I was ranting all on my Twitter but I need to get everything out before I explode again and I don’t wanna clog up the TL on there.
I haven’t fully recovered from anything that’s ever happened to me. Hence why I am still so hung up to this day and it baffles me as to how it even happened. My brain is too fucking good at switching off and ignoring when things are getting bad. It just puts it on a shelf and it builds and builds until I just fucking mentally snap.
I’m not over being sexually assaulted by a relative. I’m not over how he touched me and the things he said will be taken to my grave. I’m not over the trauma from seeing and cleaning the blood, vomit and tears from an old friend when she was trying to kill herself every fort night. I’m not over how she treated me. I’m not over how much sleep I lost because I stayed up all night because of her well-being and how I was only a year older than her and basically had to be her carer. I’m not over how I had to rush her to hospital and see my best friend before me lay there freezing but sweating on the sheets, her body fighting to survive. I’m not over how I really did my best for her but she didn’t care about me. I’m not over the fact that I still fucking miss her from time to time and as much as I say I hate her, I can’t fucking let her go. I haven’t spoken to her in years and I still feel sick to my stomach thinking about her but I really want her to find fucking peace and live well. I needed her so bad but I had to leave because I couldn’t handle being her life support anymore. It was killing me. I wanted my best friend back but she wasn’t there anymore, just somebody with the same fucking name. I’m not over how I fell in love with a man who I put my all into and received nothing but lies and deceit to my face. I’m not over how isolated I was. I had no friends. Working day in, day out being cheated on behind my back. I was living alone and I needed some kind of real human connection and he wasn’t ever fucking there. I supported him, I gave him my body. He made me feel only worth for sex. He made me feel like I had to be kinky but I wasn’t even 18 yet, I didn’t know what a healthy sex life was. I didn’t know how to be treated respectfully, but learnt quickly it wasn’t by giving a man everything you got fast and easy. I’m not over bashing my head into walls and cutting myself over and over and him holding me while justifying himself for cheating. I’m not over the nights I would lay by his side and cry and cry and cry because I knew he didn’t love me the way he first did. I’m not over how it took him to not want to have sex with me to be the reason I knew he was cheating. In the end it felt like I was paying for him to just come and sleep with me, be away from home while I worked, give him food for him to go home and talk to other women. I’ll never forgive him. Because of him I don’t know who the FUCK I am anymore. I had to change my entire personality because everything just fucking hurt. I got back with him again but for fucking what? Abuse down the phone for 4 hours. No breaks. The final push into the biggest psychotic episode I’ve ever experienced. I tried killing myself due to psychosis and went into hospital last year, while we were together. He didn’t see me. He didn’t want to talk to me. He never comforted me. I tried making a home in a person that didn’t love me and nearly died trying to.
I am ugly. I am disposable. I am fat. I am untalented. I am stupid. I am vain. I am disgusting. I am hideous. I am ugly. I am dumb. I am pathetic.
I hate how I still carry learnt behaviours with me. I hate how I cry so fucking easy when something nice happens to me because I feel unworthy. I hate how I apologise all the time for just fucking existing. I hate that for 4 years straight I experienced nothing but trauma and stress and now I have psychosis because of it and I slip very easily into an episode if I stress at all. Even minor. I hate how I feel all the time. I hate my body and my face. I hate my laugh. I hate how I act. What I do. How I dress. Nothing in life is fun anymore and it hasn’t been in so long and I try my best to make believe I’m happy but I’m fucking not.
I have a better best friend now and a better boyfriend. But I’m so fucking damaged I can’t tell them how I ever truly feel because I don’t believe it’s important. I’m not fucking important and I never fucking have been. That’s just how it has been and will be. I learnt I was disposable since the age of fucking 10 years old. A suicide attempt, an eating disorder, an abusive relationship, a toxic friendship, 4 addictions and 2 diagnosis’s later I’m 21 years old and it’s 4:31 AM and I’m still feeling this way.
God, I am struggling so much. I am holding onto dear fucking life for some kind of purpose but suicide is glowing in the back of my mind like some exit sign all the time.
I don’t know who I am anymore and who I see in the mirror won’t even look back for even she cannot bare it.
If you do know me and you’re reading this, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk at all.
