Thinking back on these nasty comments this woman wrote a couple years ago about “Honestly, don’t you get sick of hearing yourself whine?” It hurt, because I was just sharing what was happening in my life and what I felt about it. It is the same as now. I am broken. There has been family things that I have not shared, out of respect for my family, that have been very hurtful to me. This depression is by far the worst I have had, and it doesn’t appear to be going away, but of course perhaps my sisters unexpected passing has complicated the healing of that.
My body hurts constantly, my focus and attention, concentration exist no longer, and I am questioning my purpose, the point of life. Yes, I said it. I am not seeking attention as have been suggested, I share my blogs to help others, but it seems lately I can’t even help myself. I am broken.
I am attending Coping Skiills Group today followed by Overeaters Anonymous (so much for my anonymity) plus have psycho therapy tomorrow with my therapist.
I think about a very young and beautiful girl who last year, took her own life at the young age of 17 or 18. It was a travesty, a tragedy. How could she not see how beautiful she was inside and out? How could she not understand that things pass, it is always darkest before the dawn? I was shaken by this for months, I guess because suicide has always been an option in my life, it has always been an “out” if things got so bad. Now I wonder, am I her? I am unable to see what good I am offering the world, I am unable to deal with the greed and cruelty of others, I am unable to see the light, even though at 50 years old, I know it will show its brightness again.
I have so much guilt inside of me, and sadness. I am angry, I am hurt, I am broken. And yet, no matter what happens or doesn’t happen in my life, the sun will shine tomorrow, the birds will chirp, and life will go on. That’s what you are supposed to do after someone dies, right? Just go on.
I feel like a burden to my family, to my friends, and probably all of you are sick and fuckin tired of hearing me moan and groan about the difficulties in my life, and yet my writing is my saving grace.
I am in darkness again, heaved up in a corner with hands over my eyes in case something else is coming my way. I have been sleeping my days away, not wanting to deal with the intense pain I am feeling emotionally. I am retarded, immature in my ability to move on, in my ability to control my emotions. I concede with what I’ve been told my entire freaking life, I am too sensitive.
And now I shall shower, and go to meetings that will hopefully help me out of the darkness, that is unless they come take me away in a straight jacket beforehand. I am broken, and I’m so freaking sick of it.