Fix me.

4 Jul


Warning-this is very much a steam of consciousness, whining because I have no where to vent this kind of thing. Any desire to call me a whiny baby will be met with a STRONG desire to beat the fuck out of someone. This is the ONLY place I can deal with any of this-if you can’t either be supportive or silent, you aren’t welcome. I’m in absolutely NO mood for trolling.



It’s the emptiness inside that scares me.

Partially from events, partially from a likely imbalance with my meds and PMS, I have spent the majority of this week visualizing my death at my own hands. And I mean really-I’ve been having to catch myself from walking towards the cabinet where my medication menagerie lives. We’ve been here before. Really. About this time last year in fact.

I don’t think I’m in any real danger-I’m still rational enough, and I have an appointment soon, and besides, after you live for years playing out how exactly you’re going to die-what you’re going to do, where you’ll lie to sleep forever, what the note will say, you become rather callous towards the entire thing. Blase even. It’s just death after all.

My fierce curiosity to see what exactly does happen when I die helps me not worry much. At least dead I won’t have to deal with faulty brain chemistry. I hope. (man that would fucking SUCK if I die and wake up alive somewhere else with this POS brain of mine, wired crosseyed and burnt at the edges…)

But the emptiness, the soul sucking, blinding emptiness where I stare at those around me and believe, truly and utterly believe that they will leave me, that the intentionally hurt me by refusing to listen when I say things bother me, the void filled with an utter hatred for my body and a repulsion when I look myself in the face in the mirror-these are the things that scare me and leave me blasting out at anyone near me.

I feel undervalued, I feel jealous, I feel scared, I feel achingly lonely. I feel angry that I don’t know which feelings are real, which ones I’m allowed to have and which ones I’m not.

I have gone from having a relatively ok grip on my self image to have one that could be represented in negative values in about 2 weeks. It feels overwhelming-it clings to me, whispering that it will never go away, and that every step it will tell me how disgusting and horrid I am, how I’m silly to expect anyone to love me or want me, and that I should count myself lucky that anyone does, if they truly do. I have gone from trusting the things around me to waiting for them to collapse in on me, and I have begun that most awful of bipolar traits-pushing away the one person who loves me.

Even as I write that, the voice whispers “If it’s true that he does.” The paranoia won’t leave me, and it drives me to want to just break away from everyone around me and disappear. Disappear where no one can disappoint me or hurt me, snap my trust in half. The paranoia tells me that all things end as they have before-be it in 6 months or 15 years. Those voices tell me it’s just a matter of time before my heart is rent in two yet again.

Knowing as I do that I would never survive it, my brain leaps to suicide as a viable option for protection. What scary is the emptiness doesn’t even acknowledge my daughters. It only sees me, and the spiralling nothing I’m becoming, prone to hysterics lately, and not even knowing what to believe, what’s real, crying and crying and feeling a burning pain in my gut that’s likely an ulcer.

I don’t know what’s real.

I don’t know if I would know betrayal if it happened since I obviously can never tell happiness when it happens. I know I feel hollow and cold inside, and I’m playing a dangerous game with myself, keeping the exterior mundane and normal while the echoes repeat that they don’t care, and none of it matters.

I focus on telling myself, when I can, that it isn’t real, that I am worthy of at least some passing affection and respect. But I can’t doggie paddle for very long without wanting to just let go.

A lifetime of fighting myself, of telling myself I’m worthy, all coming back to one fucking bastard asshole who stole all of me, who stole my life and my innocence and my trust and happiness. It all centers on that theft, that betrayal, and I wait for people to take advantage and run from me. People have done it all my life-assumed I would be strong enough, assumed I didn’t care, assumed I was ok with it, assumed I was a fucking fool. I having trouble fighting this, my head taken over it seems by it, this ticking time bomb in my head reminding me of a 20-30% mortality rate, reminding me that I’ve limited my contacts to so little that literally no one would miss me if I were gone, my children given the chance to grow without their terror of a mother screaming at their heads, my husband free to do what he will without my shrewish needs and wants hollering in the back.

It was better for so long. I felt alive, and human and that terrifying question, that fucking horrifying thought of “what if the drugs have stopped working?” keeps rolling through my head now and I remember how I said I’d die if these ever stopped working I can’t go back I can’t go back and now…I’m back. I’m right there.

I want so badly to be like everyone else. Steal whatever middling ability I have with words-just erase this fuck up in my brain. Fix me. FIX ME. I don’t want this. It doesn’t make me interesting or strong. It makes a a royal fuck up who can’t get her life straight, who doesn’t know what she wants and who can’t even find the will to write half the time anymore.

I want to cry, and I just can’t. It’s stuck. I want to cry like a baby and wail and gnash my teeth and I can’t. It’s disappeared, into an ether with my joy.

I can’t go back. I just can’t.

19 Responses to “Fix me.”

  1. titaniumrose July 4, 2008 at 10:21 pm #

    What you’ve just described could have been me last month. I went through something very similar, though luckily for me, not quite as intense. I was able to work through it through the help of my (then) therapist and lots of support from my husband and family. I don’t know that I can offer anything really helpful other than to work with your psych doc and your therapist if you have them and rely on your support network – including your blogging buddies – now as much as you possibly can. Maybe just knowing that there’s someone else out there who has been through the same basic ordeal will help, who knows. But I’ll be thinking about you and trying to send some good thoughts your way.

  2. thordora July 4, 2008 at 10:23 pm #

    I just feel so fucking alone with all of this right now, and when I try and explain it IRL…it just doesn’t work, or I look like a fucking moron.

  3. Marcy July 4, 2008 at 10:38 pm #

    I know it’s not at all like me, but the phrase that I want to say is “hey baby, I’m here.”

    I totally get not knowing what’s real, and being so very tired of the fight. The paranoia about the drugs. The confusion.

    So, hey baby, I’m here. And I love you.

    I know that you know that the voice of depression says things that are not exactly quite true, and that it is important to not take that voice as gospel, but to remind yourself of all the things you knew to be true at other times, and somehow trust that they are still true and it’s your perception that’s temporarily whacked.

  4. Jen July 4, 2008 at 11:01 pm #

    I’m here too, if you need me.

    I mean that seriously. You’re an important part of my life and I want so much to be able to reach out and hug you and make you feel less alone.

  5. magdalena July 4, 2008 at 11:05 pm #

    The bipolar doesn’t make you interesting or strong. YOU make you that, not a condition that is an aside when it’s in control.
    I can understand how frustrating it must be to walk the line and have to keep seperate “normal” and “abnormal” thoughts and feelings. The truth is, normal people have abnormal feelings. It’s how your mind breaks them down and digests them that matters. Everyone needs reassurance that their presence means something. You may feel paranoid at the people around you, but you need to understand that it’s just a misfire. They are there in your life for a reason. It isn’t even there for you to question, yet you do because you are angry for being the way that you are- you put yourself in their shoes and imagine you would never put up with it. The truth is you don’t know how they feel, you only know how you feel. You are worthy of love and affection just as anyone else. You can’t let a past expierience literally rob you of that entitlment, because then that one fucking bastard asshole wins in the end.
    You are beautiful, Thor. The words that come from you don’t come from other people. You have more feeling than they do. Sometimes that might turn you ass on end, but you aren’t supposed to be perfect all the time. And maybe people your whole life didn’t assume you were strong enough; maybe they knew you were.

  6. Eden July 5, 2008 at 12:15 am #

    I think that we’re all fucked in the head but the rest of us aren’t as up front or honest about exactly how fucked we are. It always amazes me how raw and exposed you make yourself here. I wish I could be a fraction of as real as you are, baby.

  7. CharmingDriver July 5, 2008 at 12:42 am #

    I’m so sorry you’re going through this, T. I read recently that something about the seasons changing especially winter to spring/summer are particularly hard for both bi-polar and addicts; I know that doesn’t help you in any tangible way but maybe it will assure you that you aren’t alone in the struggle. Hugs and love to you.

  8. March July 5, 2008 at 12:47 am #

    I’m sorry its so tough for you right now. really. wish I could hug you and tell you it’s going to be alright. I dont know how long it’ll take for it to be alright, but I know it will happen. Hang in there. This too shall pass.
    Sending you a big hug from this side of the world…

  9. niobe July 5, 2008 at 7:51 am #

    I’ve been to that bad place. A bunch of times, actually. And the worst part — one of them, anyway — was wanting so badly for someone to help me and realizing, with a slowly dawning sense of horror and helplessness, that, no matter how much they wanted to, no one could give me what I wanted.

    You say no one would miss you if you were gone. Not true. There are many, many people, including me, who’d miss you terribly.

    You sound so much like me that it makes me want to cry.

  10. cinnamon gurl July 5, 2008 at 9:02 am #

    I’d miss you too. You are worthy. It will be better again.

  11. Carin July 5, 2008 at 10:08 am #

    I was worried when you said that you didn’t want to write here anymore. Often times that seems to go hand in hand with you not feeling the best. Hang in there and get lots of help. Like I’ve said before, in a small way I have felt similar things, and it’s not fun feeling like you’re always being pulled back to the same spot in the journey. It makes me think of that scene in the Blair Witch Project where they find the same log where they started and the girl cries “It’s the same log!” No one remembers that scene but me, and that’s what it makes me think of. Sometimes it feels like there’s no progress, and It’s the same log! But you will progress, you always learn from these things. Thinking of you.

  12. misspudding July 5, 2008 at 1:33 pm #

    And this is why you have to keep writing. Or at least, maintain relationships, even online, in some form.

    It seems like it’s hard for you to tell what is the bipolar and what is normal aching sadness. Other than the suicidal urges, I have the exact same feelings, often. Therapy helps, but they’re still there. When you’ve been abused, your world view gets skewed. It’s hard to trust anyone and it’s hard to know what’s right. But you feel a lot of pain.

    Keep being honest and expressing what you feel. Tell us how things hurt. My therapist forced me to write letters to my abusers, so that I could tell them exactly how I felt and what they did to me, so I could finally keep the feelings out of purgatory in my head. They finally got compartmentalized and I could move on. Of course, I did a lot of other work, too, but just remember, medicine alone won’t heal you. You have to do a lot of the work yourself. But also get your meds adjusted if you, ahem, feel like killing yourself.

    We want you around. And we want you to tell us your feelings, dammit. That’s what this is.

  13. summer July 5, 2008 at 4:39 pm #

    you aren’t alone.

  14. thordora July 5, 2008 at 5:05 pm #

    Thank you, all of you.

    After a night that ended at 5:30am, I upped my dose. I had completely fallen into paranoid delusions and was completely out of it. Today I’m tired, and subdued. I still feel those voices scrambling,but they seem to be more like echoes, and are easier to fight off.

    The past week or so has been terrifiying in more ways than one.

    And Miss Pud, I think you’re right. Anytime I say the magic words, I think I should also look out for a massive swing. Not that I’m not still planning to regroup by the end of the summer. But it is indicative, that pulling away.

  15. Barb July 5, 2008 at 5:14 pm #

    I am so sorry you are going through this again. I am here every day and I look forward to what you have to say. It helps me keep my sanity. Please do what you need to do to hold on, especially for the girls. I know that does not always feel like it matters, but just remember the pain they would go through. I have been through the same type of pain many times and I hope you find peace and strength.

  16. Carin July 5, 2008 at 5:29 pm #

    Glad you feel just a little bit better. It’s really wacky when you’re right in the throws of it, isn’t it? The mind and perceptions are powerful beasts, either for good or evil.

  17. sweetsalty kate July 6, 2008 at 11:51 pm #

    Oh my christ, I was away this weekend, in your town again, and you were on my mind as I went into the city on saturday morning.. I wished so much I had your phone number. For next time, okay?

    Magdalena said it all so beautifully. Your interestingness has nothing to do with your bipolar, or what’s happened to you in your life. When I looked at you through the lens I could really look, and really see you (cameras tend to do that, magnify and amplify and quieten all the noise of someone else looking at you as well) and you are so compelling, and so lovely, thor. So simmering and vibrant and wonderful to be around.

    My picture of you was different than what I saw as soon as I walked into the sea shanty, based on how you’ve always described yourself. I was like “WHAAAAT? No way. This woman is sexy and full of verve and sparkle and WTF ten times over!” but of course there’s no denying the mind-bending fuckupitude of the totally un-fun funhouse mirror we stare into every day.

    I’m glad you upped your dose. Smart and proactive and so good. Tell those voices to fuck right off, and tell them we all sent you and love you.

  18. juliepippert July 7, 2008 at 5:22 pm #

    Sometimes it must take over. I try to put myself in your shoes, and the horrible change of life PMS/PMDD that causes me to lose all control and sense of self is the best I can do. It makes me understanding. I hope that helps.

    You are clearly, clearly so much more than this, as much as it is an ever-present aspect.

    I haven’t had time or space to comment as much as I have been reading.

    So know you’ve got support, please. And know that I think anyone could relate to this:

    “I feel undervalued, I feel jealous, I feel scared, I feel achingly lonely. I feel angry that I don’t know which feelings are real, which ones I’m allowed to have and which ones I’m not.”

    Here’s to getting the reins back.

  19. Cynthia Page July 9, 2008 at 7:25 pm #

    I could have written 99% of your post. I don’t know what thoughts are real. I’m doubting everything. Of course, my tear ducts are working full force. I’ve been sitting in my darkened room all day crying, reading, crying, listening to music, crying, posting, crying.

    Fuck this shit. Obviously I have no words of wisdom. If you ever want to be miserable together, come over.

    I sent R away because I can’t stand for him to be here right now, and yet I am so fucking lonely…isolated.

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