The Load Is Heavy
In addition to all the stuff above. I also have Dissociative Disorder, Panic Disorder, Social Anxiety, GAD, Depression, OCD (Obsessive Thoughts), and I self-harm. I am also a very strong empath and have just come to understand what that really means. Must makes sense, but I have trouble discerning what is mine and what is not. I have struggled all my life and after some stability the ribbons no longer hold me. I'll fall in to ocean below and drown. My life story is crazy and mixed up. I don't know what I will write. I'm told writing helps, but if not, perhaps it will touch someone else. There will be many triggers here so read at your own discretion.
Ribbons of Red. I could say ropes or chains, but everything always appeared beautiful and right. The world mama lived in was about image. Never truth. So for her, I will make my chains red ribbons. It sounds better. For her.
I'm okay with it. See, red ribbons are all of a sudden so appropriate. I sometimes see red ribbons of blood on my arms, or my legs, maybe my belly. Oh, I see the red of the blood pulsing behind my eyeballs when I am being beaten so badly I can't made a sound. If I do, it starts over. The red of my rage. And red is the color love and hearts and it is one of the colors of Roses. My mama's name. Chains disguised as ribbons, bind me to her. Forever haunted. Forever failing. Forever dying. Forever seeking the love that the heart portrayed and the beauty of the roses. Her name was even a lie. Roses do indeed have thorns, but this was so much more.
And the ocean. The wonderful ocean. I will fall into it and sink to the bottom in beautiful silence. Forever quiet and alone. Peaceful.
The little girl at the grave. How many times I saw her in my mind when I did not know if I would survive the day, the morning, the evening, the night, the next day, to be old enough to leave, to ever get married. I was certain that none of that would happen. I would weep for this child I saw. The first time I remember looking that demon death in the eye I was four.
I'm unravelling. The world is spinning completely our of control and yet nothing has really taken place. I know I have been "triggered". Ok. I'm going wandering here. I hate that word. It triggers me. Words trigger me. So, I will say that trauma center that tells my adrenaline to flow has been activated. I'm wired. For super boost sound, with amps and the whole shebang. That word reminds me of of begging to live while not knowing if you would get to finish your sentence. I don't like the word. It makes my mind scream.
There is no one to help me here, so now I am distracting, and marijuana. I was the biggest anti weed person going, and now look at me. It lets me sleep. Also helps turn off my head. What I would like is a normal mind that doesn't need this. I don't want to feel what I do that requires that.
I'm lost in a place, I don't know. I'm just not there.
I know I am not alone, but it sure does feel like it. And it you came right now to help me, I would be very afraid of you. I would see every twitch, wink, blink, scratch, shuffle, etc. and I would hear what you were not saying. AND if I knew deep in my heart that you were the best person in the whole world, second to Jesus Christ, I wouldn't trust me. I was wrong before and haven't figured out how I got it wrong, so when I am super hyper vigilant. Hey, God has a real tough time. You shouldn't expect less.
Mama told me to write our story when she died, because she wouldn't care. Well that caused a whole lot of trouble in my OCD brain. Lots of anger too. Well, I can do it now. This way. A crazy unorganized way, because that is the way my brain works.
So I am in deep in a CPTSD flashback. Can't stop it. It's been building for over a year and I have been fighting it. It's been bad for about 4 months and I have self harmed 3 times. I am suicidal, but not planning it. It's those fleeping feelings that make you want to die. If you are reading this, you know EXACTLY what I mean. I can't leave the house. I can't look at people. I won't let people touch me. I am filth. I see the digust in their eyes. They can't touch me because I feel I am smeared with shit. I go in my room and try to cut out what they see, that I don't. I know all of the above is in my head, but my wiring that produces that damn hormone tell me different.
I have phoned and left messages with counselling places, advocates, etc. all over the place. Still waiting. I can see that folks take MH really serious. They make pretty posters but when it comes down to it. You are really on your own.
God Bless you all and may all your dreams and the people in your world be as beautiful as you. And in case no one has told you. You are here, so I love you too.
Ribbons of Red. I could say ropes or chains, but everything always appeared beautiful and right. The world mama lived in was about image. Never truth. So for her, I will make my chains red ribbons. It sounds better. For her.
I'm okay with it. See, red ribbons are all of a sudden so appropriate. I sometimes see red ribbons of blood on my arms, or my legs, maybe my belly. Oh, I see the red of the blood pulsing behind my eyeballs when I am being beaten so badly I can't made a sound. If I do, it starts over. The red of my rage. And red is the color love and hearts and it is one of the colors of Roses. My mama's name. Chains disguised as ribbons, bind me to her. Forever haunted. Forever failing. Forever dying. Forever seeking the love that the heart portrayed and the beauty of the roses. Her name was even a lie. Roses do indeed have thorns, but this was so much more.
And the ocean. The wonderful ocean. I will fall into it and sink to the bottom in beautiful silence. Forever quiet and alone. Peaceful.
The little girl at the grave. How many times I saw her in my mind when I did not know if I would survive the day, the morning, the evening, the night, the next day, to be old enough to leave, to ever get married. I was certain that none of that would happen. I would weep for this child I saw. The first time I remember looking that demon death in the eye I was four.
I'm unravelling. The world is spinning completely our of control and yet nothing has really taken place. I know I have been "triggered". Ok. I'm going wandering here. I hate that word. It triggers me. Words trigger me. So, I will say that trauma center that tells my adrenaline to flow has been activated. I'm wired. For super boost sound, with amps and the whole shebang. That word reminds me of of begging to live while not knowing if you would get to finish your sentence. I don't like the word. It makes my mind scream.
There is no one to help me here, so now I am distracting, and marijuana. I was the biggest anti weed person going, and now look at me. It lets me sleep. Also helps turn off my head. What I would like is a normal mind that doesn't need this. I don't want to feel what I do that requires that.
I'm lost in a place, I don't know. I'm just not there.
I know I am not alone, but it sure does feel like it. And it you came right now to help me, I would be very afraid of you. I would see every twitch, wink, blink, scratch, shuffle, etc. and I would hear what you were not saying. AND if I knew deep in my heart that you were the best person in the whole world, second to Jesus Christ, I wouldn't trust me. I was wrong before and haven't figured out how I got it wrong, so when I am super hyper vigilant. Hey, God has a real tough time. You shouldn't expect less.
Mama told me to write our story when she died, because she wouldn't care. Well that caused a whole lot of trouble in my OCD brain. Lots of anger too. Well, I can do it now. This way. A crazy unorganized way, because that is the way my brain works.
So I am in deep in a CPTSD flashback. Can't stop it. It's been building for over a year and I have been fighting it. It's been bad for about 4 months and I have self harmed 3 times. I am suicidal, but not planning it. It's those fleeping feelings that make you want to die. If you are reading this, you know EXACTLY what I mean. I can't leave the house. I can't look at people. I won't let people touch me. I am filth. I see the digust in their eyes. They can't touch me because I feel I am smeared with shit. I go in my room and try to cut out what they see, that I don't. I know all of the above is in my head, but my wiring that produces that damn hormone tell me different.
I have phoned and left messages with counselling places, advocates, etc. all over the place. Still waiting. I can see that folks take MH really serious. They make pretty posters but when it comes down to it. You are really on your own.
God Bless you all and may all your dreams and the people in your world be as beautiful as you. And in case no one has told you. You are here, so I love you too.
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