Radoter
The title of this post is the word my mom uses for people who talk too much, always running their mouth, always complaining, always talking about something or someone. And I guess I'm doing this because I'm nervous; it's my first therapy session in a year, I have to speak to someone I didn't want at first and it's not even in person, which was something I greatlt desired. This virtual stuff is not for me. I feel like something is starved in my spirit when I have to be alone. It's pathetic, that I desperately want someone to share in this with me.
I know I am bipolar II, but I always end up seeking help when I feel fine and I hate that because when I'm in a crisis I can't seem to get the help I need. I just hurt myself over an over again. And I've managed this my whole life-- thankfully I've only experienced hypomania, not a real manic episode, because I am so incredibly paranoid that they'll lock me away and medicate me and my life will be empty and without meaning because I will be disqualified from the race I already struggled so hard to even become qualified to compete in. Already, the way I am treated by my superiors and my family has drastically changed, and for the worse. No one believes what I say anymore. When I say I am fine, they nod and smile like I am a child while sharing looks of concern over my head. So, when I am depressed or hypomanic, I hide instead, and self-sabotage, and when I feel like I am normal again I return to all my progress unmade and my affairs in ruins. I feel like I am living a double life, where there's crazy, depressed me who is invincible or suicidal and nothing in between, and the person I am supposed to be, the well-adjusted young woman who goes to work and school and takes care of herself because no one else ever will.
I wonder how it is that I can feel so much compassion for other people-- I can understand ad accomodate other people's personal battles with mental health, but I? I am fine. The words I say to myself are the kind of words I would never tolerate from anyone else; not to my friends or strangers. I call myself crazy and stupid and useless, I say to myself, "Why can't you just get yourself together? Why is this so hard? Look at how much you've failed. Look at how ugly you are, no wonder no one desires you. Look at how pathetic, how poor, how stupid, how useless, how delusional you are to think that you were smart/determined/qualified/ABLE to pursue such a lofty dream. You deserve to fail."
And I am a failure; moreover, a coward-- if I were truly set in my ways, I should've been dead three years ago.
Hi, there, @timounkalot
I read your post and immediately felt like you show a lot of passion and an ability to express yourself really well. Those are two qualities that make you special. It also shows emotional intelligence that you recognize your highs and lows and reflect upon them with eloquence. I realize you wrote this like a month ago and I'm just now seeing it. I wonder if you did share this same type of content with your therapist, because it was really insightful. I wonder if you're feeling any better at this moment. I wish you well on your mental health journey and hope you have been connecting with awesome listeners who can offer additional support and encouragement.
@MidwesternCalmSeeker I haven't, but that's a good idea! Honestly, I'm feeling a little directionless in my tx so I'm definitely think about it. :) Thank you!
Entry Two, 07/06/2021
How do you feel okay about giving up something you like for something you don't? I'm sick of sacrificing for this long term goal. I've put off dating, saving, having fun, having kids-- all the things I desparately desire that no one else my age seems to find important. In fact, expressing my desire for these things results in outright derision. My career is not my God. Working for a system that detests me will not fulfill me. Serving people and working towards greater health equity will. That's not what's got me mucked in the head right now. It's that I'm tired of the 'unique path.' That's just pretty words for describing running this 1000 meter rat race through barbed wire with glass in your shoes. It's hard. I just need something to go right at last. I need one of my plans to work out at last.
I am sick of this-- sick of working and going to school, sick of ruining my finances and going deeper and deeper into debt for a goal that only seems more and more unattainable. It's so close but feels farther away than ever. I'm in. I'm there. So why don't I feel like it? The end is tangible but I just feel drained, empty, and burned. I can't seem to muster the same positivity, faith, nor excitement that the process will work out and that I'll somehow make it through these five years. I'm terrified to fully commit. I fully committed once and was burned HARD. So I make a plan to protect myself and circumstances screws all my loose plans up, and force me into a position of vulnerability, a position where I can no longer rely upon myself but instead must rely upon others. I have never asked for help. Who has been there for me? No one; not necessarily out of spite but instead from ability. When push came to shove I had to do for myself or do without. And Ican't do without, because doing without at this point in my life means homelessness or moving back to my mother's house. And aside from all that, all that gets me through this is the tiny trickle of appreciation I feel I receive from work. That, and the disposable income that allows me to self-destruct (and sometimes do the things I enjoy).
The field I'm going into treats people like sun-steamed dookie. That's the one thing I can't abide. Everything feels out of my control. And I have no one to blame but myself because I asked for this. It's as if I asked for a book I wanted to read for a gift. I receive the book, and when I open the covers, the whole thing is written backwards in a different language. The person who gave me the gift is whipping me for every word I stutter or mispronounce. Since it's something I wanted and got, I can't say no. At the end of the book, when I'm cut to pieces on my knees for all the mistakes I couldn't help but make, and they cut out my tongue for such a poor job done, and I choke on my own blood saying thank you and feigning gratefulness.
It's day one on my own and already imminent failure feels inevitable.
And I can't even complain because I did it to myself pursuing this 'dream.'
03/04/2022
It's getting to the point that I'm beginning to feel like there is no point in trying anymore. I dropped out of graduate school in November and thought I could shift gears and do something else I had historically been good at. I got a real adult job and was immediately frustrated but I was beginning to catch on when I finally started receiving actual training. Today I was fired with no warning for "being incapable of doing the job." The unemployment application won't load. It's the weekend so I can't call anyone for help, and now I have to cancel all my plans for the month because I don't know when or where my next paycheck will come from. I feel like there is nothing that I am competent at or good at. Just fail, fail, fail. Sometimes I just want to lay down and die. I don't know why or how God put me on this planet to endure this but not give me the strength to succeed. Lord, why couldn't I at least be ignorant of what I didn't have?
A man I thought I could come to love was using me. I'm painfully single, and I'm getting to that point in my life where I wish I had a man or a woman and a child. I'm so sick of being lonely in this damn city. I'm so sick of moving backwards.
I just get to add borderline personality disorder to my useless effing alphabet soup of reasons why timonkalot is failure of a human being. Bipolar I with psychotic features and borderline personality disorder. Them is the shit the layman view as psychos. I hate myself. I thought things were turning around. I thought I was seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, that I was finally walking down a path where at the end there was, if not happiness, then a reprieve from the suffering of the past five years. But it's not. It's a pause on the twisty rollercoaster before it jets back violently, with all the fear and terror and none of the joy.