I’m having a major existential crisis.
I’m trying to figure out who the hell I am. After years of being abused, gaslighted and controlled, I seriously haven’t the foggiest idea. I’ve been hardwired to believe that I’m unworthy, unsatisfactory and unlovable.
I know that there’s a good person deep down inside of me. It’s like peeling the layers of an onion. There are things about me that I love, some that I like and then parts of myself that I really dislike.
What to keep and what to toss away into the garbage is a daily struggle.
I have regular nightmares that leave me with a doomed feeling that’s difficult to shake off.
I’m on a journey of healing, which sounds so cliche, I know. But damn is it hard work. There are days when I just want to give up. More often lately, I’m going down a unfortuantly familiar, self-destructive path…Googling suicide and indulging those fucking demons.
The Wikipedia page about suicide methods is like a trauma-induced bedtime story when I’m in that frame of mind. It’s much like a car wreck; you don’t want to look but you’re still morbidly curious.
I find that it’ll bring me some comfort…that it’s an option.
Just knowing that I can choose to leave on my own terms somehow lessens my ideations, as odd as that may sound. It’s only something that a truly depressed person could understand and as much as I realize how disturbing it must be to most people, I feel the need to let the truth spill forth from my fingertips.
There is a darkness inside my mind and if I don’t purge it the best way that I know how, through writing, I fear that it’ll eat me alive from the inside out.
The only way forward is to replay and process everything that’s happened to me. I suppose that’s why I have nightmares so fucking regularly.
I found this meme the other day that struck a chord with me and made me feel validated.
I hate him. I’m relieved. I’m thankful to be away from him.
It still hurts, anyway.
There are good memories that remain.
Another unpopular fact.