torture. self torture. punishment. atonement. making them realize how despicable they are. making them suffer. making them pay for what they’ve done to me. see all the damage they’ve caused.
hate. self loathing. hating my ways. my habits. my thoughts. my memories. my behaviors. my desires. my fears. my goals. my shadow. my dreams. my words. my movements. absolute hatred. detested.
as my young brother said, “i want to annihilate myself”
or my other younger brother saying, “i’m a worm. scum of the earth”
or my father saying, “you’ll never change the world”
or my mother saying, “you’ll be sorry when i’m gone” “at least i loved my mother” “even though my mother was crazy as a loon” “they’re all going to laugh at you”
i often wonder why no one knew how to help me. why strangling and choking continued. why sexualized shaming comments poured out of her mouth and washing over me like gray water. why it seemed like she hated me. loved to pick on me. treated me as if my pain was not existent, or not real. treated me like an extension of herself, like one made to serve her, appease her, redeem her.
last night i called my youngest brother. who is in some kind of long term depressive, anxious, break with reality and autistic regression. he asked, “what’s up” and i confessed. I’ve been having some – depression. “depression” he said and through the phone it sounded like amusement, wonder, smiling? why was i so afraid to confess. that i’m struggling. that i question my motives every day. that i wake up wondering why i fail in life, why i feel alone in life, why i am so low that i take friends and privileges for granted, why i feel sorry for myself, why i hate myself, why the world seems to hate me. why i go on. what would it take for me to quit going on. when will i know i’ve quit. can it happen without my knowledge and at some point i’ll just realize it. i often want to quit. but i feel ashamed and angry with myself. hearing the voices of others. those who care about me and with whom i’ve established friendship. and those who grew up with me and feel bound by familial experience. “i come from a mentally ill family.” “do you want to call it mental illness? does that really make you feel better? do you like using labels?” “stop feeling so down. you have to feel grateful.” “you don’t have it bad at all.” “you’re a spoiled brat.” “this cannot be what breaks you.” “oh, you say you don’t have friends. you’re delusional, like an anorexic who looks in the mirror and sees obesity.” “oh, you say no one loves you nor is your friend. that is hurtful to me. how could you say that?” “people who are depressed…” “people who want to die…” “if you really want to die, then maybe…” “maybe you don’t want to die. you have to take action. you can’t just feel this way.” “therapy – isn’t it helping you?” “everyone’s is a little depressed. it’s not just you.” “everyone has a quote mental health problem. it’s our society.” “think of all the people worse off than you.” “i’m crazy too – look at me!” “if i haven’t committed suicide, then you definitely shouldn’t.” “get over yourself.” “get over it.” “you have to have willpower.” “not disabled enough.” “there’s no such thing as mental illness.” “medications are all placebo effect.” “when i was depressed i didn’t use medications.” “everyone is traumatized.” “it’s selfish for you to talk like that.” “why focus on personality disorder?” “why not focus on something positive?” “you are thinking too narrow, you want something that’s impossible.” “no one has all the answers.” “no one else can tell you what is right for you.” “you are saying this, but acting like that.” “be grateful you are alive.” “why don’t you just stop talking to your family?” “how are you?” “no really, how are you?”
i told him i was feeling depressed recently. i did this in spite of not wanting to say that. feeling dread about disclosing. feeling like if i told him about this weakness, this flaw, crack in the armor, that it would destabilize him, destroy any progress i’ve helped him make. felt it was my responsibility to protect him from how i feel. the complexity of my experience. from my pain. i don’t want to inflict my pain onto others like i felt my mother inflicted onto me. i wanted to be strong for him. i want to be strong for my siblings. i want to be strong for my parents. i don’t want to be the one who falls apart. not while they are falling apart. i want to appear i am keeping it together. i want to appear like a mature adult without a severe set of mental illnesses and trauma experiences. i want to have an easy life. i want to be more normal. i want to be satisfied more easily. i want to stop questioning my every move and judging myself so harshly. i want to drop the self loathing. i want to feel loved and accepted no matter what. i want to stop fearing that i will destroy myself. i want to stop feeling that i am fragile and will disintegrate. i want to stop dreading that i will destroy all of my relationships. i want to stop claiming all the responsibility, blame, and guilt for lost relationships, broken bonds, regrettable behaviors, and bad decisions. i want to stop believing it is all my fault. i want to stop believing i am a victim of circumstances and psychotic family background and lots of trauma and pain. i want to stop believing that it is all one person’s fault and that maybe they did this stuff because they didn’t care about me enough. how can i excuse it all with a plea of insanity, ineptitude, incompetence. i want to be able to trust. i want someone to tell me how they made it through. gently. with patience. with affection. letting me know they care about how things turn out for me.
i want respect for all that’s happened
i want my pain to be honored