judestfrancis
Life rearranges itself to compensate for your loss
- Dec 21, 2023
- 23
I feel like nothing is working. My friends have made me swear off self-harm, my husband still has no idea i had been doing it every month for over 3 years now. Now all the pain that had been taken out physically has no outlet. I'm getting more anxious and more suicidal the more I have to let go.
I was diagnosed with CPTSD about 4 months ago. I'm pretty sure its worse than that. I occupy a theatre that I watch my body move from. There's no emptiness inside me, only a perpetual feeling of decay, of rotting from the inside out. I'm not "feeling low", I'm knowing that people wouldn't love me if they knew the extent of my thoughts.
I'm fragmented, and the "realistic" thoughts I have to focus on when I get like this just feel like they're mocking me. I can't look at anything realistically because my reality is grim. I can't look at myself in the mirror without wondering who's staring back at me.
The threads that hold my marionette tight are slowly beginning to loosen. Memories are unfolding from the sallow parts of me that I wished I'd never looked at.
And so, I'm back here. It should get better. It should. I'm not a hopeless case, I have friends who talk to me, who tell me they love me. I have family who miss me and who have experienced the loss of suicide and the cavern it leaves, filled with unanswered questions. I should be a success story.
And yet I confine myself to the sum of what I've been given. Trafficking. Rape. CSAM that spread like a wildfire. I am forever online. "The only thing you can control is yourself," and yet so often that control was ripped from my hands and torn in front of me.
I can trust no one. I can't trust my husband, who's guilty of causing me pain. I can't trust my friends who don't know how bad its gotten. I can't trust my family because they already think my memory is faulty.
And I can't trust myself. Because I don't know what's real and what isn't anymore. Was any of it real?
Is this even real?
I was diagnosed with CPTSD about 4 months ago. I'm pretty sure its worse than that. I occupy a theatre that I watch my body move from. There's no emptiness inside me, only a perpetual feeling of decay, of rotting from the inside out. I'm not "feeling low", I'm knowing that people wouldn't love me if they knew the extent of my thoughts.
I'm fragmented, and the "realistic" thoughts I have to focus on when I get like this just feel like they're mocking me. I can't look at anything realistically because my reality is grim. I can't look at myself in the mirror without wondering who's staring back at me.
The threads that hold my marionette tight are slowly beginning to loosen. Memories are unfolding from the sallow parts of me that I wished I'd never looked at.
And so, I'm back here. It should get better. It should. I'm not a hopeless case, I have friends who talk to me, who tell me they love me. I have family who miss me and who have experienced the loss of suicide and the cavern it leaves, filled with unanswered questions. I should be a success story.
And yet I confine myself to the sum of what I've been given. Trafficking. Rape. CSAM that spread like a wildfire. I am forever online. "The only thing you can control is yourself," and yet so often that control was ripped from my hands and torn in front of me.
I can trust no one. I can't trust my husband, who's guilty of causing me pain. I can't trust my friends who don't know how bad its gotten. I can't trust my family because they already think my memory is faulty.
And I can't trust myself. Because I don't know what's real and what isn't anymore. Was any of it real?
Is this even real?