Ferris Wheel of Guilt

Even though everything I wrote last night and everything I keep to myself every day is directed at me, I’m now feeling horribly guilty because I think anyone who might read it will think it’s directed at them.  More guilt over hurting other people yet again, basically.  Which adds to the already overwhelming self-hatred already present and makes me feel even more selfish and isolated and undeserving of the slightest bit of empathy.

Does anyone even understand how fucking vicious this cycle is?!  It really feels like nobody does.  My internal monologue is all about how everyone must think the absolute worst of me even if they actually tell me they don’t.  And it does not fucking help when I hear some of those same people say the most awful things about other people when those others aren’t around.  I do it, too.  Everyone does to some extent.  Whether or not they admit it is something else entirely but face it, EVERYONE gossips.  EVERYONE says unkind things sometimes.  Why should I be any different?  Why should I be the exception?  Since I’m not there to actually hear what’s being said, I fill in the blanks myself and I do that with things I absolutely believe about myself and things that have been said to me in the past.

I know that I say and do things about and to others when I’m upset that I don’t really mean.  But if someone says or does things to me?  I don’t think for a second that they might not mean them.  I think they mean them and I think they’re right.  Part of that is because I assume that everyone else has their head on straight at all times and I’m the only basket case.  I’m wrong, they’re right.  I’m evil, they’re good.  I can’t set aside emotions when necessary, they can.

I don’t think anyone else is even capable of anything bad.  That’s just me.  And somehow, I can’t explain things properly and as a result people get hurt.  I sure as fuck can’t ask for help.  Asking for help makes me even worse than I think I already am because I feel like I’m asking someone to waste their time on me.

What “help” would be possible anyway?  I can make a bunch of appointments with my therapist, sure.  Usually by the time I actually get there, though, I don’t feel as horrible and I can come off seeming perfectly fine.  I did that last week.  I also wore a long-sleeved shirt on purpose to hide the fading cuts.  Why?  He’s there to help me.  That’s his job.  But for some reason, I worry about him just seeing me as pathetic and not worth the time.  So rather than admit I need help and tell him everything I should, I lie.

Also, I might be sent back to that hospital.  I will not go there again.  Ever.  I refuse to go back.  Sometimes, at random moments and without any actual smell of witch hazel to be found, I get that smell in my nose and get panicky.  That entire place smelled that way.  I.  WILL.  NOT.  GO.  BACK.  I really think it would finish me off mentally, if not actually kill me.

So if I can’t ask for help from the therapist, who can I ask?  Friends?  The same people I’ve already been a burden to and keep hurting even though that’s the last thing I want to do?  They have their own stuff going on that has nothing to do with me and I have no right to ask them for anything.

Part of my problem, I think, is that while I think people need to be more understanding and compassionate to others and that we should all help each other, I also think people need to own personal responsibility for everything they do.  Victim-blaming is a really hard thing for me to deal with.  On one hand, everyone makes choices that have consequences and they have to deal with those consequences.  On the other, you never really know what factors contributed to the choices people make and you might have made the same choice in their situation.  I can’t seem to “decide” on one or the other and if I try to explain myself to anyone, I inevitably feel like I’m ducking responsibility and making excuses.  But I rarely question what’s behind someone else’s decisions, particularly if their decision had any impact on me.  Remember, I’m wrong, they’re right.  Everything IS my fault.  If I do somehow think otherwise and say something to that effect and they disagree with me, that’s my fault too.  How dare I question them?  What kind of a person am I?  So there’s more guilt.

I know I need help right now.  I don’t know how or who to ask because I hate being a burden to people.  And I will not allow myself to be taken to that hospital.  That is not going to happen.  I’m not sleeping well, I’m not eating well, I’m crying a lot, and the self-harm stuff has reached new levels.  And I feel like nobody cares.  I get why they don’t so I can’t be upset by that.  Two seemingly insignificant things happened in recent memory that helped me more than I could have imagined so I let myself hope that things were on an upswing.  The first was just someone ending up getting food the same time I did and sitting down in the same room at the same table with me to eat lunch.  It was huge because things felt normal for the first time since that fucking party in August.  More than with any of the others I hurt at that time, I thought I’d lost him the most.  For that one day, things felt normal and I didn’t feel like killing myself or hurting myself.  The second was a long conversation over the phone with one of the others I’d hurt.  I had no idea how much I missed simply talking to her on the phone.  Text and instant messaging isn’t the same and a lot gets lost in translation and just talking on the phone with her helped so much.  I hoped she felt that way too.

But then things went back to the NEW normal.  I’m so angry with myself that I let myself think everything was going to be okay.  I lashed out at myself and wrote what I did and I’m sure anyone that read that is just as pissed at me as I am with myself.  The Ferris Wheel of Guilt goes on.  I want off.  I want to be done with this.

Letter to me

Hey, dumbass.  Yes, you.  The one sitting there trying to convince yourself that you matter.

When the fuck are you going to learn?  What will it take for it to really sink in that, despite being told as a kid by various uplifting TV shows and movies that you are special and valued and loved and irreplaceable, YOU DO NOT MATTER.

You’re not any of that stuff.  How is it that you haven’t gotten that through your head?  Remember the last time you tried to kill yourself?  (Nice job with that, by the way!  You failed.  Because OF COURSE YOU FUCKING FAILED.)  What happened with that?  When you got home, I mean?

Nobody even noticed you’d been gone.  Except for the people at work because you not being there meant they had to do more work.  You, as an individual, were not missed.  Sure, people read your blog but hell, who doesn’t love to point and laugh at the pathetic loser who can’t even manage to successfully kill themselves?

Yes, your presence in the lives of other people mattered so much that your absence wasn’t even noticed.  Maybe some were even bummed that you didn’t manage to actually die because you know what?  You deserve that.

You deserve to die.  You deserve to be shut out.  You destroyed the trust of the people you cared about the most and you hurt them so much that they wanted nothing to do with you.  You’re never getting that trust back.

But!  And here’s the lesson you keep missing: you hoped you would.  You hoped it would all be okay.  Just like every other time you let yourself hope for anything.  You’re Charlie Brown.  You go to kick that football every time Lucy sets it up because JUST MAYBE this time will be different.  You end up on your ass every time.

Because you deserve it.


“Utterly inconsequential.”

“Just another…”

“I almost believed you…”


“Crazy bitch.”

“Crazy bitch with no heart.”

“…probably cry tears of acid.”



“Utterly inconsequential.”

“Utterly inconsequential.”

“Utterly inconsequential.”

What the fuck did you expect?!  Nobody wants to trust you with anything.  Nobody wants to talk to you.  Why would they?  All you’ve done is hurt them.  In one way or another, that’s all you’ve done.  If you care so fucking much about all of these people, why are you not just leaving them the hell alone?  They’d be better off.  You can’t expect people to put up with you.  It’s not fair to them and it’s not fair to you either, although that hardly matters.  Yeah, it hurts to get your hopes up and things not turning out the way you wanted them to.  What do you think it does to these people you claim to love when you keep fucking up?

You don’t matter because you know you don’t deserve it.  But you keep hoping you’re wrong and that maybe this time, someone will give you love, trust, and friendship even though you and they know you don’t deserve it.  Everyone gets hurt.  Nobody wins.

You don’t even have the guts to try to take yourself out again.  Because if you fuck it up again, you’ll go back to that hospital.  And you don’t have the guts to risk it.  So just go ahead and keep hitting yourself and slicing up your arms like the pathetic moron you know you are.  And keep on grieving for what you lost knowing that you lost it because you’re just a stupid, crazy bitch.  Go on and keep taking every little fucking thing personally because you seem to WANT to hurt yourself and even if others aren’t trying to hurt you, you think they are because that’s what you know you deserve.

Or, if you don’t have the guts to try and end it, just leave everyone the fuck alone.  Stop trying to force your way into the lives of people that don’t deserve to be inflicted with your presence.  Don’t have the guts for that either, do you?  But you’re going to have to pick one because you don’t have any other options.

Happy nightmares, stupid little emo bitch!

My own “Reasons?”

I did exactly what I said I shouldn’t and wouldn’t do: I read “Thirteen Reasons Why.”  Honestly, it didn’t affect me as much as the show but it DID affect me.  Mostly it got me thinking about whether or not doing my own version of Hannah’s cassette tapes would help me get a better grip on things.  I don’t mean I would write something for specific people and send it to them or post it online calling them out by name, of course.  But if I did write something here maybe I’d get a better idea of how I got where I am today because, as the book points out, “everything affects everything.”  And obviously I wouldn’t kill myself after doing so because I’m not suicidal.  Lonely, scared, depressed, confused, mentally and emotionally exhausted, wracked with guilt, and hurt, yes.  Suicidal, no.

It wasn’t as clear in the show but in the book, Hannah explains that when she thought about all of the things that had happened to her that contributed to her decision to kill herself, she realized they were all connected somehow.  That’s true for me, too.  I hadn’t really given it any thought until I saw the series and read the book.  If I were to write about each thing, on its own, would I learn anything about myself?  I don’t think I want to start tonight since I don’t really know yet exactly where I would start, but I’ll definitely be thinking about it.  I’ll have plenty of time over the weekend to actually do it since I spend every weekend shut up in my house because I feel like I’m not wanted anywhere so I don’t even try to make plans.  The last time I wanted to go somewhere, I wound up with a migraine and couldn’t go.  And of course I doubt anyone believed I actually had a migraine since I’ve backed out of plans so often because catastrophizing is my specialty.  I almost hate weekends now because days off mean that I have nothing to distract me from self-destruction and while it might mean I get to sleep in, it also means a lot of crying, thinking, and isolation.  I gave up on Facebook so I don’t even have that to distract me anymore.  So I’ll have nothing but time this weekend to see if writing helps sort out my thoughts.  I guess that’s better than nothing.

This is all I have

I can’t seem to really talk to anyone anymore.  I’m too afraid to.  I have no idea if what I feel in any given situation is warranted or if it’s just an overreaction.  Even if I somehow convince myself that it is indeed warranted and that I should talk to the other person (if another person is involved) I can’t bring myself to do it because they might misunderstand me and be hurt.  Sure, there’s merit in taking a step back and thinking about things but that is ALL I DO now.  “I can’t say that because they might think I mean this when I don’t mean that at all,” “What if I’m just acting crazy again?  If I am just acting crazy, that only shows people that I must not be trying to be better and they’ll be absolutely justified in walking away and never speaking to me again,” “If I’m not acting crazy and I should bring this up, how can I possibly do that when it might hurt people?”  So on goes the hamster wheel in my head…

All I can do is write.  That’s all.  This blog is just me trying to take things out of my head and try to examine them in a different way.  In theory, anyway.  I often feel like I should just stop writing on this blog because what I write might upset people.  But this is all I have now.  I can’t actually talk to anyone so if I give this up, I have nothing at all.  I’ve stopped engaging on social media, I try not to talk to people at work, I try not to text people often, and I sure as hell don’t actually call anyone and this isolation is damn near unbearable.  I don’t know what else to do, though.  I have some coping mechanisms but they’re not ideal.  They’re pretty harmful, actually.  Not to anyone but me though.  I’m an expert in self-destruction and self-mutilation, physical or otherwise.

I used to hope that there might be someone out there who was willing to talk to me without passing judgement, without getting annoyed with me, without invalidating my feelings.  They would be okay with sometimes just letting me literally cry on their shoulder and they wouldn’t try to “fix” me.  They would be able to tell if I needed them without me coming to them and asking for help because that’s another thing I can’t do.  I will not ask for help when I need it.  And I got pretty good at lying to anyone who did ask if I need someone.  This imaginary person would stand up to me and not take that.  But I stopped hoping for that because that’s actually really selfish of me and I should not expect that from anyone.  This is all on me.  And I hate it.  It’s too much.

Sick of…

not fine as in fine

DISCLAIMER: I am not currently in crisis.  I am just venting.  That’s what this blog is for so please don’t feel the need to ask anyone to check on me.

I’m sick of feeling like a burden to everyone.

I’m sick of not being able to tell if I’m reacting to something in a “normal” way or if I’m OVERreacting.

I’m sick of crying.

I’m sick of being tired.  Physically, mentally, and emotionally tired.

I’m sick of feeling guilty.

I’m sick of not being able to talk to anyone.

I’m sick of just existing and not living.

I’m sick of not knowing who I am anymore.

I’m sick of not having anything to look forward to.

I’m sick of being left out.

I’m sick of not trusting anyone anymore, including myself.

I’m sick of not being good enough at my job.

I’m sick of annoying everyone at work.

I’m sick of people invalidating what I say I’m feeling whenever I DO finally break down and talk to them.

I’m sick of being afraid all the time.

I’m sick of feeling like I deserve the worst.

I’m sick of feeling like the most horrible person in the world.

I’m sick of feeling worthless.

I’m sick of feeling disliked.

I’m sick of feeling unloved.

I’m sick of feeling helpless.

I’m sick of feeling lost.

I’m sick of not being able to use social media because it shows me that everyone else gets along just fine and, worse, that they’re better off and happy without me around.

I’m sick of being me.

I’m sick of feeling like a non-entity.

I’m sick of people wanting to “fix” me when all I need is for someone to understand that I only want a shoulder to cry on.

I’m sick of needing people more than they need me.

I’m sick of caring about people more than they care about me.

I’m sick of feeling as though I could disappear and nobody would notice.

I’m sick of feeling as though I have to prove myself.

I’m sick of feeling like I’m waiting for a judge to pass sentencing on me for everything horrible I’ve ever said or done.

I’m sick of feeling like people are just going to give up on me and walk away after I make the slightest mistake.  Or no mistakes at all.  They could just walk away.

And more than anything, I’m sick of this overwhelming, soul-crushing loneliness.


     I’m worried that you’re mad at me.  It’s been eating at me for two days.  I haven’t said anything though because you’ve told me that it hurts you when I ask if you’re mad at me.  All I can do is sit here until you text me which may not happen because you might actually be mad at me and it’s not just me overthinking things again.  I’m stuck.  Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

     I want to give up.  On everything.  I’m tired of being afraid.  I know I can misinterpret things and assume the worst but sometimes the worst is reality and it’s experience that’s taught me that lesson.  Sometimes, the boss really IS gearing up to discipline you.  Sometimes, your emails ARE being monitored.  And sometimes, you really DID hurt your friends enough for them to stop speaking to you.  

     But I can’t ask.  It would hurt you.  I don’t want to do that anymore.  I’d rather hurt myself.  I’m used to that.

“13 Reasons Why”

Despite being someone who occasionally self-harms by seeking out trite image macros on Pinterest to make myself cry, I HATE crying.  It gives me a headache.  That’s why I prefer not to watch Oscar-bait dramas, rom-coms, and sitcoms.  There are plenty of films and shows in the world that I’m told I’m “missing out on” because I resist watching things that are, in my opinion, manufactured to provoke a sentimental response for no reason other than for the latest Hollywood “It” person to add a creepy looking gold dude to their statue collection.  Some people like that stuff, and that’s great.  I don’t.  Which is why I’m kind of pissed off at myself for watching what I’ve been watching lately.

A couple of people at work recommended “The OA” on Netflix and I binge-watched the heck out of that because it started off with kind of a sci-fi/fantasy/just weird creepy stuff premise and by the time it became obvious that it wasn’t any of that, I was determined to finish it.  I was a complete wreck by the end of the last episode.  I’m still mourning the wreck I made of my most crucial relationships and the themes of forgiveness and bonds of friendship in that show left me sobbing for hours.

Next, I watched “Shameless.”  All seven seasons.  I had seen a few episodes here and there and for the most part, just thought it was funny and fucked up, and I wanted to watch it all.  I had no idea what I was in for when the character, Monica, turned up.  Even before the climax of the eleventh episode of season two, I was shaken because of the depiction of that character’s mental illness.  I was actually typing a text to my friend about how that episode was affecting me when the really dramatic stuff happened.  I hate using the words “triggered” and “flashback” but I don’t know of another way to describe my response without them.  Lots of guilt, lots of shame, lots of panic…because of a stinking TV SHOW!

Then this weekend, I decided to watch something recommended by the same people who recommended “The OA.”  I don’t know what it says about me or them that they thought I would really like a show about a girl committing suicide: “13 Reasons Why.”  I guess there’s a book, too.  I think I started watching it around two or three in the afternoon yesterday and I didn’t stop watching until it was completely over.  I could not look away.  I didn’t sleep last night because I was watching this show and now I can’t get it out of my head.  It was gut-wrenching.

I feel kind of stupid for being able to relate to it so much because I’m an adult and the majority of the characters are high school kids.  (Sidebar: why is it that the majority of films, shows, and books about suicide are teen-centric?  Adults deal with that stuff, too, whether or not we want to admit it.)

The show starts with this girl already dead.  The whole thing is about why this girl killed herself.  I did wonder occasionally if the show was going to include her actual suicide but I figured that even if it did, it would be pretty much like every other onscreen depiction of suicide.

It was not.  Not even close.

It was graphic and violent and horrible.  When a character onscreen kills themselves, it’s usually accompanied by slow and mournful music and they just seem to drift away peacefully while looking tragically beautiful.  We don’t see the reaction of the person who finds them, either.  We see a romanticized interpretation of suicide because we’d rather not have to confront a painful, messy, ugly, horrifying, violent truth.

There were other things about it that affected me deeply but that one scene is going to be with me for a long time.  The filmmakers are taking all kinds of heat for it but they stand by their decision to depict it like they did and I’m glad.  And by that I mean, I’m both glad they did it and that they’re standing by it.  Our pop-culture needs to knock it off with the Opheliaesque garbage and, if filmmakers have the guts to take on mental illness, sexual assault, bullying, and suicide at all, show it as it is.  There was not one tragically beautiful thing about my suicide attempt.  There was nothing peaceful about it.  My son didn’t stand there looking sad and thoughtful while I was carried out of the house.  That’s not reality.  “13 Reasons Why” isn’t entirely reality either, but it came closer than most other stuff and that’s HOW IT SHOULD BE.

I won’t say I enjoyed the show.  I’m not sure how I feel about it, to be honest.  And if you’re going to watch it, prepare to be upset by it.  You’ll definitely learn from it.  There is an awful lot of stuff, mostly about loneliness, the main female character, says that I can relate to.   I don’t know how to express it, though.  I WANT to talk to people but I don’t know how to do that without feeling like I’m whining and being a burden.  I think the audio recordings in the series are that character’s last attempt to communicate with people and her last attempt to be heard.  I get that.  I want to be heard, too.  I’m not good at it and I usually just upset people which means I isolate myself even more.  I don’t want or need anyone to fix me or give me advice or anything like that.  Most of the time I just want someone to be there to listen.  I’m too afraid to ask for it, though.