I am proud of myself. Hallo! I am proud of myself. When did that ever happen before?
And I am disappointed. But I know I shouldn’t be disappointed, because I did as well as I could, and I tried, and I did so much more than I had expected from myself, and not doing it 100% is allowed, and it’s still new to pay attention to myself and my needs so I understand that I didn’t manage to do it 100% perfect.
Today I went out and spent time with some friends. Not close friends, just one of them were. We were 6. I think it’s almost a year since the last time I was surrounded by so many people that wasn’t my family, or medical people, at once. I was nervous, I was filled with anxiety, I felt worthless, but I did it! I fucking did it, man! Me! I. And I know I left too late, that I spent too long there for my own good. That I should’ve cut it shorter, but it was so hard. Because I had an ok time, so maybe I could just stay a little longer. Because the others didn’t go home so early, so maybe I could just stay a little longer. Because what was I supposed to say when I left early, and the others stayed (?), so maybe I could just stay a little longer. Because it was nice being out of the house for once, and it was ok to meet my friends, and to listen to them talk and be excited about a life that didn’t involve pain, so maybe I could just stay a little longer. But I shouldn’t have, I should’ve known better, and left early. But I didn’t know better, and there is no point in beating myself up about that, because I went out. I went out of the house and met people, and that is BIG. That is something that is so hard to do. So so what if I didn’t leave when I should’ve, I did something great still, and you can’t expect things to be perfect, and you can’t expect yourself to know better all the time. I thought it would be ok to stay longer, but I was wrong, and I am allowed to be wrong without having to die for it.
So yeah … I think I’m proud. I don’t feel proud, but I think proud. What I feel though, is that I should die. I should die tonight. I should end it all. Life is too painful. Life is terrible. And this is how I know I stayed too long. The repercussions of wearing yourself down when you’re depressed, and when you get overstimulated by the world because of sensory problems and stuff … fuck, it sucks. I don’t wanna wanna die. I don’t wanna feel shitty. I am happy (not like in a feeling kinda way, but a reasonable kinda way) that I went, and that I pushed myself to be social, but I’m just so sad that this is how my life is. Instead of going home from a nice evening with nice people and feeling like a hundred bucks going to bed and falling asleep with a smile on my mouth, I want to die. And that is not how it’s supposed to be. And I’m so sad, so disappointed, that this is how my life is. I don’t want this. I’m so tired. I’m so awfully fed up with being sick.
But! I am proud. (I reaaaaaally don’t feel proud, but I should be, because I pushed myself to do something that was extremely hard for me to do, and I went through with it, doesn’t that give me reason to be proud?) What do you say? Do you have any well-meaning words that could cheer a terribly worn down person up?