Through living I prolong my own suffering. For what purpose?
I have been truly tired for such a long time. Every day I must exert myself to the fullest extent in an effort to feel a semblance of normalcy, of sanity - to no avail. Every day I feel a sinister foreshadowing of only more pain, more agony, and yet I have pushed through because I am told that "it will get better". But every day, the overwhelming sense of imminent danger grows, and my hypervigilance follows in growth. But for my whole life, I have been unable to identify the danger, the coming evil, the source of my torment. Until recently.
It has finally come to my attention that life itself, living, is what my soul is afraid of. I have gathered enough personal evidence that, for Neal Holliday, it indeed does not get better - because I am inherently unworthy of the true, genuine love that I crave for living.
I have discovered that this belief was engrained in my mind in early childhood, when I learned that no matter what I did to appease my father, I was never worthy of love. So I spent my formative years, into adulthood, constantly seeking the approval of others. And I sacrificed any sense of self-love to prove to others outside of the family that I was worthy of their love. More often than not, nothing I was capable of accomplishing was enough to warrant permanent love, only fleeting, circumstantial appreciation. My belief of inherent unworthiness was further solidified upon my graduation from my undergraduate program, during which my family, my mom, skipped out of the ceremony. I learned then that not even great accomplishments can earn the loving approval of my family, and if they could not love me, then surely no one else can truthfully do so. Not even myself.
This is when the self-harm, the self-sabotage, truly began. My substance and alcohol abuse was rampant prior to this time, but I previously didn't aim for oblivion. But as I moved back "home" for graduate school, the act of dwelling amongst those whom I could never please, my family, caused sheer panic in my soul. So I aimed for oblivion - if I could dissociate enough through mind altering substances, maybe I would be able to survive. But in drunken stupors, my soul lashed out in terror as a cry for help, actions which I truly had no control over. Substance-induced mania had taken over, and I proceeded to shred apart friendships, my extensive network, and any hopes for a positive future.
I entered a cycle of torment, self-sabotage disguised as coping methods, and further dismantling of my life. Now that I am truly sober and medicated, I have had a chance to reflect and look back on the scorched earth that represents the hopeful life I had once built. And it is clear that I subconsciously acted this way because my mind could not fathom myself being a worthy human being, and so I destroyed any chances of proving myself otherwise.
From always yearning to please others in hopes of getting a semblance of true love, I completely disregarded any means of learning how to give love to my self, divorced from the perceptions of others. And so this is a feat that I am defectively unable to do - I simply cannot love myself.
And I have tried. As mentioned at the beginning, I spend every waking moment trying to love myself, but it is absolutely overwhelmed by a flood of self-hatred and shame. I have tried so hard, but each day I lose a bit of tenacity to continue trying, a bit of hope that I can succeed in appreciating my self for who I am. And bit by bit, day by day, I have completely exhausted myself of the energy to continue trying. My efforts are futile. I have no energy left.
My soul is tired.
It is not anyone's fault but my own. I am simply not strong enough to continue.
My parents may have presented abusive patterns, but I believe they were working through unresolved trauma of their own. It's not their fault.
My best friends show me unwavering support and love me more than I could fathom, but my mind is unable to accept it as fact. It is not their fault.
My sweet baby boy Jughead loves me unconditionally, even through my darkest points. It is not his fault.
My coworkers did the same, they accepted me, flaws and all, and welcomed me with open arms. It is not their fault.
I love you all so very deeply. That, I have a strong ability to do. Do not doubt this, ever. It is not your fault, and you did everything that you could do, and I love you forever for it.
But I truly cannot love myself. I have deprived myself of the art of self love, and after experiencing insurmountable evidence, I know that I will never be able to love my self. It is fact.
I cannot in good conscience allow myself to continue suffering by knowing this simple fact.
And so my suffering shall end.
This is the ultimate form of self love.
By the time you are reading this, I will have already succeeded in escaping the suffering of living, having returned to the oblivion of nothingness. We will meet again there.
Please do not fret. Instead, know that I am finally at peace.
Know that I love you, forever.
I have been truly tired for such a long time. Every day I must exert myself to the fullest extent in an effort to feel a semblance of normalcy, of sanity - to no avail. Every day I feel a sinister foreshadowing of only more pain, more agony, and yet I have pushed through because I am told that "it will get better". But every day, the overwhelming sense of imminent danger grows, and my hypervigilance follows in growth. But for my whole life, I have been unable to identify the danger, the coming evil, the source of my torment. Until recently.
It has finally come to my attention that life itself, living, is what my soul is afraid of. I have gathered enough personal evidence that, for Neal Holliday, it indeed does not get better - because I am inherently unworthy of the true, genuine love that I crave for living.
I have discovered that this belief was engrained in my mind in early childhood, when I learned that no matter what I did to appease my father, I was never worthy of love. So I spent my formative years, into adulthood, constantly seeking the approval of others. And I sacrificed any sense of self-love to prove to others outside of the family that I was worthy of their love. More often than not, nothing I was capable of accomplishing was enough to warrant permanent love, only fleeting, circumstantial appreciation. My belief of inherent unworthiness was further solidified upon my graduation from my undergraduate program, during which my family, my mom, skipped out of the ceremony. I learned then that not even great accomplishments can earn the loving approval of my family, and if they could not love me, then surely no one else can truthfully do so. Not even myself.
This is when the self-harm, the self-sabotage, truly began. My substance and alcohol abuse was rampant prior to this time, but I previously didn't aim for oblivion. But as I moved back "home" for graduate school, the act of dwelling amongst those whom I could never please, my family, caused sheer panic in my soul. So I aimed for oblivion - if I could dissociate enough through mind altering substances, maybe I would be able to survive. But in drunken stupors, my soul lashed out in terror as a cry for help, actions which I truly had no control over. Substance-induced mania had taken over, and I proceeded to shred apart friendships, my extensive network, and any hopes for a positive future.
I entered a cycle of torment, self-sabotage disguised as coping methods, and further dismantling of my life. Now that I am truly sober and medicated, I have had a chance to reflect and look back on the scorched earth that represents the hopeful life I had once built. And it is clear that I subconsciously acted this way because my mind could not fathom myself being a worthy human being, and so I destroyed any chances of proving myself otherwise.
From always yearning to please others in hopes of getting a semblance of true love, I completely disregarded any means of learning how to give love to my self, divorced from the perceptions of others. And so this is a feat that I am defectively unable to do - I simply cannot love myself.
And I have tried. As mentioned at the beginning, I spend every waking moment trying to love myself, but it is absolutely overwhelmed by a flood of self-hatred and shame. I have tried so hard, but each day I lose a bit of tenacity to continue trying, a bit of hope that I can succeed in appreciating my self for who I am. And bit by bit, day by day, I have completely exhausted myself of the energy to continue trying. My efforts are futile. I have no energy left.
My soul is tired.
It is not anyone's fault but my own. I am simply not strong enough to continue.
My parents may have presented abusive patterns, but I believe they were working through unresolved trauma of their own. It's not their fault.
My best friends show me unwavering support and love me more than I could fathom, but my mind is unable to accept it as fact. It is not their fault.
My sweet baby boy Jughead loves me unconditionally, even through my darkest points. It is not his fault.
My coworkers did the same, they accepted me, flaws and all, and welcomed me with open arms. It is not their fault.
I love you all so very deeply. That, I have a strong ability to do. Do not doubt this, ever. It is not your fault, and you did everything that you could do, and I love you forever for it.
But I truly cannot love myself. I have deprived myself of the art of self love, and after experiencing insurmountable evidence, I know that I will never be able to love my self. It is fact.
I cannot in good conscience allow myself to continue suffering by knowing this simple fact.
And so my suffering shall end.
This is the ultimate form of self love.
By the time you are reading this, I will have already succeeded in escaping the suffering of living, having returned to the oblivion of nothingness. We will meet again there.
Please do not fret. Instead, know that I am finally at peace.
Know that I love you, forever.
