I want to hurt myself.
I won’t hurt myself.
I want to feel pain.
I want punish my repulsiveness, my stupidity, my uselessness as a mother.
I want to pull my hair out, punch myself in the head, smash my head into the edge of the bath.
I hate this.
I hate myself. Only I can see how pathetic and useless I am. Every minute with the children is torture. I don’t know what to do with them, how to interact with them.
We escape the house and I survive by focusing on our errands. I dread being alone with them. I don’t know what to do with them. How to be with them.
I want to feel pain. Will any pain really punish me enough? Punish me for the mistakes and failures of my life, past and present?
I punish myself by not eating, or by eating crap. By not going for those walks, by not taking care of me. You can’t take that away from me.. It’s the only thing I can control. Everything else just floats on by.
I put on a brave face.
I am dying inside.
There is no-one to listen. Only you.
How can anyone understand this? I am not some poster girl for surviving trauma, for championing adversity. I am a pathetic failure, lurching from day to day with the help of chemical crutches. How can I ever tell you about the truth of being me?
I am at breaking point. Or at a turning point. It feels shit. I feel nothing but fear and loathing.
Tonight I will put off going to bed, stay up too late. Tomorrow morning I will wake up feeling tired, dreading the day ahead. Counting down the hours until bedtime.
I might, just might feel better. Sometimes I do.
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