Death

I feel useless because of my ADHD. I hope I don’t die.

I hope I’ll be able to work, so I don’t end up dead. It feels like my life is worthless.

I guess we aren’t really aware of how dangerous it is to be completely isolated, until we are.

The only thing that makes me happy is knowing that, even if I die, at least I was able to tell the world that it was my abusers’ fault.

They were the ones who gave me my life, I guess they might be the ones who will take it away from me.

I hope I don’t die. I don’t want to.

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Their only goal was to kill me

I have one year and a half to make enough money to maintain myself and move out. Right now I barely make enough money to buy food.

That’s how long my abuser will help me financially. Which would be fine, in any other circumstances, since I’m in my twenties. Except I’m mentally ill, an abuse survivor, and I’m functional only 60% of the year. I can’t get treatment. I had to drop out of college. I wouldn’t be able to find a job, outside of the online job I have right now (that I’ve created myself).

Have a child, abuse them their whole childhood, and then kick them out once they are in their twenties, right? Regardless if they are a functional human being or not.

That’s the situation my abuser created for me. That’s them, pushing me once again to kill myself. That’s them trying to kill me.

That’s all they’ve ever wanted. To destroy me. That’s what they’ve been trying to do since I was born.

 

How am I going to survive this? When will I stop fearing for my life? How much of my life are they going to destroy?

 

Why did I have to go through this? Why did my life have to be horrible? Why did I have to be born in a family that only had me to abuse me?

I’m so tired of fighting for my survival.

Year recap I

I decided to write a year recap to clear my mind. As always, remembering things is hard for me, so writing is really useful.

 

I’ll start with the end of last year, cause that’s really where this past “cycle” started. I had recovered from a lot of my mental health symptoms and I was really proud of that, since I did it with a lot of  hard work, and on my own (treatment is not easy to get where I live).

However, as time went by, I still wasn’t feeling okay. Then I realized something: is not about me. I feel okay, I’m okay with my life. It’s the things that are outside of me are the ones that make me unhappy. And one of those main things was my family.

I realized that my family made me feel a lot of pain. At the beginning, I didn’t understand why, but I started thinking. And realizing things. I started reading my old diaries from when I was 13 to 18, since it was really hard for me to remember my life up to that point clearly. Then I started remembering things.

And that’s when I started seeing the truth: my family is filled with crazy motherfuckers, and I’ve been abused. It all made sense. My life made sense for the first time ever. So did all my mental illness, which up until then I couldn’t understand why I was ill.

(I accidentally found out that I have ADD too, which was also depressing).

So what so I do now? I guess I have to move out as soon as possible. I was desperate for money, but I hated the idea of going back to the type of jobs that I had had in the past. (I had a horrible experience, I’ll talk about it some other time). Luckily I came up with the idea of working online, as a freelancer, and LUCKILY it worked. So during those two months where I was setting things up for my new job, I pushed the “abuse thing” to the back of my head.

Then December came around, and I started to feel unwell. I didn’t make the connection, I kinda forgot about the abuse. I just got really depressed in only a couple of days. It was brutal. All my BPD symptoms came up so hard. All day long (and I mean all. day. long) I only thought about is how much I wanted to be raped, and beaten, and murdered. Hated by all the people I care about. I couldn’t sleep, and I had no energy. Standing up or going to the kitchen was physically painful. I was barely eating. My stomach problems were at their worst, so I had to go to the hospital for medication.

I saw abuser B during those weeks, but I barely remember anything from it. I do remember that their asked me why I didn’t want to see their family, since they “miss me” and “don’t understand why I’m so distant.” Fucking hilarious. I said I just didn’t feel comfortable around them. “We have very different personalities, we just don’t click.” Of course that’s not the truth, I don’t want to see them because they treat me like I’m worse than trash, but they would tear me apart if I ever said something like that.

I was so nervous when we had that conversation, I was shaking. Later on, I saw their family only for a couple of minutes. They asked me if there’s anything going on, if they did something wrong. “Is it about the things that we said about [family member]?”

That’s it. That’s the only thing they could think of. Something that is not even related to me. They can’t think of any occasion in which they were a piece of shit to me. And the funny thing is, [family member] is also my abuser, so I couldn’t care less about the shit that they’ve got to say about them.

Anyway, December passed, and during January and February I was just as depressed. I was feeling really suicidal too. In one occasion, after something that happened with abuser A, I actually considered doing it. I was waiting to cross the street in a corner, cars were coming, and I considered to just keep walking. I didn’t.

 

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.

Time isn’t real

I’ve been suicidal for so many years that I don’t know how it feels to not be suicidal. Even if right now I’m not actively thinking of doing it, there’s always that underlying thought, every second of the day.

I’m not gonna do it, I just think to myself “can’t wait till I’m dead!!” 300 times a day. And honestly, I think it’s gonna be a huge relief. Even if I end up having a good future and I’m happy, there will always be pain trapped inside of me. That, and exhaustion. I always thought of death like an eternal nap, so honestly that sounds fantastic.

I don’t know what it feels like to be normal, or not wanting to die. I’ve been suicidal for almost ten years. That’s fucking depressing.

And I don’t feel like I’m alive, either. When you have no control over yourself, what you do, how you feel or the people who surround you (basically when someone else controls you) life feels quite surreal. I’m like a puppet, not a person, and my life is just someone else’s creation.

Nothing feels real.