Let me just say I really appreciate all the comments, I’m just in a so spaced-off place that I can’t focus enough to realize what they are saying, and not even in my right sense to approve them, and respond, but I will, I promise. And I do, do, DO, appreciate them, really. I’m just messed up and shut off (or something, heck I dunno!) and don’t know how to even speak the same language as my friends. There are SMSs, messages and missed phone calls I haven’t responded to and when speaking to my mother this evening I almost couldn’t wait for the phone call to end. I feel like a dick person. But maybe it’s just numbness. But in some days I will read the comments again, and I’ll respond. So thank you. How long did I take writing this? Wow, my god.
I’m not even sure I exist. Derealization, welcome! Fuck this. I need stitches. Come on Marie, don’t do that. Hold it together, don’t let it go that far. Your dad will worry if you run out the door in the middle of the night. Don’t do that. Pull it together, you moron. Pull it the fuck together.
Reading in that old diary yesterday was like opening a can of worms. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck fuck! How can I ever be able to handle that that happened to me. That that little girl had that life? How did I ever get through it then? How did I cope, how did I live? When it sent me spiraling into a deep, deep depression when I got older, how did I manage to survive that as a kid?! I can’t handle remembering it, so how did I handle living it? Without telling anyone.
God, I get so sad for that little person, that little girl that I once was. Every day! Every DAY. And then when I met wonderful people, people who saw me, and liked me, I wasn’t able to experience it because I was already broken. There came so many good people into my life when I moved, and I never believed it, I never believed that they cared about me, that they liked me, that I mattered. That, I, the worthless, ugly piece of shit, mattered. But I did, and I didn’t get to feel it, because all I felt was worthless, broken. And those who broke me … they don’t even know. They don’t remember ruining my life.
I remember. I remember when he spat me in the face, and laughed it off, as if it was an accident. It was no accident. And this guy, he don’t have a single clue what he did. I remember my friends (my friends!) talking about a party they were going to, one which I weren’t invited to. I was okay with not being invited, but it was the way they talked about it. Whispering, and looking over at me, insinuating how un-cool I was, since I wasn’t invited. It turned out there were no party, they just did it for fun. FOR FUN! And they don’t remember this. They thought of me as their friend, some of them still do, and I love them. But how could they be so cruel? How can kids be so cruel?! I remember one of my teachers telling me all I said was bullshit. I told him he couldn’t talk to me like that, that it was bullying, and then he said right to my face that that was bullshit too. That all I ever said was bullshit. And it wasn’t. I was a good kid, wanted to be kind to everyone, trying to be perfect so that no one could hurt me. But it doesn’t matter if your perfect. And I could say that they didn’t know better, when it comes to the kids, but the grown-ups, is not knowing better a good enough excuse then? How can adults tell an 8 year old to stop crying, that there are no reason to cry, someone just told you you were worthless, that you deserved to die, but that’s not a reason to cry. Why isn’t that a reason to cry? Because that’s what I deserved, because that’s the truth? That was what I thought. I must be. When no one would do anything, and I wasn’t allowed to be sad about it, it must be because that was what I deserved. I deserved all the pain. And all this pain that has come around the last years, the hospitalizations, the stitches, the overdoses, it has all been a part of what I deserve. How can grown-ups be this way?
And I know that grown-ups are sometimes so much worse than this, they molest kids and they beat kids, and that is so much worse than what I experienced. But, and this is gonna sound awful, maybe dis-respecting, and that is not what I want, but sometimes … (if you have experienced that, don’t hate me for thinking this, it’s just a thought, and I really don’t mean to downplay your pain, not at all!) … sometimes I think that would’ve been better. If they hurt me physically but I knew that it was wrong. Instead of always believing I was so worthless I deserved it. To feel the pain from having people do that to you, but knowing it was wrong, and knowing that everybody thought it was wrong, in stead of hearing that the pain I experienced was right, it was what my life was supposed to be, forever. That was who I was, a punching bag for my surroundings.
I’m so grateful for my parents. I’m blessed to have them. Really, really, really. But the shitty thing right now is that that makes me feel guilty for being sick. Because I love them so much, I just wish I didn’t bring this pain upon them. The pain it is for them seeing me sick, and in hospital, and hurting myself, putting myself in danger. I shouldn’t be allowed to feel hurt, when I have that good parents. But gratefulness doesn’t take your pain away. Love for loved ones doesn’t take your pain away. Especially not when you’re deluded into thinking the best thing for everyone is if you’re dead.
I feel so weak for experiencing all this pain. I keep hearing a voice inside my head telling me it’s not bad enough, it’s not a good enough reason to feel hurt. But at the same time, I can’t look at myself and say that what I see is weak. But how is people stronger? How do we all get through this? How do we all stay alive ……