Venting im not comprehensible to people outside this community and it's killing me. anyone else?

[exhaustedanonymous]

does anyone else get the feeling all the words inside your mind and body just.. can't get out? they burn at my tongue and my throat and i don't remember a single minute of my life (except for when i'm with her, but i have an obsession problem so ofc it would be like that) when i dont feel like throwing up paragraphs and paragraphs of emotional raving of all the feelings no one cared to listen too when i was small but now it's all so clotted up uncomfortably inside me i don't think i'll ever be able to express myself the way i want too.

i had a mental hospital appointment my mom urged me to go too and i tried my fucking hardest to explain myself to the woman and all she said was "you have to take things steps at a time", "when you have a little more energy you have to use it to make a step in the right direction", "i can't imagine how hard that was for you but you need to work harder" and i have no fucking clue how to explain how pointless everything is. it feels like we- this community and i- see the world for what it really is, a twisted, stupid, fucking hopeless reality of self made devastation our forefathers set to creating out of greed that will never change because us as humans as a species are beyond flawed (doomed, really) and no matter how hard i try or how hard i work it will never, ever even come close to being enough to do anything to make any impact to change anything, and even in some miracle that it would/did, it could be scrapped away in an instant by someone else making the move minute flick of their wrist. i will never be enough. this society is built to make sure we, people in general, creative and reflective and whatever hell few good traits we have- will never, ever be enough to amount to anything real. we are caged in the most horrible confusing ways. life does not have point. living does not have a point. i fully believe that i would be better off dead.

and it sucks because (if anyone remembers me from another post, i made an account because my gf left me "for good" and wanted to finally go through with it, but she got back together with me for.. some reason????) i technically have people that would mourn me or would want me to stay and i feel sick thinking about those leaning towards innocent people so i try and i try to make myself understood so my pain can go away or be HELPED like they claim they can help but my best fucking attempts do nothing. i'm not enough. i never will be. i am so frustrated in the most bitter ways. i just want to go home.

It reminds me of when I was in high school, i dragged myself out of the one of my worst depressive episodes and i went to school and i wrote an essay on "Lord of the Flies" about how it suggests human nature is inherently flawed. My teacher gave it a really bad score, saying the quotes I cited didn't support my conclusions well enough, my writing form wasn't right (talking directly too the reader, encouraging them to make conclusions, instead of a blank overview of obvious metaphors like how the essay was supposed to be written in, among other details (i'm dyslexic, so.. spelling problems too.) to this day when i read the essay I think it's a good essay. my cited quotes make sense to me. i think the way i wrote it was a good writing style and i was proud of it and i thought it expressed my thoughts the way i wanted them too.

what stuck with me the most is in the bottom of the essay, my teacher wrote, "you have good ideas, but you don't express them well" and that sank like a stone in my chest. that essay was, in my opinion, all i couldve done. i was in horrible condition (my teachers were aware) and i tried so fucking hard and it made sense to me and i liked my essay and i thought it made sense but it didn't make sense to her and nothing i couldve changed or done wouldve made it more coherent for anyone that isn't me. i make sense to me and i think i might make some sense to some of you but i will never make enough sense to stop being in so much fucking pain and i will never make enough sense to be helped (not that anyone who could "help" tries to listen, even if i tried too, and i will never ever make enough sense to feel okay in this society of endless fucking judgemental eyes.

i don't want to kill myself because people care (and my girl cares a lot) and i want to stay for them but being the only one who seems to really see or understand is rotting my away on the inside and i really feel like i want my body to match.

 

[BipolarExpress]

It sucks that you went through that with your teacher. Writing is hard for a lot of people with dyslexia, and the fact that you were able to put together those ideas was an achievement in itself. Your teacher should have been more sensitive to your disability and what it entails. You also expressed yourself well in this post: you made it clear that you felt alone and misunderstood, you shared part of why you feel self-conscious about your writing, and you talked about how you were able to pull through a severe depressive episode to write that essay, only to get a bad grade. When I was in high school, similar things happened to me in English class. I would often be told that my essays were beautifully written, though they were "underdeveloped." I never really understood what that meant until I was older and had learned how to write nonlinearly.

I can understand what it feels like to be misunderstood, too. I'm not dyslexic—in fact, I have the opposite problem, where I have a photographic memory for things like spelling and grammar—but I have other disabilities that affect how I move through the world. I'm autistic with a lot of "savant skills," though I don't usually call them that. Thanks to my synaesthesia, I react strongly to sensory stimuli, including words and symbols, and very few people understand that. I remember details about other people's actions—often for decades—that most people forget. I remember their typing quirks, what they wore, the way they talked, the way they moved, when I know none of them would remember me with that level of detail, if at all. It makes me feel like a circus freak. My brain latches onto inconsequential topics and loops on them over and over again. I feel as though I don't make much sense to most neurotypicals, and that truth is crushing for me. I have a lot of reasons for wanting to kill myself, and this is one of them.

 

[Unknown21]

I look forward to read your essay.