Dear me, it’s not your fucking fault

Dear me,

It’s not your fault if you were humiliated as a child.

It’s not your fault if someone who had no business to undressed you against your will as a young child.

It’s not your fault that schoolkids said your nose was ugly and your ears were big.

It’s not your fault if a teacher tried to get schoolboys to stop you from leaving a classroom.

It’s not your fault if your family members compared you to a monkey.

It’s not your fault if you felt like a nothing and a nobody every day of your childhood and teen years.

It’s not your fault if you spent your young adult life cutting your arms, and cutting your hair twice trying to make your mother notice.

It’s not your fault she ignored you.

It isn’t your fault you suffered from so much severe anxiety.

It’s not your fault you hated yourself, and have begun to do the same.

It’s not your fault that the men you dated called you ugly, a whore, weird, and a terrorist.

It’s not your fault that one was married. It’s not your fault he didn’t believe you when you were pregnant. It’s not your fault he called you a murderer when you have to terminate for fear of your life.

It’s not your fault that people still bully you on social media.

Dear me,

It isn’t your fucking fault that when you commit suicide, the world will not miss you. None of these people will. Only your parents will mourn you.

It’s not your fucking fault. Stop hurting yourself. Just stop. Stop crying your heart out. Stop hurting yourself. IT. IS. NOT. YOUR. FAULT.

I need to process my grief, before I can look to the future

It’s been almost two weeks since I resigned from my job.

It’s been difficult, and I’ve slept a lot. I haven’t done any gardening, ‘spring’ cleaning or work.

But I’ve been keeping myself busy by going out here and there and starting a new diet and exercise regime. But it’s only stopped me from thinking about my issues. And today it all came to a head when I finally had a ‘bad’ day again, after about a week of fairly OK ones.

I’m finding increasingly that I have some bad childhood memories circulating around my mind. And I think it’s because I’ve stopped moving forward in life, that finally my mind is having a chance to process what I’m feeling from my past.

The memories are all to do with humiliation, force, and fear.

They all involve males, too, unsurprisingly. My mother told me that when I was younger, I suffered from an uncontrollable fear of people in white coats. This is evidence that my earliest bad memory is not just a conjuring of my mind. It is real. Without going into too much detail, it involves a man in a white coat crossing the boundary of my consent as a toddler, invading my space and bodily autonomy, and; needlessly undressing me.

As I grapple with these memories, some involving groups of boys as a pupil at a school, I find they cross into my most recent experiences involving bad relationships with men.

But my problems do not end there. They interweave with all sorts of issues, the main one being a lack of self-esteem and confidence.

Most of my anxiety and depression comes from these factors. And when I’m triggered, they all come flooding to the surface.

All of this means that hopefully I am processing what is inside my mind during my time off from work, responsibility and commitment. I am trying not to do anything stressful, like go out at busy times to shopping centres etc. But it is hard, especially when I feel like such a failure for quitting life. But I am only doing it to process all of the grief I carry with me, so that I can look to my future with minimal hindrance.

Who knows if this is going to work? I’ll keep you posted. Thank you for reading this. It means a lot to me that there are people who like my posts and resonate with what I am going through.

 

 

My anxiety makes me fear irrationally

I’ve lost.

Tonight, Mr Anxiety comes close to me. Leans down and places his pale blue lips against my ear.

”You’ve lost.” He whispers. His face is twisted into the widest smile.

Bad memories begin wading in.

I’m riding a horse. I have become afraid of horses for some reason, though I’ve been riding them since childhood. I lost my nerve. The horse bolted.

I’ve already lost. I repeat.

My anxiety is ruthless. It is has no boundary. It makes no sense.

I have developed a fear of almost anything and everything. Irrational fear. There is nothing to fight because… I’ve already lost the battle. The Grey Cloud of Fear covers me in its dense fray today.

But the war is not yet over.

I feel a sharp stabbing pain inside my brain as I wonder if I could get through the night without waking up in a damn sweat.

Earlier I was wondering whether it would be prudent to move country… perhaps live elsewhere. Maybe then I might see the wood for the trees.

But running away won’t solve anything. I stand and fight, but my how I’m tired.

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My memories plague me

It’s 5am, and my mind is racing.

It’s taken me back to a distinct memory, from which I visibly cringe, and the heat is emenanating from my face as I remember.

Several other bad memories seem to be jostling for space, each as mortifying and embarrassing as the other.

I have a pathological fear of humiliation. To be shown up in public, to be caused to appear weak, and having done something which exposed me in some way sears onto my brain like an imprint from a hot poker.

My memories plague me. I don’t want to remember. I wish I could erase them. I wish I didn’t care about that pathetic time I spoke too loudly, or I choked back the lump in my throat when arguing with someone who knew better than me. Insisting I was right.

Shouting that I’m not going to be quiet anymore. And thinking that I really ought to control myself.

Why do these memories stay with me? The other people who were present at such events have probably completely forgotten about them.

They don’t remember the small, weak girl, with the distinctive face making a fool out of herself.

Just a stupid fool. Like the one sat in the small, plastic chair, feeling empty because the teacher has shown everyone else how stupid she is. Over and over and over. They might as well have pointed and laughed at me.

It’s apparent how anxiety has a way of making me mourn the past as well as the present.

There are several clouds with me today. And the sun hasn’t even risen yet.

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