| Sandy |
08-20-2012 07:44 AM |
I'm so sad...
I'm confused, I'm exhausted, I'm sorry, but most of all I'm just sad.
Recently my mom came out and told me that I'm not well and that I need help. When she first said it, I was shocked. She said I was sick... and for the first time ever I realized that maybe... maybe I am sick. I had lived up until this point thinking that everyone woke up like I did, that everyone had eating problems like me, that everyone saw themselves the way I see myself... She keeps on saying that she'll get me help, she's been saying that for the past year and a half and it never happens, because I can pull myself together fast enough to avoid a therapist because I'm scared and humiliated after what she's told me about them.
She thinks that it's my fault, that I'm doing this to her on purpose... she thinks that I sat at the foot of my bed one night and prayed to God to make me messed up. Unlike most people, Mom, I'm not enjoying this. Some people do enjoy this but not me, and don't think for one second that I haven't tried to get out of it. I've given everything to this and now I have nothing left so what do you expect me to do?
This has been going on for five years now, and I haven't changed. The worst thing though was when my friend posted a story of her "depression" on dA... it sounded like it went on for a couple of weeks and during that time she thought about suicide but didn't want to, and wouldn't have done it. And she thinks that's messed up and wanted me to share MY story. What kind of a freak am I, then? With everything that I've done to myself in the past FIVE YEARS? Everything that's gone through my head?
And on top of that, I feel trapped. My mom is telling me this stuff, that she sees me "spinning around in this sea of hatred" and that I'm "at the bottom of a deep, dark hole" but I can't even trust her to tell the truth. She says stupid stuff to me to mess with me, like giving me a concerned look and saying that I'm losing too much weight and that my face is gaunt... as soon as you left the car after that, my dad turned around and told me not to let you get under my skin because what you were saying wasn't true and you were trying to convince me that I should eat more.
I told you that I can't tell you anything because when you get angry, you use it against me... and you've done so since I first started telling you stuff. And when I let you know that this is WHY I don't tell you anything, you say I'm lying, and you say that I'm making it up, and you tell me that if I ever share this with someone important to me, not to make up stuff... What the actual hell? Why would you lie? What, do you lose your memory when you lose your temper? You think it's my fault I'm like this, but you're the first to say that children are a reflection of their parents. You don't lose your temper nearly as badly as you used to but what about before? I don't want to have kids because I want this cycle to end, and no matter how much you want to drag any kids I may have into this, I refuse to drag them down.
I don't want to eat at all, Mom. I don't really mind because I don't want to live a long life. I don't really mind if my bones bend and break because I'm malnutritioned, because I don't really want to go on anyways. I can't treat you with respect because I don't even respect myself, I'm cold towards people because I'm scared of what will happen if I show emotion to others. I'm terrified. And I'm beyond terrified of what will happen if you take IB away from me. You're putting me back in the chicken cage and letting me peck away at myself until I die, mentally starved. Can't you see that I'm feeding off of myself? Like the snake in the Secret of Kells or whatever?
I'm not sick of wishing I was never born; I'm not sick of being your failure; I'm not sick of waking up and wanting to sink away into the earth, to sink out of this body and fall away into nothing; I'm not sick of wanting to hide myself so no one has to deal with me; and I'm certainly not sick of having these voices in my head, both physical and unreal, whether they are laughing at me or screaming at me that I'm nothing, that I'll never go anywhere and that I should die for my sins. I already told you, and you've already told me that this is part of my personality; this is part of me. But you need to know that it's not my fault I'm like this. I'm not "out to get you." But I guess that's as hard for you to believe as it is for me to believe that you're not "out to get me."
From your messed-up failure of a mentally ill child.
Tch.
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