrown.I’ve just woken up from a horrific nightmare. I dreamed I was raped by a friend.
Now I’ve had the depression nightmares before but this was in such excruciating detail that it is still freaking me the frack out.
I am a two time rape survivor – one from a guy I was fucking and once drugged by a stranger. What I know for certain is that my dream never happened.
I thought I was getting better or at least staying at the “not really coping but everyone thinks I am” stage. I have vivid depression dreams all the time but the detail of this and the friend involved have freaked me out.
I guess it’s time to go back to counselling. It’s just the thought of spilling my guts once again and getting fucked over or misdiagnosed is exhausting.
I spent two days cleaning the house while struggling with depression and wanting to top myself because my mother was coming. The first thing she says when I got up the morning was that she had cleaned the bathroom.
She got huffy when I asked her not to sing the “cheer up” song.
She gave me helpful advice about getting fresh air cos that helps insomnia.
If I told her I had an anxiety attack would she ask “over what”?
She has seen my wrists in all their bloody glory. She has more sympathy with her friend’s son who was on sucicide watch because since he was committed he’s obviously more depression than I am.
She will not fucking understand if I explain with the slightest hint of critisicim and then yells at me for never telling her anything.
Thank god she’s gone now. I’m smoking like a fucking chimney and trying to resist the razor.
I thought things would be better when I moved back. They are not.
I’m living in the country by myself which is great but everytime I come up to the city I am insomniac once more.
I feel like my skin is alien. I am not me. The drugs are killing my mind. My words are gone. My breath is gone. My agility and balance are gone. I haven’t showered in over a week. My hands tremble and my head aches.
I am going back to conselling soon. I hope that this one will be better than the last one cos I can’t put up with another crappy shrink.
Am I going to be depressed for ever? Is that a life?