i feel grossed out re-living my moments a few weeks back and want to sink into a hole and upload the contents of my stomach all over the floor. my skin is crawling with loathsomeness , just the words were ugly, the memories worse yet, need a paper bag to shove my head down and gasp some breaths out. if i pull my hair hard enough the sensation blocks the noise out for a few precious minutes. how do you throw up when you have nothing to throw up, that the nausea is mental and not physical so i cant flush it down the toilet. i can sedate it but that just means it comes back again. i had sealed it, which i had done with blessings, bow and all and put it away in Pandora’s Box, gave it to the happy docs with applause at my good work. indian givers- its back to me and its worn and rotten and spoiled from being caged and pissed off and now you want me to “work through it” with their happy pills again. yet again, find the resolution, close the chapter, but for fucks sake, i already did it and yes, im mad at you doctors, because you think i can just find some new wrapping and make it pretty for you but its bigger and odd shaped and i can’t find the right wrapping for it, nor the resolution to my self loathing other than all the things im not suposed to do. the crack advice about holding ice cubes, it doesnt work. Ive moved forward some but this one, this one lingers on, and im pretending to hide it down, but its there, mask on my face and all, because the world wants me to move on, put my happy face on, because thats what makes them happy, this monti, they dont know how to help, so let me find the cheer for you, hurt inside, laugh outside, because no one know, no one can understand, what its like to be split in two, explain someone you don’t know that lives inside of you.
i can see how BPDs drink, turn to drugs, its so much easier to hide the pain and disappointment. i want to be weak enough to do that, just drown it, numb myself so i never need to feel. this stupid personality of mine that wants to fight, im tired of her, fighting means being pushed back, going forward, getting hurt, making mistakes, picking yourself back up, bruises, giving up just means being a drunk with nothing to worry about because its all silent in the bottle.
all my bad coping is itching for me to let them take over, crawl back into the bed, find some wine, crack out the slices on my arm, let Amanda back in to let me know she’s the one that wins, let the noises come back and shush everything out with their competing nastiness, just go back to accepting that i should be worthless and quit fighting, its so much easier. fighting for good me, proving good me, well its like going for the A when you can settle for the D and give up on graduation. When i get really low i think, psych ward, no more thinking, no more life, no more fighting, they can poke and probe at me, i can give up, people can come visit the zoo animal and i can bark on command, everyone’s happy because they can see, they can see i am sick because if youre in a hospital then you are sick, and i can just be sick because im in a cage and i don’t need to fight to live, love and grow.
because i hurt, i really hurt inside, the distrust hurts, the failure hurts, the fighting hurts, being alone hurts, being sick hurts, having no answers hurts, trying to be the me i want to be hurts.
love, love stands in the way. i love the kids, or all those bottles, the answer lies within them. everyone else, life will go on for them, they have their peoples, they have their friends, they have love. my undying love comes from my children, no matter who or what, i am, its unconditional, they love me and for that, for that i push back the pills, i stop short with the cuts. i need more than my babies because they are growing up and soon to have their own peoples and lives too, i want to love someone like i love them and vice versa. i need someone to believe in me, not doctors, psychologists, nurses, they’re paid to care. everyone else has their lives, i just work to put this square peg that i am in the round hole of the world, to go forward, and forward and forward till… till what? what is life without joy?
A Life Without Joy
I think I’m going to make it through,
It’s been so long you see;
There’s much more life behind me now
Than out in front of me.
There was a time, when not so sure;
I thought to end it then.
I didn’t see how one could live
Without much joy and win.
But I found out you can endure
Without a special one.
And after all, it must be said;
Of fate, what’s done is done.
And so I choose to carry on
With life and burdens bore.
I hope if I can carry these,
God may not give me more.
But if He did, I hope He’d grant,
My just one simple plea;
To end my life with one great love
Who’d bring great joy to me.
So now I’m near the end of life,
My joyless days near done.
I’d lie if I would dare to say,
I never did have fun.
But what is true, and that’s the rub,
Of life, don’t you agree;
Is love is really what’s required,
For joy to be set free?
So on it is with what remains,
I hope, not very long;
Of life, perhaps to know great love,
If it should come along.
And as I go my separate way,
I’ll not begrudge their joy;
If others feel what I once felt,
When I was just a girl.
Instead I’ll smile and just recall
The joy I felt back then.
And know that I’ll feel within my death
Love’s wondrous joy again.