Bearing the Unbearable

Find myself at your door

Just like all those times before

I'm not sure how I got there

All roads, they lead me here

I remember when I first started writing these blog posts. I had recently gone through a major traumatic event in my life. An event that I didn't know if I was going to make it through. During that time, nobody knew what was really happening. No one understood what it was doing to my head. How it would change my life forever. No one understood that everything that was important to me was being stripped away, and how I had no power over the outcome. How those who were the closest to me in my life, suddenly couldn't stick around. The nightmares that came with it. The isolation and sleepless nights. The fear and paranoia at every turn. The waking up thinking you were in a nightmare but realizing it's actually just your new reality.

Just like all those times before

I'm not sure how I got there

All roads, they lead me here

Sometimes I wonder if I try to get myself into these situations. Am I doing it on purpose? Am I looking for reasons to prove to myself that I don't belong, and push people away as hard as I possibly can? 

I'm not sure how I got there

All roads, they lead me here

Maybe there's something about me. There is something wrong with me. I can not keep control over my problems. I can't manage them. The world wasn't built for someone like me. 

All roads, they lead me here

It feels like every time I get closer, every time I get closer, I fall back down again. Further, further, further down. Not as far down as before, but so much farther than I've grown.

I feel like I am reliving a very specific trauma I went through before, and it's one of those things you can't imagine bearing again, because you knew how long it took to feel okay again. And really, you never fully started feeling okay. You just lived with the reality. The reality of the situation, and the reality of what it made you believe about yourself. 

It's like, you did something that was so bad, because of who you are, that ruined everything that meant something to you. What was important to you has to disappear, because inherently, who you are is messed up.

It's hard to live in the brain I have, because it just feels unfair. The problems I have make me feel like a loser, because I am in constant fear of losing everyone in my life. And no one spends all their time worrying about that. When you have a problem, if you can't get it resolved immediately, you catastrophize. 

Everything gets loud and escalates. These voices get loud. The depression becomes so prominent and unbearable. You start to feel pain that you would give anything to make disappear. Anxiety is so loud, you get nauseated, for as long as things remain unresolved. You give yourself GI distress. You have an eating disorder but you want to eat so your head will stop racing a million miles an hour, but you're so nauseated that you barely can.

You can't focus in class. You have exams and all you can do is ask for your professors to push it off to another day that it hasn't gone away, still. 

You don't know what is next. 

You don't want this. You don't want to be like this. You don't want any of it to matter to you, but it does. You can't just make it not matter to you. You feel so much shame because any other normal, functioning, mentally stable human being would never ever deal with the same type of problem, or even be phased if something like this happened to them. It just wouldn't even happen to them in the first place.

If you could just not care, you would give everything you ever owned to not care. But like a breakup, no matter how much you don't think about it, no matter how much you want to not care and for the person to disappear from your history, it doesn't matter. It's in your body. Your body knows what's happening. Your trauma knows what's happening. It just doesn't go away. There is nothing you can do to make it go away. 

You are the only one going through this, and not a single soul could understand. You try to explain, and people can show sympathy, but they don't really know what's being ripped inside of you. They don't know that it's so much worse because you believe it's all your fault. They don't know that it really wasn't all your fault, that you felt set up for this disaster, and you're going to be blamed for it anyway, so you have to take the responsibility so things just don't get worse. 

You start to wonder how awful you must actually be, if the people who know you the best and care about you the most, would put you through what they know would torture you the most. 

You wonder why God would design a person like you. Was it a cruel joke? Did he actually make one mistake? Did he maybe just not care? 

I don't believe that about my God, but sometimes I wonder. Because it just doesn't make sense. Sometimes it feels like life was designed against very specific people, and I just happen to be one of those people. Or maybe I am not a person? Thoughts that won't stop going through my head.

There are worse thoughts, but not thoughts that you can share to the public like this. 

You feel like you are being punished for existing. Existing the way that you exist. Even the people who say they are better than the people before, they maybe just didn't know what was coming. 

Every year, a wasted attempt. A wasted attempt to build something new. Building something new doesn't work. You still build your world around you. And you don't really change. Your brain chemistry doesn't change, your past doesn't change. 

Pain. Pain is what was meant for you. You were designed for pain. 

Maybe I have to sit through this pain, with no self destructive choices. Glennon Doyle told me that is the only way. I can't keep covering it up with new things that only numb it away and make it worse. But haven't I survived this way before? I've done it without self destructive behaviors. I've done it this way before. Does it make you stronger, or just more fragile? WOW. 

Pain. 

Life seems designed for pain. I'm not even sure sometimes if happiness and love matter because they always seem to end in pain that exponentially undoes any good that you've ever experienced.

"Love Never Fails" is the tattoo on my wrist. What is love?  

I try not to make my posts too emotional, and at the same time share where I'm at. I know that sometimes people can relate. When I was experiencing unbearable pain for the first time, Glennon Doyle helped me through it in her book, Love Warrior. 

Writing can be healing. Reading can be healing. 

It's hard to be at a party when you feel like an open wound, says Taylor Swift. 

For the most part, the whole world feels like a party, and I am a gaping, open wound, wherever I go. How do open wounds function in a world that just keeps going, and infecting them, and spreading the infection through their body, and then expect them to not get essential organs shutting down or limbs amputated until they're completely dysfunctional. Like, if it was a real open wound, would people purposely throw dirt inside of it to make it worse? And would they expect for that person to not slowly die and lose function? 

I can make all the right decisions after a bad one. I can try so hard. That's what I've been trying to do. It only heals so much. Nothing simple can fix a gaping open wound. 

Getting your nails done, showing up to work, showering every day, turning in assignments on time, writing down a list of everything that you love about yourself, writing in a gratitude journal every day, that doesn't fix a gaping open wound. 

No matter where I go, what direction I turn, it's an endless circle. Bringing me back to square one. 

Your whole world can burn while everyone else's keeps turning. 

The silver lining? Haven't found it yet, that's not really what my blog is about. I don't know what's next. It's more than unsettling, it's more than discomfort. It's sickness. In my brain, my body, my heart, my soul. 

I am sick in every part of me, and there aren't doctors trained to treat that kind of sickness. There's no treatment team that you can pull together to fix someone like that. 

My greatest gift seems to be connecting to other people's darkness. Sometimes, I'm not sure if that is a gift worth having, because of the life it means you have to experience. 

Cheers to those who are bearing the unbearable. May you make it.          

I’m not sure how I got here, all the roads, they lead me here