I feel cold. My feet hurt, and my brain feels like it’s the size of the world, pressing against my temples and threatening to burst out of my ears. I’m not cracking, I’ve fucking shattered all over the floor. I’m the decapitated corpse of who I used to be, a cockroach waiting to starve to death and higher brain function cut out like cancer. I am the cold wind in my own body, a self-perpetuated cryogenic mistake. I’m numb, from the frontal lobe down.
Two days ago I had my biggest mental breakdown in two years. This was not a drill. This was screaming, this was crying, throwing things, getting physically violent. I felt starved for touch, yet wanted no one to touch me. I craved something physical, just to fill the gaping blackness I could feel carved out in my chest. I tried to ignore it.
Fake it till you make it, right?
I guess I just wasn’t up to scratch that night. I still don’t feel back on top. I feel blank. I feel empty of any deeper emotion. Like a shallow reflective pool, I can’t feel anything unless I have something else to bounce off. I don’t feel right. I don’t feel safe inside my own head.
I’m sleeping ridiculous hours, staying up until 4-7am in the morning and not waking until 3pm the next day. I can’t sleep when I lay down, I’m tired when I stand. I can’t hold a proper conversation without my anxieties eating at my tongue. I don’t eat, I can’t be bothered showering unless I’m trying to drown myself for hours, even after the hot water has run out. I can’t control my spending, I can’t control myself.
I think, I honestly need to start taking medication again. This feels like what happened before. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t ever let myself feel this bad again, I wouldn’t let myself be pulled under again. That I’d catch it early and save myself before I needed saving. That boat has sailed.
I can’t save myself right now. I don’t know how, and I’ve run out of options in the people around me. They can’t help me. I don’t know if they’d try.
And heeeeere we go. The pity party begins in my own head. I just can’t help myself. Complaining about these people I have no right to complain about. Who am I to judge these people. These beautiful, loving, amazing people, who all they do is look after me. Shelter me. Pay for me. Comfort me. Trust me. And I can’t even bring myself out of a grave I’ve dug for myself, long enough to say thank you. If I am going to die, emotionally, I should at least do it with the grace I pride myself on. With a little fucking humility and quiet. With silence and anonymity, just slip out of their lives and never come back.
I don’t WANT to be the screaming mess I am now. I don’t want to end up at 4am in the morning again, screaming and crying, fists swinging at my boyfriend who had no idea what was going on in my head. All he could see is that I had apparently gone fucking insane. I want to feel okay again. I don’t want to feel a thing. I don’t want to be shaking underneath a stiff breeze because my life is collapsing around me.
I need to see a doctor.