Too bad to be true

I went out for a a walk, it always used to make me feel better. I think a lot when I walk, and it clears up my mind. This wasn’t the case. I was thinking about how fucking trapped I am, how I just wish I was dead because I don’t see an escape from this.

I was thinking about how I was treated the three times that I’ve reached out to professionals to get help. It was… I don’t even have a word to describe it. They treated me like I was so stupid and dramatic, and like I was just making everything up. It’s so depressing I don’t even want to think about it.

Two of them asked me why did I thought I was having panic attacks. I literally had all the symptoms of a god damn panic attack. I was shaking, terrified and sweating, I couldn’t move or speak, my chest was filled with anxiety. And the professionals that I saw would ask me what made me think that those were panic attacks, like if I just happen to read about them on a magazine and then decided to go and tell therapists that I was having them because I had nothing better to fucking do. They literally refused to call them that.

I told them. My family is crazy. My abuser thinks they have super powers. I’ve been depressed and suicidal since I was 13. I’ve had delusions and hallucinations. They would ask me “What do you mean when you say you don’t have energy? Why do you think your family is crazy? What do you mean when you say you have a bad relationship with them?” They would look at me like I was stupid, and they couldn’t comprehend what the fuck I was saying.

I had been having symptoms of sex abuse for YEARS, and I was admitting it to myself for the first time in my life. That’s when I had a flashback and started having the panic attacks. I was terrified. I went to a fucking “therapist” and she told me “Don’t you think that if you’ve been raped  you would remember?”

She said that. Those words, exactly. I was desperate for help, and she said that to my fucking face.

And now, a few months later, here I am. Suffering just as much. But now I don’t have the energy to look for new professionals. I know that they’re going to be just as terrible as them. I even chose those from the options that I had because they seemed the “best ones”.

So what am going to do? What the fuck do I do? I can barely work, I don’t how am I going to get the money to move out from this house. How the fuck do I do it? How do I get better? I don’t have the money for online therapy.

I don’t know, my mind went blank. My brain dissociates and disconnects when I panic.

Just like when I was walking, half an hour ago. When my life gets surreal and I can’t take it, things stop feeling real. I couldn’t feel my body. Which is something that is happening quite often lately. At night, when I panic about my sex abuse, I start dissociating and disconnecting from my body.

And I was thinking, that was the first half of this year for me. Being terrified about all the sex abuse shit that was coming up. But I’ve had forgotten  about this past months, just like I do with everything.

My life is just that: a surreal situation, my brain deletes it, move on. Over and over again.

I don’t feel anything, I’m dissociating. I just know I’ve got to keep going and hopefully someday someone will notice me and help me.

Dead cat following me

It happens when I’m doing random stuff: I start to become really aware of my surroundings, the things I can see out of  the corners of my eyes. Especially the shadows. For some reason my mind gets distracted by it, and then I see them move. A little bit.

On one occasion  I thought my dead black cat was running towards me, but once I turned around there was nothing there. Great.
That cat in particular was super crazy, and during her last days of living she would literally jump from my roof, landing hard on the floor. You could hear the noise throughout the house, and my mom would say ‘there she goes again!’.
Eventually she died that way, she was really sick anyway.

I did a google search and apparently that type of ‘hallucinations’ is really common, although it can develop and turn into something more serious. I hope it doesn’t. I’ve been through enough shit, I don’t want to add ‘seeing dead cats following me’ to the list.

It’s sad to think how crazy I must look, like my fucking cat, looking behind my shoulders every 3 seconds. It didn’t happen much in the street, though, fortunately.
It’s just that I’m really paranoid. I’m always thinking ‘what if I have a flashback? what if something triggers me? what if I have a panic attack? what if I lose it completely?’.
I don’t know where I’m heading. I don’t know if the dreams, the feelings, the memories are real, if they mean anything. They are just small things that keep stacking up, and even though the pile grows and grows everyday I can’t know for sure if something happened to me until I have a specific memory of it.

I don’t even know what to feel. I don’t feel anything.
Everything is so surreal.

I just hope I don’t have a breakdown.