Semi-Comfortably Numb

“so I didn’t cry today. I kept feeling my body wanting to, but it would go away like… ok you know when you are at the end of your bottle of lotion and you are squeezing and it does the thing where it starts to come out but when you stop squeezing it slurps back in so you end up squeezing really hard and trying to wipe it on your arm so you don’t lose it again even though you didnt need lotion on your arm but it’s the only way to get lotion? THAT is emotion to me today.”

This is how I described my emotional state to @verilyvexed today. It’s weird, right? On the one hand, the misery is behind a wall. It’s like I know it’s still there, but it can’t get to me. On the other you can’t even remotely call me happy, or even neutral. I’m tabula rasa, in as much as I believe any human being can be, since I do actually believe some things are inherent and the proof of actual physical proof that people with certain emotional disabilities have different brain functions. In a fucked up way I miss the pain. It’s like that was proof that I cared? But I realize it is fucked up and therefore that cancels it out.

I wonder if I could write. And if I could what would it be like? Sometimes I want to write my life story out, but I can’t imagine anyone would believe someone could possibly have so many wrong things happen in their life.  When I am lying in bed and feeling manicawake I will talk to myself, sometimes out loud, and the half delirious flow is almost beautiful.

I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Anyway.

Besides numbing myself medically, I have started the process of preparing for bariatric surgery. And yes, it’s a tool not a quick fix. And yes, it is going to be really hard. AND YES, it is going to hurt, and my recovery is going to be difficult and I am going to have to change my entire life.

But I am kind of at my last shot. Ever since I had my youngest daughter, losing weight is impossible. I’ve tried, I hardly eat anything (no I’m not starving myself) and I used to work all the time and exercise a lot, but it doesn’t help. Also, my depression has kind of taken over my body. I’m tired all the time. Like ALL the time. I have no energy. None.

I’m tired of being this. if I could draw it, it would be a normal shaped blue silhouette that almost glows surrounded by a dark red form of a heinously fat person. The red is so dark it almost sucks all the life out out the blue insides. That is me. And I’m so close to just… stopping. I don’t want to be me anymore. I want to be someone else. Someone reasonably healthy and strong enough to keep going after losing the person they thought was their soul mate, and can someone be your soul mate but you aren’t their’s?

I suppose that’s one of those things I will never learn the answer to.

Dear Rosemary by Foo Fighters

Atmosphere

The flavor of the past changes with the atmosphere of the now.

If the present is good, then the happy memories are like a great song or poem that you think on or tell. “Remember this day? So happy, so much joy and love.” and the feeling wells up from your belly to your chest, like drinking warm and thick cocoa with the perfect amount of marshmallows. You can rewind them and play them in your mind, over and over, letting that peace fill you.

When the now is bad, though, the memories hurt. You are trying to only focus on the now, not thinking about the happy past because it’s no longer that way, or if you aren’t thinking of the present, you are running toward the hill, the horizon, the finish line that means that your life will be better then, just keep going, keep running, don’t stop don’t fall.

But someone like me, the future is just the same as the present. Loneliness that sears your marrow with its chill. And when the happy memories come, it isn’t a welcome respite. It’s a slap in the face, a kick to the kidneys, a knife to your gut. It catches you hard and fast and your throat clamps up tight and the cold travels down to a rock of ice, no, of dark matter, in your middle. A black hole that sucks all the hope out, makes Oz turn back into Kansas, grey and wilting.

A memory that used to bring such joy, something that you used to relive over and over in your mind because you knew it was one of the happiest in your life, now makes your soul shrivel up in loss, because you know it’s gone. It’s gone and the present made it untrue, a lie. That beautiful moment were you were so full of love tears leaked down your face, the look of wonder you knew was a reflection of your own, it has no meaning now except for the pain it brings and now you cry, but bitter, hollow tears and you wish there was a way to remove that memory, because ignorance isn’t bliss but it’s better than knowing what you’ve lost. At the same time, you hold on to it, examining every detail, because for that one moment, you felt that, at that moment it was real and you were someone who loved and was loved in return.

My ex-husband says I hold grudges, that I wallow in misery. I guess he’s probably right, from the outside. But on the inside, it is more than that. It is the desperate longing to find a way to be worthwhile, to be someone who might find herself loving and loved again.

A Sorta Fairytale by Tori Amos

Overwhelmed by Emotion

I have borderline personality disorder. Which basically makes me a mess, all the time. My emotions are not always at the level they should be.

I recently had a break up. Also a divorce, but they are two separate things. My divorce is actually amicable. The breakup though… has me devastated.

I know it was a bad relationship. He was seeing someone else, which makes me a dirty mistress (something he would joke about sometimes…ha…) but he said he loved me. And I had been in love with him for years, so I ignored the sadness that was building and building.

Then he got caught. And yes, the inevitable happened. I am nothing now. And now he’s just somebody that I used to know…

I deserve this, I know. But I swear I was acting out of love. And now I’m abandoned by the person I have loved over half my life, and it’s overwhelming me.

I don’t have a lot of friends. My anxiety makes me want to hide away. And now… now I feel worthless and horrible and rejected.

I have friends. I do. Some of them are actually really great, caring, there for you when you need them people. But I keep dwelling on the ones that make me feel like I’m not good enough.

I should be grateful for the ones who are there. I should be happy that some people do care. But all I can see are the ones who turn their backs. I wonder why not me. Why not me?

I don’t know. I am sure this feeling will fade, eventually. But right now that’s all I can see. All I can feel.

How do normal people deal with this sort of thing?