I realize I haven’t written on here in over a year. Two years ago, something horrible happened to me. One year ago, I finally mustered up the courage to speak about my trauma. I decided, with the help of a mental health professional, to branch out and tell my friends and family why I had been so distant. Why I had changed and become this different person.
One person who I thought was a friend was incredibly insensitive and invalidating. They demanded to know whether I was drunk when it happened, whether I knew him, whether I really wanted it. As if it was my fault. They asked me if it was really “that bad”, why I didn’t come home, why I didn’t report. I was in tears, in shock, unable to speak as they berated me and further assaulted me with questions.
After that, my progress halted. I went back to the nightmares, sleeplessness, and shame. I repeated my “friend’s” demands in my head. Why didn’t I report it? Why didn’t I leave? What if it was my fault? What if I deserved it?
I became silenced. I stopped writing.
I got new sleeping pills and the first night I slept like a baby. But last night, the horrible nightmares were back and I woke up feeling overwhelming anxiety again.
Here’s the dilemma: do I go back to sleeping 2 hours a night and feeling horrible, or do I get a full 9 hours in but still feel horrible in the morning?
I used to get jealous easily.
I had been led to believe I could be easily replaced.
I came to realize, the flaw was not within me –
it was within him.
You told me to call you whenever I needed someone to talk to. The only person I wanted to talk to today was with you. You told me you felt unwell last night, and I tried to make you smile. At 7pm I texted you. No reply. At 10pm I texted you again. No reply. I didn’t sleep last night just in case you called. I could have been there for you. But no, you swallowed a bunch of pills and ended up in the hospital. I could have been there for you. Yes, I’m angry. But I also understand. I hope you get the help you need. I’ll always be there for you. I wish you knew that.
Journal entry, 11pm.
I’m sad. Sad I couldn’t be there for you. I feel so helpless. Part of me feels guilty even though I know there’s really only so much I could have done.
I’m angry. Angry that you had so much support while I stayed silent. I hid my pain, it was my fault. But I can’t help but think that your pain is valid while I’m just a psycho.
I’m angry that my visit to the hospital was horrible. He knew I was BPD therefore I’m a faker. My pain isn’t real.
I cried for you this morning. I lashed out and screamed at my mom until my voice went hoarse. And then I cried some more. I wanted to cut so badly. I took my own advice and went for a run. I left the house as the sun began to set. I ran. I held back tears and I ran for as long as I could. Ran until my throat burned from gasping for breath and my legs trembled. I walked and stumbled upon the field while wandering through previously unexplored paths. I went into the middle of the field and sat. I just wanted to talk to you. I was so mad. I was so desensitized and apathetic and unempathetic, yet helpless. Yet my heart ached for you. I fell back and laid there for a while, as the sky went dark. I laid down and let myself cry. I’m home now and I feel like I can’t cope with the pain. I want my own pills to knock me out, just for tonight.
I read somewhere that most psychiatrists don’t like using the term “self hatred” and prefer to descrive a person as having low self esteem. I agree that I have low self esteem, but when things are particularly bad, self hatred is much harsher sounding, which I think fits.
My self hatred chips away at different aspects of my life. Usually my relationship is first to get hit, since that is a weak point for me to begin with. I’m afraid I will be abandoned. If I hate myself so deeply, how can I ever expect anyone else to love me? And so, usually without me even realizing it, I push and push until they get frustrated with me. This is often achieved by angry outbursts, oversensitivity, accusations based on nothing but my irrational fears, and splitting.
Right now the self hatred is so bad, I hate myself for even writing this. I’m stigmatizing my own situation, even though I would never think to do that to someone else. I can’t bear to write any more.