I didn’t feel crazy (and I still hate making titles)

IMG_0221I am in the clear, calm waters of sanity.

I am happy. I had a wonderful day yesterday, and I was actually able to enjoy it. My ex-girlfriend invited me to see an NBA game, and she kissed me, and talked to me, and cheered with me, and joked with me, and laughed with me.

I woke up this morning, crying, because I dreamed she did it to me again. Again, I felt invisible as she expressed her yearnings to me.

I woke up; I was crying. I called her, and I know I shouldn’t have done that, because I’m trying to work on it myself, but I called her, and she reassured me that she would never do that to me again. I calmed down, and we hung up.

I remember the day I hit myself. Her need for distance, coupled with my excruciating paranoia, triggered me into the worst I’ve ever been. I hit myself because of this:

I deserve it. I did something wrong. I am boring. I am not attractive. I disappointed her. I deserve to die. I deserve to be punished. I deserve to be hit. I deserve to be pushed around. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to your father? I deserve to become nothing. I deserve to be thrown away. I deserve to be invisibleYou made him cry at work. I deserve to feel like this. You little bitch; you’re so selfish. I deserve this.

I can handle disappointment, and I can handle fickle human beings. But, over the course of my life, I have been treated as if I was nothing – as if my life only mattered in relation to how I made others feel. I have been used up and tossed out like refuse; I have been punished severely for speaking my mind; I have even been punished for trying to end my life so that the lives of others may be less burdened.

Yes, I was reprimanded for planning to commit suicide. No, I did not go to therapy, and yes, they will deny anything happened if you ask them about it.

I should not go too far into my depressive episode. I could do it, so that I could show the world what it feels like, because the world understands so little. I can’t do that anymore, because I must relive everything in order to write. I must feel everything again, exactly how it was, or I will not be able to string sentences together to make people feel what I felt.

I am getting better.

I hope I am getting better.

I am getting better.

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