Helping/not helping

So less than a week ago I woke up screaming because I’d had some kind of night terror.  I didn’t remember the dream, just the fear and then had that lingering ache all day.  Last night… no I remember the dream and I got woken up screaming again.

 

I know that this is my brain’s way of trying to process a lifetime’s worth of shit but I could do without twice in one week.

 

I know why it’s happening… I’m trying to make sense of my behaviour now by looking at what happened in the past.  So my brain is trying to be helpful and say ‘here you go, we’ll work on it all night for extra credit!  YAY!’ and then I’m having a dream about my ex, the person I thought I was a friend and trying to confront them in a pub full of a mixture of friends and colleagues.

 

Oh and picking the day that I have a job interview so I’ve had no sleep and I’m currently ill.  Extra points for that…

 

In a way I knew what I was in for in the dream.  I was the one who chose to be confrontational rather than sticking to what I’ve been doing in real life and avoiding the pair of them like the plague… not an easy feat when we have so many mutual friends its ridiculous.  I’ve managed though, it’s been nearly a year since I’ve had to see them.

 

In the dream I felt so confident and defiant and then it all just crumbled away when I got faced with an utter lack of remorse and amusement at me even thinking that’s what I’d get.  It finished with what I guess was a death blow in terms of emotional feelings… I should have just glassed the fucker.  We were in a pub in the dream.

 

In reality I know they’re a pair of cowards.  Unfortunately they’re cowards that can’t cope with not being the victim.  The only thing I have with him is that I was such a supportive and caring doormat he didn’t really have much ammo against me or at least that’s what I’ve been told by our millions of mutual friends… back when I asked.

 

My counselor says that I’m allowed to not be 100% ‘over it’ even though mutual friends have told me I should be by now.  Well maybe if I’d been told the truth from the off I’d have been able to process it rather than getting it in installments from people when they’d get pissed at parties and decide to tell me how much they knew was going on.

 

I’m tired and I don’t want to be ill and in a bad mood.  I am going to watch cartoons.

I survived **sticker**

Don’t be afraid
I’ve taken my beating
I’ve shared what I’ve made
I’m strong on the surface
Not all the way through
I’ve never been perfect
But neither have you

 

 

So I cried at midnight on my landmark birthday… which, when you consider trying to explain why to someone from an Amazonian tribe just is the most ridiculous thing.

‘You see these numbers… they mean I am now a year older according to a timescale we invented and I am now a number that means I should have achieved a number of things that I haven’t.  This makes me sad’

 

I hid in my room.

 

After sleeping I woke up to open my cards to find out that 30 is obviously the age when you no longer qualify for a birthday card as a niece.  Courtesy of my birthday being on a Wednesday I also hadn’t seen the majority of my friends.

 

I spent the day trying to be civil but failing.  On the journey home I literally lost the power to speak.  I was tired and socialised out.

 

Friday was… shit.

 

I cancelled the Drs appointment which was basically for him to check that I was still alive.  I had about 8 things to juggle (including going away for the weekend) and couldn’t be bothered with it.

 

As a penance I decided to go through my phone assessment for my ‘self-referral’ for CBT.  This is a month after my original ‘incident’.  The phone assessment was the same thing that I have now grown used to… namely me being asked my a stranger to describe my risk of suicide, how I was planning on doing it etc etc etc.  I was then told that I qualified for CBT and I would be contacted in a month for my first session.

 

So this is the situation… to get CBT I will be approximately about 2 months away from me actually putting my head over the parapet to ask for help.  In order to get the help I have probably spoken to at least four strangers, in detail, about wanting to die, not coping and how I would exit this world.  The only thing I have actually been offered by the NHS straight away was diazepan.  I was not told that this is valium.  I have not accepted their offer.

 

With all of this and still feeling the absolute hurt of the hell of Chester Bennington killing himself (I can’t even look at pictures of him, it’s like my heart has been ripped out) I made a new record of bursting into tears as soon as I got into my counselor’s office.  I don’t think I even made it to the sofa.

 

I said I was trying to find a new job, trying to do the best that I can but it’s a constant fight.  I feel like half of me is trying to keep motivated and keep pushing at me while the rest of me just wants to lie on the floor.  Part of me wants to stay on that floor.  It wants to say ‘I can’t fucking do this anymore, you pick up this mess now’  I know it’s stupid and it’s immature and it’s not productive.  Burning up the life I’ve tried to build just to get back at my parents but it’s so fucking tempting.

 

During my unhappy and discontent childhood my mom leant on me heavily as a result of my dad driving away most people she knew with his mental health issues.  She told me a lot of her problems that I shouldn’t have known ranging from money troubles to the fact she wanted to throw in her job.  I know the theory and the fact that this was because she literally had no one else… the issue is that it’s all reminding me of how I used to feel.  Like she was leaching the strength out of my body.

 

My counselor suggested I went back to the Drs and took the drugs.

 

Instead I went camping for the weekend, drank a shitload of rum… kissed a guy I didn’t know and ended up doing a thing (not with him) that I feel like I’m going to regret in the future.

 

Drunken Grin is the herald of chaos.  Definitely a maenad.

 

Looking down the barrel of a week at work and all I want to do is hide in someone’s arms.  I just want to bury my face into a chest that is rock solid, breathe in that guy scent, feel some strong arms round me and then grabbing my wrists.  That is what I want.  That is what feels like is best in life at the moment.