Sunday, 8 March 2020

Insomnia strikes back

I am strong. 

I do not think people understand or appreciate just what I have been through, mostly in the last 10 years. The war in my mind. The destruction of my body and the destruction of my life. 
And yet I am alive. 
How did I live through so many near suicide attempts? 
How did the health system afford by bloody hundreds of admissions ?

Why am I still here? Why am I so lucky?
I’m left with permanent scars from cutting deep into my veins. It wasn’t deep enough unless I needed stitches. That made me feel so accomplished and yet so stupid for it was for everyone to see. 

It’s been a year. It’s been just over one year since I stopped cutting. 
Do I miss it? Honestly? 
...... yes. 
Do I miss being detained? No. 
Do I miss months on end in hospital? No

It’s been one year and 5 months since I had my last major overdose, very nearly losing my life. 
I was so broken. 
I really did not see life worth living. 

And I do still struggle. 
I can blame all the people in the world, but honestly I’m the one I hate. I don’t blame what’s happened to me, I do blame me, no matter what the therapy tells you. 
I am guilty. 
I carry that pain. 

I have nightmares where I wake up days later restrained in hospital. 
I have dreams of being forced tune fed. 

But I try to smile through. 
Very few see through that smile. 

This depression is consuming and yet I push on. 
I never knew the definition of depression but I think I might be it. 

I forget all this. I forget what I’ve been through. 
But I don’t forget the pain. It follows you everywhere. Every wrong move you make, every mistake, every time you drop something. Such a failure you think you are. 

And when you miscarry? And almost die from it? To fail subjects at uni, Then lose your job, to push on to only have your reputation tarnished. To not be allowed on premises. 
To be hated. 
To be despised? 

But why? 
What have I ever done to you? 
To be judged, when no one sits down, asks you how you are and know what you’re going through. 

To bring starred at for anorexia. 
To my scars being starred at. 
Judged for my medication list

And the local hospital refuse you when you are a day away from blood transfusions and almost losing your life. For not giving you the time of day. 

It’s no wonder I am angry. 

But I’m learning to accept things. That I can’t change people. That the world is the most fucked up place and there’s nothing you can do to change that. 

Only my family knows the percent of it.
Very few can bare to hear the details. I don’t blame them. 
My story is too messed and horrible

I am too messed up and horrible. 
And no one is ever going to accept me for that. 

So I lay awake between the nightmares. With this feeling  inside my stomach that never seems to cease. 

My judgement in myself I accept. What I have done I accept and I take responsibility for. 

But losing another job? Losing everything to where I am today? 
I can’t just yet. 
I hate myself and wish I would disappear. But the only ways I know how, don’t end well for me and anyone I love. 
I don’t want to do that. 

I want to have a good life.
I want to move on.
I want a job.
I want to raise my child and actually be somebody .

Instead of being a nobody.
I’m almost 27 years old. And my life is a complete disaster. 
I have nothing going for me. 

But I keep pushing on.
I keep trying to smile for no one else but myself.i know the only person I need to please is me. 
But how do I do that now without opportunities? 
When I get shut down? 
When I have no chance. 

I should write a book. I should write my story. Make something if this pain. 
But it will never shows the depths of emotion and pain I feel and have felt.
No one will quite understand. 
That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.
But it also means that everyone will know my past this time in detail. And maybe I want that. Maybe I want those people who shunned me to realise what they’ve done and suffer. 

I don’t want to cause suffering though. I’ve been through enough not to wish that on anyone.
But anger does get the better of me. And I do believe that people should get what they deserve, and sometimes I don’t know if God will deliver that. But that’s undermining God. That’s not trusting and that’s not faith.
Shame on me. 

I can’t pray for suffering, revenge or debilitating injury. But I can pray for myself to accept these things. To take responsibility for my emotions and control them in a way I can help others not make the same mistakes that I have. 

So is nursing really the career for me? 
Or should I start writing my biography? You’d better start these things while you’re young I suppose, and well I’m getting quite ancient. 
My story isn’t over. And I don’t know how long it’s going to take. 
But I have to try. 
I have to start somewhere. 

So I will trust myself. 
And this one time more....

I will push on and on. 

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