sun seeker
Diamond Member
I'm really depressed right now. Not something I often say. Today I was curled up in bed, sobbing, trying to grasp any reason I could to want to go on. I mean, besides knowing that suicide is a really bad idea and doesn't solve anything, which keeps me from acting on the feelings, what is there to make me want to live? To feel more than a grudging "Oh okay, if I have to, I'll keep dragging my feet through one more day." What gives me pleasure? What am I interested in? What gives me a sense of purpose enough to get me up in the morning? Who needs me? The answers to these questions are never enough. It's a sense of having no choice that keeps me going. Life feels really, really bleak.
I was visualizing a whole crew of helpers... and feeling horrible that even in my imagination I was having them put energy into me when I can't seem to use it to feel better. They were there (in my mind) being so loving and supporting, and all I could do was cry and want to be dead.
The one thought that got me up, in the end, was to tell my story so the same doesn't happen to others. Yet I am still afraid to tell it. I haven't told it here. I am struggling hugely with the feeling that terrible things will happen if I do. And how will that help it not happen to others, anyway?
What I finally connected to in my tormented mind, and that I am looking for confirmation of, is that the way I feel is normal for someone who suffered repeated abuse from an early age. It's not remembering, itself, that makes me feel like a black hole of despair. It's what the abuse did to me. It's the immensity of the feeling that I am nothing, worth nothing, that all efforts to make it better are hopeless because I am hopeless, that it is all my fault that I am this way, that I am damaged beyond any possible help. I'm clinging to a tiny sliver of light in this darkness, and that light is the fact that feeling this way is not because this is who I am. It's because this is how I was treated. It's not how I am being treated now, but the past seems so much more powerful than the present.
Anyone relate? And I'm sorry if anyone can. I'm grasping for any straws of connection to others in this blackness.
I was visualizing a whole crew of helpers... and feeling horrible that even in my imagination I was having them put energy into me when I can't seem to use it to feel better. They were there (in my mind) being so loving and supporting, and all I could do was cry and want to be dead.
The one thought that got me up, in the end, was to tell my story so the same doesn't happen to others. Yet I am still afraid to tell it. I haven't told it here. I am struggling hugely with the feeling that terrible things will happen if I do. And how will that help it not happen to others, anyway?
What I finally connected to in my tormented mind, and that I am looking for confirmation of, is that the way I feel is normal for someone who suffered repeated abuse from an early age. It's not remembering, itself, that makes me feel like a black hole of despair. It's what the abuse did to me. It's the immensity of the feeling that I am nothing, worth nothing, that all efforts to make it better are hopeless because I am hopeless, that it is all my fault that I am this way, that I am damaged beyond any possible help. I'm clinging to a tiny sliver of light in this darkness, and that light is the fact that feeling this way is not because this is who I am. It's because this is how I was treated. It's not how I am being treated now, but the past seems so much more powerful than the present.
Anyone relate? And I'm sorry if anyone can. I'm grasping for any straws of connection to others in this blackness.
