I was going to write then thought I would transfer some shit from my old laptop to my current one... and I found lots of writing... this all makes sense now. Nearly FOUR years ago.
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16.07.09
Oh how I love to put off writing. I don’t know why when I love it so
much. I guess it’s just the thought of trying to get the cogs in my brain to
stop for just a second just so I can actually hear, clearly, what’s going on in
there.
Earlier today I was in such a state. I don’t know if I’m just fitting my
symptoms to a mental illness just so I don’t feel as lost or whether I actually
have it. I am now considering bipolar disorder.. I don’t know whether I have it
or not. I have so much anger, which turns into rage, rage that I cannot help
but take out on my daughter. And, that, I know, is very bad and believe me I feel
immense guilt. She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves a loving mum who doesn’t
get angry over the slightest little thing. Who doesn't shout at her for
nothing. She’s only a kid and she’s learning and I can’t help but feel I am
standing in the way of that. The last thing I want is her to turn out like me.
I want her to have a happy life, I mean what parent doesn’t? I just don’t want
her living a life like mine, where everything is a struggle. I hope it doesn’t
run in the genes..
I had to call my mum at work today because I couldn’t take anymore. I
was trying to avoid calling my mum and asking for help. I hate asking for help.
I hate feeling weak and vulnerable. They know this all too well; I will call my
mum, my sister will have my daughter for a few days and then things will go back to ‘normal’.
Pft. What is normal?
I had let the feelings of loss build up inside me. The feeling of
frustration and anger with the world, and most of all, myself. That burning
hatred turning inward will only destroy you and rip you apart. That’s scary. A ‘darkness’
is one way I can describe it, a deep black hole and you’re just laying there,
crumpled, at the bottom. You can’t see a way out. People always talk about this
light at the end of tunnel. What fucking light? Show me the fucking light!
Well, having said that, I guess that light comes from within. But how do you
let it shine when you have this unbelievable and overwhelming feeling inside of
you, one that is leaving it’s mark? I always wonder how I keep trudging on.
Will I ever give up? The thought of giving into the darkness sends me into a
frenzy.
Screaming helps. I always wonder whether I’m screaming at myself, or the
world, or just screaming for help.. Sometimes I feel like a lost cause. I have
been suffering with this depression or whatever it is for years, actually for
the most part of my life. There aren’t any happy memories from my childhood, my
teenage years or my life as a young adult. I suspect there probably is, but are
overshadowed my these dark feelings.
When I was crying today, it was that empty feeling that got me the most.
The only way I can describe it is when you are hurt, I mean emotionally hurt,
like a break up with someone.. That knot in your stomach, that chokes you up
when you try to speak.. The feeling of a big gaping hole in the pit of your
stomach. I wonder what that is. I wonder what goes on inside my body to make
that feeling.. I know it makes you hold your stomach and curl up into a ball
halfway up the stairs.
I get fed up with life. I don’t deal with things very well, I’m the
first to admit that. I’m trying to change things. I always beat myself up for
falling (by falling I mean spiralling back into that deep, dark hole), the
guilt pushing me down further. I mean, am I always going to be like this? I
knew it was coming, I could feel it.. screaming inside to make it’s appearance.
I don’t know whether I was just trying to suppress it or fight it. That’s all I
ever seem to be doing: fighting. Fighting for my life. Yeah, it sounds pathetic,
cheesy, whatever.. but that’s how it feels. Everyday is a new day, yes, but
what will this one hold I ask myself? What am I fighting? Myself. I smirk as I
write this because of the truth that this statements bears. I’m fighting to
regain my right to live, my right to be a human being, my right to be sane.
Everyday I have to fight something, whether it be the intrusive thoughts, the
panic attacks, the sheer thought of stepping out of the house. It’s weird when
I say that…should I really be fighting? I mean fighting it off.. Isn’t it just
the same as suppressing everything? Shouldn’t the right thing to say be dealing?
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NOTE: This was never meant to be seen by anyone. It was my form of diary. I fear that posting this will make the people who actually know me think bad of me regarding me as a mother (defence mechanisms coming up because I feel so damn uncomfortable with the thought of people judging me, making assumptions, thinking I'm a bad person... just want to point out I NEVER hurt my daughter. Ever.)
I've come back a million times since I posted this and made another edit with the note. This is what happens. I can't just let things be and let people think what they like about me.
A weak sense of self.
I've come back a million times since I posted this and made another edit with the note. This is what happens. I can't just let things be and let people think what they like about me.
A weak sense of self.
The Bernard Bert
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