You know that feeling when you can start to feel that your entire life is crashing down around you and you are at the beginning of a relapse? Yeah, me too. I’m there right now and it is the worst feeling in the world. I feel like a complete and utter failure and I want to die. Feeling this way gets so old. I’ve spent my entire life in therapy and on medication and going to Weight Watchers meetings and doing everything in my power to try to quash this demon, but it is ever present. Unfortunately, I know by now that this monster is just a part of my life that won’t be going anywhere. Attempting to live a relatively normal life takes every ounce of strength and energy I have and leaves none for being able to go above and beyond and/or really be able to succeed at anything. I’ve been considering checking myself in somewhere for help, but can’t afford to take any time off work, so, it’s just not a possibility. If I were to go try to get help to try to make it so I didn’t want to kill myself anymore, I would just end up in a deeper hole and still want to die anyway. Such is life.
So, life will go on like usual. I will bundle up and walk to work this morning. I’ll walk into the nursery and I’ll put a smile on my face and pretend like everything is fine. I will leave there and go to my Weight Watchers meeting. I will step on the scale and see this week’s damage and either pretend like I’m ok or just sit quietly and observe. Then I’ll probably come home and eat more cereal than any human being should ever eat. Because that’s just how I roll. God help me.
Often I feel trapped, as if there is nowhere to run, no way to escape the constant chaos in my mind. Most of the time I deal with it just fine, or at least the best I can. Other times… it comes in tidal waves and drowns me.
When my mom died suddenly when I was 17, my entire world fell apart. Any small shred of security I had ever felt in my life was snatched away in an instant. It is true that many people have no idea what to say to those who have experienced great loss. One thing I remember people saying periodically that was particularly hurtful was something along the lines of, “I don’t know how you do it. I wouldn’t be able to survive if I lost my mom.” I wanted to scream at them and tell them how extremely wrong their assumption was. I wanted to tell them that, as much as they may not have wanted to, they most certainly would survive, which is infinitely more painful than the alternative.
Chances are, just because a cherished loved one’s journey has come to an end doesn’t mean our story is over too. Whether or not we like it, whether or not we’re ready, it is the beginning of a new chapter of our lives- life without them.
There I go getting off topic again. I didn’t really mean for this to be another post about losing my mom. Let’s get back to the topic at hand- feeling completely overwhelmed with emotion and hectored by anxiety and self-loathing. Many of us live with these things every day. For whatever reason, those of us who struggle with these issues are constantly telling ourselves that we are inferior. In reality, we are fighters. We are taking metaphorical sucker punches left and right, day in and day out and, more often than not, remain standing. We are not failures. Do not believe the lies you tell yourself. We are hardcore bad asses indeed.
Ever since I was a child, I have felt completely and totally worthless. I have never been able to see or accept any of my redeeming qualities, personality-wise or physically. I have failed at each and every endeavor on which I have ever embarked. I have never had a real career. I have never had a lasting relationship. I am so far from being a normal, successful person that I’m pretty sure I can’t even see its shore.
Recently I started seeing a counselor again (the excitement just never ends). Throughout our session I mentioned multiple times that my self-loathing is completely out of control… that I’ve never felt like a human being but always like a monster of sorts… that these things are impeding my quality of life. As I was about to leave, she said, “It sounds to me like you just need someone to talk to – a place to come vent.” Sure, lady. Nearly every moment of every day I want to die and have to talk myself out of it, but, yeah, I just need a place to come vent. Sheesh.
My heart hurts.
Most would probably read that and think something along the lines of, “Oh, that poor thing. She’s all broken up over the demise of her marriage.”
Not to sound calloused at all, but that is simply not the case. I have zero doubt that I am on the right path where that is concerned.
No, my heart aches for entirely unrelated reasons. My heart aches with sorrow. It aches with fear. My heart aches with excitement for what may lie ahead. It aches with regret for what might not.
My heart hurts.
All of my life, I have felt inferior. For whatever reason, I have always believed all of the horrible, negative things that some people have said about me instead of believing all of the great things that the people who care about me have always said. I always assumed that the people who didn’t know me and said those cruel things were telling the truth and the people who care about me just didn’t want to hurt my feelings so they lied. At 35 years old, I have finally started to realize that it is the complete opposite. The people who have said hateful things are actually just people who are hurting and hate themselves. The people who love me have been telling the truth all along. I am beautiful. I am smart. I deserve to be cherished… and I will be, even if only by me, myself and I. ❤
Lincoln Park has never been a favorite band of mine. I never disliked them, just didn’t care much about them either way. Nonetheless, I have been deeply affected by news of the suicide of Chester Bennington.
In one of the articles I read about his death it mentioned that he was good friends with Chris Cornell, whose 53rd birthday it would have been that day. On his friend’s birthday, he ended his life in the exact same way as he had.
Reading that just absolutely crushed me, to imagine the pain that both of those men felt in their lives and especially their final moments. I didn’t realize just how affected by it I was until I brought it up for the um-teenth time and D mentioned that it must have triggered something in me.
If you are hurting and lost, please reach out to someone, anyone. You are wanted. You are loved. Please, do not give up. Keep fighting. ❤
National Suicide Prevention Hotline
Available 24 hours everyday
According to http://www.addictioncenter.com, addiction replacement, or addiction transfer, is when a new addiction takes the place of a previously addictive behavior to produce the same feeling or high. “Everyone who’s battled an addiction understands the concept: You go from smoking to eating; from drinking to shopping; from sex to chocolate to working. You’re substituting one addiction for another in an attempt to compensate for a perceived ‘lack’- emotionally or psychologically.” – Jeaneane Swanson, The Fix
Addictions can very easily be transferred from one substance or habit to another. This is because individuals who have an addiction aren’t craving a physical substance, they’re craving the fulfillment of an emotional need. It’s fascinating to realize that not all substance abuse is necessarily addiction because there is a difference between addiction and physical dependence.
Lately I’ve begun to realize that I am finding random things to obsess over to get the same emotional response as I get/used to get from eating my favorite foods. I haven’t been eating enough or sleeping much this week. It’s almost as if I’ve been living in a constant adrenaline rush. I guess I’ve just been thinking of all of life’s endless possibilities and feeling so pumped to get out there and do it all. I feel like I’ve been asleep for ages and have finally just awoken. I have a whole lot of catching up to do and I am so ready to get started.