I spend my days looking through pages trying to find a way to get away from me…

My Public Journal

I know I’m going through psychological trauma right now, but I can’t even bring myself to admit the fact. I just ignore it hoping it’ll go away, just like I ignore everything else. Meanwhile I watch my life wash away down the drain and try not to give a damn.

Every time mum brings up stuff that happened in the past – I just brush it off or walk away. I’m incapable of talking about anything. Sometimes I get flashbacks and I have to close my eyes and try to regain my mental bearing by shoving the memory back into the mental cupboard. I frequently dream about situations relating to the trauma, and every morning I wake up automatically trying to forget about it.

In fact I barely sleep anymore. I’m afraid of sleeping too much, because past experience has taught me that the less I sleep the less I’ll remember my dreams. This is due to sleep repartitioning: REM (the stage of sleep responsible for dreaming) is the most important part of sleep, and so the less you sleep, the more your body repartitions it to the beginning of your sleep, meaning you wake after deep dreamless sleep unable to remember anything. Not only that but I hate waking up past a certain time, because it makes me feel vulnerable due to past experiences.

I’ve also become completely disconnected from my emotions. The only thing I can truly feel is anger. It consumes me and feels so good, because I’m incapable of connecting to anything else. Not even reading depressing fanfiction or fangirling over hot fictional characters keeps me emotionally connected anymore. I watch gruesome things instead and fantasize about killing people in a myriad of different ways. Just something, ANYTHING, to make me feel alive. It should be disturbing but it’s not. I’m even detached from that.

Part of my brain worries about some of my behaviors, yet the larger part can’t be asked to give a fuck. I’m pretty much an alcoholic now. I feel like all I ever do these days is drink alcohol, just to escape from my thoughts, from my head, to not care about anything. Self-harm has also come into play a whole lot more lately. I have so many scars I’ve lost track of them all. My arms, my hips, my thighs. I’ve given up feeling bad about it, because the pain makes me feel alive, it makes me feel real, and the resulting calm afterwards – it’s almost like being on marijuana.

I’m an addict. And I’m so glad I have no way in which to buy drugs, because that would surely be the end of me. I have something like ten co-morbid personality disorders, and I really don’t know who the fuck I am. I’m just drifting endlessly..

I’m so depressed and yet I’m even detached from that. I’ve lost my passion for everything, including music. I just can’t feel anything anymore. When I was experiencing the trauma I couldn’t stop crying, and yet ever since I’ve been out of it, I’ve had eyes as dry as ice. Nothing can make me cry anymore. Things that should make me sad just have no affect, and instead I do the only other thing I’m capable of – I just laugh the sadness off in a disturbing, hysterical, and ironic way.

I feel like I’m becoming a sadistic fuck. I just want to feel something. I just want to connect. No one understands what I’m going through. Why would they? They haven’t experienced what I have, plus I barely talk about it, because I can’t. And why would they care anyway? To them I’m just over-dramatizing everything, attention seeking, being a weird freak.

Mum knows some of what I’m going through, even though I never let her talk about it. We have no money for help or anything, and I just feel so alone, having to deal with all this on my own. It’s so exhausting. I keep trying to push it all away, delay the inevitable mental breakdown, but the more time goes on, the more I feel myself cracking, breaking at the seams. I’m water steadily boiling to overflow point. And god knows what will happen when the inevitable explosion happens.

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