An Idiot's Post - Sometomes love is never enough... and then you just dont care

Current Mood:

dead inside

So.. about my last post. It all started with a misconception of the term paranoia apparently as I was asking for help on something. Ever since I met him, he has told me that he was always paranoid. So. in asking for help in a game, I didnt think anything of using the term.

What Unfolded:

Me: I need help on another quest for SB. The Section is on Quitting. I chose to do the Quitting section because even though I have no addictions, there are things I want to quit. And one of the main things I want to quit is... being afraid all the time. I want to replace all my fears with confidence. (No matter what that fear is of.)I need you to give me 3 reasons why I’ll succeed. Three that will boost my confidence and help me believe in myself. Just 3 reasons I will succeed in my effort to quit being afraid all the time.
I'm not afraid of any one thing in particular, but of so many things. Not like you and how you would worry about things in your paranoia (which I completely understand and empathize with now). My fears are never spoken about. Well, accept for the first one I admitted to you about being on my own.

Him: My issue is not paranoia. It's anxiety and the depression that comes with it. It is situational. When you were away at the hospital it went away completely. After the initial trauma of you leaving passed it went away. My family said it was like I was finally back. I never was bipolar, I never met DSM5 requirements, Dr Donnelly is not a psychiatrist and I am very good at pointing her in the direction needed to be put on meds. I was having a hard time remaining calm around you, because of you. You pushed me to get medicated and in the interests of the marriage I went along. I hated every moment of it. It was like I had fuzz in my head all the time. I was doing poorly at work because of it, but it made you happy. At first. As time went by having all that anger and anxiety shoved into the back of my head I just fell into a shell of despondency. I was dying from the inside out. You kept asking what was wrong but from past experience I knew that anything I said would be met with a twisting that would make me feel worse. I know due to your condition that it wasn't on purpose, but it still felt me feeling worthless. Even now you manipulate me, Your wording made me feel like I had to friend you on facebook again. That if I didn't I was a bad person. So please lay off the "you need help" stuff. Once you are stable and on your own then I will be fine. But you need me right now and I don't want to see you fail. So I am going to accept what is uncomfortable for awhile knowing that there is a light at the end of my tunnel. I want there to be a light at the end of your tunnel as well. But that takes time and help, through group you will find new allies, and you will find new friends now that you are medicated. I will see you through this.

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~blinks~ So yeah.. that escalated quickly. Reading it, all I could see was that everything was my fault. Even now, that's all I see. And I was crushed and immediately wishing I had went ahead and pulled the trigger when I had the chance. I felt like all the hard work I had put into bettering myself and trying to believe in myself and been obliterated completely. I still feel like that. I hate myself again and I feel like a fucking idiot. I had to have a goal to focus on so I would be motivated to get better. My goal was that we would find a way to get past this. That goal is shot to Hell now. Frankly I don't even want to bother because I no longer see the point.

Anyway.. emails that were exchanged next involved me apologizing repeatedly for the paranoia comment and basically repeating what I said in the 2nd sentence of the post. He never once replied that he forgave me. This of course added to my feelings that I don't deserve forgiveness. In fact, I don't deserve anything really. I told him he could stay away because his discomfort was not helping him heal o it would probably be for the best.

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Then he said this: I also don’t want that email to be accusatory, just factual as to where I was through our marriage. I wanted you happy and I didn’t want you to leave. I ended up hurting myself in the end by not being true to myself and I lost myself along the way because of how devoted to you I was. I can’t live that life any longer. I hope I am not putting too much on you too fast, but I see a clarity in you right now and I need to be understood. You are not a bad person. I'll be around

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"Not a bad person???".... I'm sorry but after being so harsh, "You are not a bad person" is not going to make me feel better. In fact.. After saying all that, that little phrase means absolute jack shit to me. Its like putting a child-size finger band-aid on a 6 inch long, 3 inch deep, 2 inch wide wound made by a chainsaw. Completely ineffective.

And I did understand. I understood completely what I had put him through and that was why I was working so hard to try and fix it. But obviously I should not have bothered....

My Reply (I was still crying and wishing I were dead if only to get relief from the heart break. I tried not to let it show.)

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Really.. you don't have to..
the whole "it's because of you" being repeated multiple times kinda has um... me in a really bad place right now. Kinda crushed actually if i am going to be honest.
It's not be cause of me.. its because of the illness.. but thats besides the point and doesnt even matter anymore. You will always see "Me" as the enemy in the failing of what once was "Us" and I know this
 now I has and awkwaes

On top of this, 

Sr koojed at me, her ears dill bit subleased ed, star bright,,, elts go clo

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I then told him not to email me and tried to clear my mind. The desire to die faded slightly but it was replaced with how I now feel toward the friend I had for 20 years who dropped me. It's not a good feeling. It's a feeling of.... "I don't care if I never see you again". So I wrote him once more. I decided that if he felt it was ok to be factual with me, than I may as well return the favor.

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One last thing... as for the clarity you saw in me, it took a LOT of hard work to get there. 12 days in the hospital, hours upon hours of research and playing that stupid game, not to mention a TON of medication.

However the amount of clarity I have does not equal my mental strength. My mental strength has not even started its road to recovery really. I need several more hours of therapy and a psychiatrist before I even get to an inkling of what could be considered mental strength. You have witnessed how fragile and emotional I am. And right now I am literally dying inside.

And (since we are being honest) coming home to such an accusatory message has actually made me wish I didnt unlock the door and let you in. Even though the illness is the enemy, you successfully dismembered all the work it took me to get to the point where I was starting to believe in myself and have hope because you kept repeating how it was all my fault.
Would have been an hoor to die ib wou okayse

Its NOT all my fault. And I know it. But You don't.

So when I say "you don't have to come over".. what I really mean is I don't want you to come over.
I don't want your "family" support in person anymore because I see now that you will always see "Me" as the enemy and not the illness.
You will never be able to separate the two.
And you will never try to do so.
In your eyes the illness and I will always be one and the same.

So don't bother "accepting what is uncomfortable".

Just keep your word and don't file until I am stable. Your supporting me can just consist of the copays for appts and meds and You don't have to see me at all since that is when you are happiest.

And paybe// I can make kn3 9rsg9s3 As for hourh doging, or. Tihe had fire trucak be there

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And I mean every word.
I have given up hope for forgiveness.
I have given up hope for understanding.
I have given up hope that he would see how hard I was trying FOR HIM because I had a clear understanding of what I had done and I felt horrible.

I still do understand.
But I also understand that nothing fucking matters ti him other than getting rid of me.

So why even bother trying.
There is no point.

The Great Fall into the Abyss of the Mind

Been gone awhile.. Much has happened and much has stayed the same.

What has stayed the same? Still getting a divorce.

As to the "What" of the "Much that has happened..." It is a long story, as it should be, for many days have passed. I am too weary to tell it all but I will write some now, and some tomorrow perhaps.

About the last entry.. That day... I called him.. there was no answer. I texted him.. no response. I felt he was, once again, not taking me seriously. I cried... a lot. I broke the lock to the gun cabinet by prying it open.. i just didn't want to live anymore. I paced the house, gun loaded, safety off, cocked and ready. My panic came in waves.. I didn't know what to do, I just knew I wanted to die. In a last ditch effort, I made a call to his parents.. All I could do was cry.. plead for help. They thought I was his sister... so I hung up. Of course they would think it was her.. why would they bother thinking it might be me? Why would they care? I cried more. I sat.. I became cold and calm.

At that point I did put a gun to my head. Finger on the trigger, eyes filled with tears and staring at images of my daughter, myself when I was my daughter's age, my wedding picture, and that screenshot sent to me from someone who has still yet to be named. But though my eyes were filled with tears, I felt insanely calm. As if I were in the center of a hurricane... time stood still. I was at peace. And it was a peace I had never felt before.. It was a peace that felt "right". I wasn't scared anymore. I think I even felt a smile on my lips because I was so certain that for the first time in my entire life, I was doing the right thing,

Just when I had numbed myself to the point where pulling the trigger would be no problem, I heard him call my name. I remember blinking once as his voice registered and he called my name again. I heard the door press against the chain lock. My throat seemed to close up yet a whimper somehow escaped.

He heard it.
He asked if i wanted him to go away... did i?
Did I want him to go away so I could finish this once and for all?
End this pain and suffering that I seemed to be causing everyone including myself?
Did I want him to leave me be so that he and his family could live in peace?
Did I?

The questions raced through my head at lightening speed and before I even knew it, I found myself unlatching the chain. Weeping so hard that my entire body trembled before I collapsed onto the hallway floor. I don't even remember walking down the hall. I do remember him taking the gun from me despite my feeble attempts to hold it. I still wanted to die..

Why did I let him in? What made me go to the door and allow his entry? I still don't know. That was June 23rd. A Sunday. The date of my last entry.

The blur I remember from that point was being driven to a mental hospital by his sister. She spoke to me like a child... I didn't take offense as she is a school teacher after all. Tears kept falling. I wasn't sobbing anymore, but I was drained, raw, and empty. But the tears would not stop. I remember sitting in triage.. waiting for what seemed like forever. Waiting for a straightjacket. Waiting for him to just leave me there. Waiting for something to happen... It ended up I was waiting to be handed papers of permission to be treated to be signed.

Then I was walked away. Away from him. Away from the noise. Away into a room where I was made to change into scrubs and then offered a dinner which sat for hours untouched. Signed more papers. Blood was drawn. Spoke blankly to a psychiatrist and then sat on the gurney rocking back and forth trying not to go catatonic. More papers to be signed.. then I was lead outside and driven to another facility.

I was terrified to get out of the car. The tech and the security guard did their best to calm me but I was shaking so bad I could hardly walk. The guard walked quickly, the tech slowed his pace to match mine and make certain I didn't fall. I was lead through what seemed to be a plethora of outside "hallways" before we even made it into the unit. I could hear nothing but the buzz of the overhead lights and my mind seemed to focus on the moths and gnats that flitted around them as we walked. It was hot. It was humid. It would have felt miserable had I not already felt dead.

Finally we made it into the coolness of the facility. My first reaction was how I thought it odd that the pale green be the color of choice for "soothing". Granted it is a color for psychological "balance" but it is also considered to be associated boredom, stagnation, blandness, and enervation. I would have thought pale, calming shades of blue to be more appropriate. As I write this, it strikes me as odd to even have this thought at that moment considering my mindset.

I don't remember much after that. I know I was "processed", made to change into yet, another set of scrubs, and  given a room which I didn't leave for the first four days unless I was "made" to do so by the staff in order to eat or take meds. I didn't speak to anyone, patient, tech, nurse... I didn't trust anyone. I always looked down, never meeting anyone's eyes. I got compliments on my hair.. (which is blue now, btw, by accident) to which I mumbled 'thank you' before hurrying back to the safety of my room.

Many nights I spent panicked and curled up into a corner wrapped in a blanket when other patients (usually male) would get out of hand and start screaming in the middle of the night. This was an on-going thing until the doctor ordered meds to sedate me. But after a few days, I grew immune and the sleeping pills alone were no longer enough.

I slept most of the first 5 of the 12 days spent there... It was a long road ahead..

As stated, the first several days were spent in my room. Insomnia hit me at night, but the days I slept almost constantly because of the mix of anxiety medication and the chronic deep depression. When awake, tears fell near constantly. My thoughts.. I am not sure I could tell you exactly what they were other than feeling ashamed of my worthlessness. The patients who had visitors were constant reminders of how (I perceived) no one gave a shit about me. That it did not matter if I rotted there. I would listen to conversations.. so many of them. One of them being between two techs. They spoke of how there was a guy on the west unit who had, at that point, been in the facility 10 months. 10 Months!! His family apparently signed him in. They spoke about how he would get calls from them, and he would walk to the phone as if to take the call, and then simply hang up. I thought about him a lot. I wondered if I were to end up staying that long (or longer), if I would get calls or if I would simply be forgotten. Then I decided I would not be forgotten because the divorce would go through and eventually I'd be kicked onto the street.

These are just a sample of the the thoughts of the broken hopeless person I had become..

The first couple of days, the techs were almost lax when it came to my eating habits. (Or lack thereof). But soon they would force me out of bed and out of the room to join the others in meals, most of which I barely touched. It was then that my high level of social anxiety became very apparent. I would take a roll, pull pieces off and nibble while rocking back and forth. I don't think I ever actually finished the roll, let alone the rest of the meal because all I remember were more tears. Silent yet steadily streaming down my cheeks. I was hot but my skin was cold and clammy. Next thing I knew, I would wake in my room, hours later, curled up in a fetal position and wrapped in blankets with no recollection of how I ended up there. It was awhile before I realized that they were medicating my anxiety during the day, but during the evening they didn't bother as they figured the sleeping pill would be enough.

Day 5 was the first time I ventured out of my room of my own volition. It was the first time I comprehended I had a doctor overseeing my status and medication, as well as a social worker overseeing other aspects of the situation that I still don't quite understand. It was the first day I had a conversation with my doctor. The usual questions were asked and always answered honestly. Yes, I still want to die. No I don't want to hurt anyone else. No I have not been hurting myself nor do I want to. I just don't want to live. No I don't know my family's psychological history. No I do not have any friends or family on the outside. Yes I was abused as a child and as an adult, physically, sexually, and probably emotionally too considering self-confidence was no longer even in my vocabulary. I got defensive during the questioning. And as I did, my anxiety rose. My blood pressure was taken, it was so low that they took it 3 more times to be certain the reading was right. Twice with the machine and once the 'old school' way. I felt the haze coming on as he said he was going to adjust my medications and encourage me to attend the group therapies that took place. I remember glaring at him and telling him flat-out that my anxiety would not allow me to join group. That I needed one-on-one. That I read it in my original notes fro my first psychiatrist. He simply stated he would up my meds and for me to try.. Feeling dizzy, I was offered more meds and I wend back to my room and slept for 12 hours, missing breakfast, lunch, and snack and would have missed dinner as well had I not been woken.

Day 8 - He came to visit. I was still a mess of emotion. Still feeling worthless. I tried to have a normal conversation but all I could remember was the painful words of the screenshot. I had asked if we were still getting a divorce. He said yes. I asked if there was another girl (half-hoping that was the case cause then I could make sense of everything) he said no. I don't remember much of the conversation, other than getting up and walking away murmuring about how I was a controlling abuser and have never nor could ever love anyone or care about anyone and I believed every word. I didn't look back, instead focusing on how my mother was right all along. That if my own dad could not love me as a baby, no one would love me as an adult. I did not have another visitation from him again, nor anyone else for the rest of my stay. I believed the reason to be was that I was not worth the effort.

Day 9 I was threatened by one of the nurses that if I didn't start going to group I would be sent to the West Unit. (Where all the real problem people are.) This scared me, so I forced myself to try.. I could never last longer that 10 minutes in the room due to my anxiety. I tried three times and finally just gave up, deciding that being transferred would be better anyway since from what I had heard, they tended to over-medicate the real crazies and maybe I would get lucky enough to be one of the ones over-medicated.

Day 10 I met with a woman who was to interview me and determine my eligibility for SMI Disability Insurance. The "interview" turned into a 2 hour long session because the flood-gates opened then and everything came pouring out. Every horrible graphic detail of my childhood all the way to how I ended up in the facility. I used up nearly two boxes of tissues from crying so much. When I finally looked up at her, her eyes met mine controlled yet seemingly damp and slightly horrified. I then apologized profusely and she asked if I had ever talked to anyone before and I admitted that she was the first. She looked down at her papers as she straightened them.. I merely noted how much writing there was that then immediately felt the flush of deep shame and I apologized again. She told me not to.. that I had nothing to be sorry for.. but I felt horrible. The rest of the day, I stayed in my room, coming out only for meds and the meal I knew I would be forced to attend.

Day 11 was my first real sit down with the social worker. I vented about the groups and how my papers stated that I needed 1:1 therapy and how I wasn't getting it and how I felt like I was being treated like a number. I vented about how the nurses asked us to trust them yet half of them couldn't be friendly or even remember my name and how I felt like I was in something that resembled a mix of a prison and a dog pound and how I still felt worthless and how I questioned everything I have ever stood for.... and he listened.

In fact it was the first time that someone actually payed attention to me, heard what I was saying, and offered feedback. He sat with me for over 2 hours conversing and taking the time to actually tell me I was not worthless. That my core values mattered. That he had faith in me and believed in me. By the end of our conversation I went from feeling like a worthless waste of space to someone who still had worth. It wasn't a strong feeling. In fact it was quite tiny and fragile. But it was the first time in months that I felt like I *might* be able to handle the road ahead. I left the room with a seed of hope. That evening, the hope grew bit by bit. By morning, I was up and waiting for him and my doctor in the hall at 5:30am. I sat there and right when they came in, I nearly ambushed them saying I was ready to go home. And I was persistent until finally they said "okay".

And I got out.

My hope is still very, very small. Puny even. It's fragile, cracked, and held together with little more than paste and string. But it's there. And it's mine.

I just need help to get it to grow stronger. And I know that will take a lot of work, especially since it's mostly on me and I am trying to have it take the place of decades of negativity. I'm still scared. Petrified of what is to come... and praying to the powers that be that the choices I make as far as those I decide to keep in my life will not play a part in destroying the infinitesimal bit I have finally found.

I don't want to feel like dying again... Because I really feel that if I return to that point, there wont be a chance to come back. Because I wont bother to ask for help. I will just do it with no warning.

We have to live today by what truth we can get today and be ready tomorrow to call it falsehood

I often think about the type of people who take pleasure in destroying others. Not physically, but emotionally.

There was one I knew of who openly admitted to the fact that he took great pride in doing just that. He would befriend someone fragile, usually a woman, and he would gain their trust. He was a very patient man so it often did not matter how long it took to do so. To him, it was all part of the game. He had a very efficacious technique. Once he chose the (un)lucky girl, he would pay strict attention to every word she uttered. He would always make certain to compliment her on various things. Since he met these women online most of the things he would compliment her on were things such as a success she shared or her picture or anything creative that she had accomplished. Basic things. On top of this, he was very much a wordsmith so every comment made was with carefully chosen words. He would draw her in and as she let her guard down, he would appear to let his own down as well. In time, she would find herself completely trusting, if not falling in love with him. And he would know the exact moment it would happen. But he would never end "the game" at that point. He would continue to play it for months, sometimes years, all the while stringing her along and deepening the 'friendship'. The longer it lasted, the more deep the wound. He would even manipulate her into slowly turning her back on those whom she called her friend and would continue this process until she had all but alienated everyone from her life other than him. It was a very important part of the process and imperative to the end result.

Eventually he would become bored with her, usually because he had found a new 'toy' to play his game. When that time came, he would watch carefully for any opening that presented itself for him to break off the "friendship" and make it seem as though she was completely at fault. When that happened, his pretty words morphed into poison as he would break her down, belittle her and make her believe that she was completely worthless. Because she had been manipulated, she had no one to turn to. No one she felt comfortable in speaking with. Since he was now all she had, she would do her best and beg for forgiveness and promising that she would be a better person. At this time, he would graciously accept her apology. Again he would take the time to build her up, though considerably less effort was put into doing so. It wasn't really needed at this point. For within a week, sometimes  mere days, she would be right back where she was before. Ignorantly blissful in her friendship with a viper. The break-off process would happen again, and again he would treat her mercilessly, and again she would beg and again he would "forgive" and then even less effort would be made to keep her in his life.

This particular cycle would span years, and eventually decades, until one day.. he would find his opening and the break-off would include a complete lack of contact. No longer would he even bother with her destruction verbally. He would simply state that she was no longer worth his time and then completely ignore her, leaving her absolutely devastated. Then he would watch as his silence took it's toll and she became nothing more then a husk and considerably worse off then they day he had met her. He took delight in the fact he was able to demolish someone so completely and then he would mock them and make statements of utter disdain on various social networks that they were both part of. He was careful never to state her name and he would always make these remarks as though they were nothing more than random thoughts in his head, but he knew that she would see them or come to know of them in some way and that it would further crush what little shards of self worth she had left.

And he felt proud of this accomplishment. He viewed himself near god-like for he had taken someone fragile and insecure and built them up into someone beautiful and strong and then completely shattered them. He did this because it amused him and made him feel powerful.

I do not know what became of the countless women he did this to...

I can only say that I am among the most recent, and also, the one that lasted the longest. While I am a little better than I was when his game first ended, it has caused me to become very jaded... very cynical and completely unable to trust another soul. I no longer believe that real love exists. And I'm not just speaking of 'relationship' love, I am also speaking of platonic love, or any category/level/style of love whatsoever. "Love", in every sense of the word, has become nothing more than a myth. It belongs with things like unicorns, the tooth fairy, and Santa Claus. It is fake and there is no such thing and those that believe in it are complete fools. I don't believe in friendship either. Not true friendship. There are no such things as "true friends."

But, perhaps the most important thing I have lost my belief in, is that being a "good" person, being honest and having integrity and being loyal, matters. It doesn't. It doesn't matter at all. It will not make your life better. If anything, it will make your life much worse. I know this because I have lived it. I have held myself to these standards and I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought that in doing so, I would eventually find others who held fast to those values as well. But my experience with this person taught me I was a fool. So now I am telling you. Don't waste your time or efforts on such nonsense. These things are only useful if they are faked so that you can get what you want out of life. Don't believe me? Just think about every single politician that has ever existed. Or any person with real power of some sort. None of them are, or ever were, "good people".  That's just the way the world is.