Lavender Dreams
serial vapist
- Nov 5, 2022
- 72
Since I had landed here over a year ago, I thought I had it figured out. I loosely knew I had issues with trauma and potentially adhd, which had been later confirmed by diagnosis. I knew I went through 11 years of excruciating recurring pain, likely related to endometriosis. The fear of failure and having nowhere that felt safe to go. Huge anxiety over the person I loved leaving. I spent nearly 2 years in therapy, mentally deteriorating further the more time went by, if I don't include short periods of relief.
Over time, I did it all. Textbook. Kept up with my job as much as I could, exercise, meditation, hobbies, eating and sleeping well. I took their ssris, methylphenidate, buspirone, propranolol and even dipped into diazepam and microdosing psilocybin whenever it was possible. Did the emdr, did the cbt. Nothing actually stuck.
It wasn't until I found myself in a room doing a full mental health assessment that the obvious finally slapped me in the face. I knew from the moment I dragged myself out ofbed in the morning that I didn't want to go. There is no interest in recovery left, I ran out of reasons. They speak of the long term, the mere idea already being panic inducing. "But maybe someday something will change", "Don't give up". Apparently all I have to do is step one foot in front of the other, until my circumstances change.
Except there is a reason they're not. There is no amount and the kind of a drug, medication, therapy or keeping busy that will take away grief. Slowly observing my dad wreck himself and speak in loops under the influence of alcohol, over a phone call only until the age of 18. Losing the connections on his side of the family to the point we're almost strangers now, permanently. Never getting to know my half sisters. Irreparably damaged connections on my mother's side. The disappointment in my mom letting me endure abuse at the hands of her ex partners.
The sadness when we moved away from my home country, which consequently had me lose my largest friend group and a dear cat I had since early childhood. Isolation after switching schools, few close friendships vanishing once more. Relationships turning to ash, when the time showed all I received was varying flavours of abuse and deceit. The distance my suicidality, alongside the reality of life created.
It's a true catch 22, if you grieve the people and aspects of life that are no longer to the extent where you can't let anybody new close, while simultaneously requiring irl support to have a stab at recovery. I can't imagine myself continuing hopeless, alone and staring at the 4 walls in my home, in mental and physical pain with the awareness everyone besides my therapist silently gave up on me. I give up too.
Over time, I did it all. Textbook. Kept up with my job as much as I could, exercise, meditation, hobbies, eating and sleeping well. I took their ssris, methylphenidate, buspirone, propranolol and even dipped into diazepam and microdosing psilocybin whenever it was possible. Did the emdr, did the cbt. Nothing actually stuck.
It wasn't until I found myself in a room doing a full mental health assessment that the obvious finally slapped me in the face. I knew from the moment I dragged myself out ofbed in the morning that I didn't want to go. There is no interest in recovery left, I ran out of reasons. They speak of the long term, the mere idea already being panic inducing. "But maybe someday something will change", "Don't give up". Apparently all I have to do is step one foot in front of the other, until my circumstances change.
Except there is a reason they're not. There is no amount and the kind of a drug, medication, therapy or keeping busy that will take away grief. Slowly observing my dad wreck himself and speak in loops under the influence of alcohol, over a phone call only until the age of 18. Losing the connections on his side of the family to the point we're almost strangers now, permanently. Never getting to know my half sisters. Irreparably damaged connections on my mother's side. The disappointment in my mom letting me endure abuse at the hands of her ex partners.
The sadness when we moved away from my home country, which consequently had me lose my largest friend group and a dear cat I had since early childhood. Isolation after switching schools, few close friendships vanishing once more. Relationships turning to ash, when the time showed all I received was varying flavours of abuse and deceit. The distance my suicidality, alongside the reality of life created.
It's a true catch 22, if you grieve the people and aspects of life that are no longer to the extent where you can't let anybody new close, while simultaneously requiring irl support to have a stab at recovery. I can't imagine myself continuing hopeless, alone and staring at the 4 walls in my home, in mental and physical pain with the awareness everyone besides my therapist silently gave up on me. I give up too.
