I wake up exhausted, achy, and overheated. I'm disappointed that I woke up at all.
I don't feel like a person. And I don't mean that in the dissociative way, I tell my therapist every time I try to explain. He knows what I mean by now.
It's hard to see how the lives of others are so different from mine. My life is an abomination; human lives aren't supposed to be like mine.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a friend tell me (over messages) "You're the most isolated person I know." and I haven't gotten over it. I've been simmering in it ever since. Human lives aren't supposed to be like mine.
I can go days without speaking out loud. No one says my name except at the doctor's office.
I have no idea what affection is like. When I write about it, I have to guess and hope it's right and that no one can tell that I'm not a real person.
I am not wanted and I am inherently unlovable. I am no one's priority. I tell my therapist that if I don't kill myself I'll die of neglect. I'll take care of myself until I'm too burnt out to do it. I figure if I was loveable then someone would've done it by now, since I'm in my mid 40s. But I am not worth the effort. My unmet needs are a black hole that's collapsing on itself and no one wants to reach inside and pull me out. There's no payoff to loving me. I am not meant for gentleness.
It's hard not to see yourself as garbage when you learn that both sides of your family enabled your mother's abuse, standing idly by while knowing all along what was happening. It's even better when more than one of them tells you about this in your 30s.
If neither side of my family wanted me, then why am I here? I suppose I know the answer to that. I was my mother's "last chance" to do the things people are "supposed" to do. She was too much of a coward to defy expectations and I am the one who has suffered because of that.
And I see so much about "self-care" but when you're alone in the world that isn't really possible. If I take a bath, I have to clean it up. Make a special meal, i have to clean it up. You see what I mean. It all cancels itself out, or makes me more tired than when I started.
It's hard to self-soothe. Nothing is comforting. There aren't even vices I can indulge in. There's nowhere soft to land, no warmth to reach for, and i am so exhausted.
I can't help but chuckle dryly when I see the phrase "it gets better". It most certainly hasn't. This phrase is most often used in the context of people who attempted suicide, failed, and now are much better. I've failed 20 times or more and nothing has ever gotten better. I used to think it would. I had hope that all of this survival would pay off someday- that all this strength I am complimented on would eventually become something. But I don't think it will. I think the system that wants me to not exist will win and my life will have been a waste. None of my fighting for my life has been worth it.
Not that this is much of a life at all.
This is no life for a human.
Which I guess I'm not. An inhuman life for someone who isn't human in the eyes of other humans.
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