I know it’s getting bad because I’m hitting a writers’ block. I don’t even want to write.
I know it’s getting bad because I’m always on edge, and scared of people. I believe they will ostracize me. They will leave me.
If I’m alone by choice, then I can’t be rejected. They can’t leave me if I’m already alone.
But withdrawing and loneliness is like putting a band-aid on a broken bone. It’s not addressing the underlying problem. It is a quick fix that actually doesn’t fix anything at all.
Days go past and I can’t help but feeling like I’m wasting my life away.
Not quite miserable and sobbing, but also not happy either. I just am. In a numb sort of way, not a mindful sort of way.
I’m starting to accept that this is getting too hard.
After next week, I am done with instructing. On top of everything else that’s been happening, I feel like teaching is becoming overwhelming. It was once the one thing I looked forward to. I’ve been teaching and/or tutoring for almost a decade now and it’s a shame to see the passion shrink into nothing.
I dread going to each class. I hate interacting with the students. I want to leave as soon as I can. I feel like I’m not making a difference or helping at all, which makes me a worse instructor, which then consolidates the idea that I am not making a difference or helping at all.
I should have known this was coming. Last year towards the end of the last semester, I began burning out fast. I was having panic attacks in the lab and had to have some of my classes cancelled. I keep telling myself that there’s only ONE MORE WEEK, but the thought of that one week is daunting.
I tell myself I can make it, but there’s a growing voice in my head asking, “can you, though?”
I used to love teaching. It breaks my heart that I feel this way. I always prided myself as being someone who enjoys helping others learn and see how exciting learning can be. Now I feel like I’ve lost that. I’m not really sure what kind of person I am anymore. I don’t know if I can make this one last week.
For a friend.
What’s the difference between loving someone and holding onto fond memories of a past love?
How can you separate the two? Sure you can still love the person you have memories with, but what matters is your choice. You can choose who you will focus your love and energy on now. You choose you keep this person a memory.
Keep this memory tucked away, maybe visit it once in a while, but choose to keep living your life and moving on. Don’t dwell on the memories. That’s all they are. In the past.
Take it for what it was. You were together, and it didn’t work out. Love doesn’t always work, but that doesn’t mean it won’t exist elsewhere.
The past few weeks have been uneventful. I’ve been trying my best to take care of myself, stay off social media, and meditate. I’ve been working out regularly, I’ve taken up knitting as a nice mindfulness practice, I’ve been sticking to playing with music. However, at the end of the day I feel like I’ve done nothing that I enjoy. I feel like I’m wasting my time. Even when I do work or studying, at the end of the day I feel unaccomplished and bogged down.
My mom says I’m burnt out and I need to take care of myself. I’m trying my best.
I always downplay my pain. I encounter stress and then adjust my baseline instead of dealing with the stress. Then it piles higher and higher and when I finally break, I’m left wondering why. Now I’m just numb and unsure of how I really feel anymore.
In my head I was fine. Then all of a sudden I have all this anxiety. I can’t fall or stay asleep. I’m completely isolated from all my friends. I talk to nobody. How did I get here? (See beginning).
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.
“One of the hardest battles we fight is between what we know and what we feel.”
We are always told to check the facts. But even if you know the facts, it’s hard to push our feelings and thoughts away. Especially when they’re so deeply ingrained in us. When you live half of your life believing you’re not good enough, worthless, or undeserving of love, it’s difficult to accept the facts. It’s tough to accept everything that’s proving your assumptions wrong, even if they are right in front of your face. Checking the facts is great. But it’s unhelpful if your emotions constantly get in the way.
It seems counter intuitive, doesn’t it? Isn’t healing supposed to make things better? When in reality, the steps we take to facilitate healing can be very painful. If you’ve ever cleaned a scraped knee, you’ll remember the pain of having to touch the open wound. But in the end, this is to facilitate the healing process.
These words by @jennagalbut revealed a lot to me about my own healing process. For so long, painful memories were hidden in the shadows, where I didn’t have to look at them. The problem with this is they would jump out at me when I least expect it.
Since starting treatment for my PTSD, I’ve been even more so on edge and anxious. I thought that the treatment was making things worse. I wanted to quit. To shove all the painful thoughts back into the dark instead of facing them in the light. But I am trying to remind myself – it gets worse before it gets better.
I’m watching my friends and colleagues thrive and achieve,
I’m happy for them, I really am.
But I wish I could be there celebrating with them,
Instead of here in this hole, trying to scratch my way out.
I see them running past me
Towards the finish line
While I’m being dragged backwards by my feet.
Humiliated, pained, desperate to be free.
I know it’s bad when I have no motivation to write. I haven’t written in my journals regularly either. I am in a constant heightened state of awareness. I jump at the smallest interruptions and my heart always seems to be racing. Unfortunately I can’t change how things are overnight.