Was terrible. I am a pointless waste of space.
What the fuck was that? I am never going to reach full recovery. What the fuck was Monday too? WHAT AM I EVEN EVER DOING???????
On Monday, upon walking in too quietly, I accidentally scared the crap out of my therapist as I turned the corner. It sent my anxiety up, up, and away because I hate when that happens to me, and I consequently felt so guilty I was the cause of someone else’s sudden panic. I never came back from it. Today, I have no fucking clue. Getting ready this morning, I felt so motivated. So ready to be open. So ready to share. To talk. To simply be and receive. On the drive there, I felt the same. A touch more anxiety and sadness crept in, but I felt relatively good about feeling emotions. Still the same when I walked in. And then somewhere between “good morning” and “ketamine” I began drowning and couldn’t pull myself up for air.
I feel worse now. Like I have spent the last month more or less failing at therapy.
“You judge yourself so harshly. You’ve got to let judgement go.” Well, FUCK!
I’m angry that this is who I am. I’m frustrated that I still have walls that won’t come down. I’m upset that depression and anxiety and my eating disorder rule me and I don’t always have control of it. I’m sad that everyone around me deserves a much better version of me than I am able to produce for them.
I don’t think people commit suicide necessarily when they’ve lost all hope. I think they do it when they come to realize the deeply entrenched self-hate they have for themselves is too much to bare.
Little-me and teenager-me agree how I am right now is not how I was intended to be or how I imagined I’d be.
I feel dissociated.