I’m tired of feeling trapped
here, in this pristine, suburban corner of hell. When people say life is hard,
they are talking about the waiting – the waiting and the powerlessness. It’s
maddening.
My tricks to make myself feel better (a.k.a. coping
mechanisms) are still working. I can still distract myself, and get to a
bearable place in my mind so that I don’t go completely insane, or do anything
to hurt myself or anyone else. It’s shitty that my baseline for how I’m doing
is “I don’t want to hurt myself, or anyone else.”
This shit is just so fucking crazy. The violence I witnessed
growing up is weighing down pretty hard. On the one hand, I am very relieved
that I have gotten to a point where I know what happened was real. On the other
hand, it really sucks to have gotten to a point where I know what happened was
real.
I mean, it’s always been real, but there has been some room
for the possibility that I am stark-raving-mad, which is the only alternative I
can find to all of it being real. Unfortunately – and fortunately – the evidence
of crazy is not good: I’ve been evaluated and treated by three different
psychiatrists, a couple of psychologists, and any number of other mental health
professionals.
They say I’m depressed, that I have a dissociative disorder,
that I have post traumatic stress disorder, that I have an anxiety disorder,
that I am agoraphobic; they agree that I am an addict and an alcoholic (I’ve
been clean and sober for four ½ years, but they say once you’re an
addict/alcoholic, you’re always an addict/alcoholic, and I believe them).
I’m also a hoarder. I hoard trash. Its not so bad these days
– I have it limited to one small corner of one room, and I have gotten really
good at purging it on a regular enough basis that I don’t automatically walk
into a room and see a bunch of trash and think, “jesus christ, I’m a hoarder,
too. I’m dirty and gross.” There is a very minimal amount of shame attached to
it at this point – it’s actually one of my easiest disorders to regulate.
I think I might be leaving out a couple of items on the
mental health list of disorders, but I feel confident that I’ve made my point –
I’ve got a lot of mental health problems.
Not one of the problems includes hallucinations, delusions,
or pathological lying. So, yeah. It’s real.
The shit that happened to me is real.
2 comments:
sigh. the validation of numerous mental health professionals really doesn't make this any easier. I suppose it's nice to have, if only for the outside world. at least you having coping mechanisms that work and I am thankful for that for you.
I have no idea why these horrible things happened to you. It makes me really sad. You are so brave for recognizing the truth. A few mental disorders are to be expected when you have to live in hell as a child. Keep on coping one day at a time.
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