I’m beginning to think that I’m a lost cause. Is there such a thing? Therapies after therapies . . . all sorts of programs and reading and praying and resolutions and meds and interventions all have led me down a path of presumed hope and healing yet I am numb and lost and manic. I’m fighting like hell to work through a hyper energy of nervousness and numbness and forgetfulness. Speaking is hard, seeing is hard, thinking is hard and a person stands before me and I see him and I try to speak and I try to put him in context and process every detail and I come up short. Imagine how frightening it is when I look at my son and can’t immediately place him as my son?
I know that how I perceive things isn’t real. I know that I should keep trying to live. I know that there are good things to life. Somewhere deep down I know I’m not a lost cause. I’m so ashamed to admit that I am afraid. My brain is scaring me because it’s at war with itself and sending strong mixed messages.
I am weary of having to rehearse myself through the everyday realities: where things are, who people are, who I am, what to do next every moment . . . how to effing survive the countless demands placed on me every minute. I am failing every minute and I’m scared.
I’ve been hurting myself to stay present. It brings me back to here and now and grounds me. It’s a vicious cycle because, of course, it’s not acceptable and I hide it then shame takes over then I spiral then harm myself to ground myself. Then apathy seeps in and I have such a difficult time caring about what others think, or about others at all. This doesn’t last long, though, and I hide again. I fool myself into thinking that self harm is somehow saving me . . . perhaps it is, in some twisted way. Or perhaps it’s contributing to my demise.
I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want my kids to handle life as poorly as I do. Yet how will they learn differently if I can’t get better? I’m so stuck. God help me.