Fugitive

I feel helpless. I am overwhelmed. I am exhausted and I don’t want to deal with anything right now.

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Last night I visited my former college- apparently. I woke up and thought I had dreamed the entire night. No… I- or someone- actually went. I climbed the building that I almost jumped off of 6 years ago and I went to the place where I was raped. The campus felt like home in a strange way… familiar. I hadn’t stepped on the grounds since 2010. I think to myself that I should be over it. Why the fuck aren’t I over it? Haven’t I ruminated about the incidents enough to where it should be kicked out of my system?

I’m frustrated. I don’t know how to talk to anyone, which sounds silly. I can feel myself closing up. I don’t know how to talk about what’s going on in my head.

Ramble, ramble, ramble.

I’m angry. I’m upset with my family, with men, I’m upset that my childhood is a collage of trauma. I feel like I’m losing my grip on everything. A very big part of me wants so badly to take another leave and go back to the hospital, or intensive therapy to get through this. The waves of suicidality are intense. When the pain comes around, it is nearly unbearable. I’m losing time, losing memory. Don’t get me wrong, I have good days and moments. But when the bad ones come, fuck.

I know it’s entirely my fault, but I’m slacking on work again. My life, it’s just a whirlwind of unorganized particles drowning me.

It gets so fucking loud. Voices, constantly.

I am surrounded with functioning people and it only makes me feel lonelier, more inadequate, and isolated. I don’t care anymore to hear about trivial things or problems at work. I want someone to notice and validate that I feel really fucking sick. Oh, you had a shitty night because someone didn’t snapchat you? I’m sorry…. that’s really rough. FUCK.

I want to curl up tightly beneath the sheets and just be HELD. I want to be enveloped without worrying about eating, or being awake. I need to break down and reset.

I really, really want to get on a leave again. I don’t think I can. But I feel the ground shaking again. My stability is being threatened. I have been feeling really young and it’s not Senka, it’s not Dee.

So there, there I said it. I unloaded a bit of what’s going on through my head.

I am exhausted. I HATE not remembering things. I HATE knowing that I’m dissociating with little to no recollection of what I’m up to. I hate it. It’s either I deal with my shit now, or I continue to push it under the rug and self-medicate with opiates and alcohol and starvation. Both are hell.

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3 thoughts on “Fugitive

  1. jazzthursdays says:

    I love how raw your post can be sometimes. Gives such an insiders look to so many things.
    I hope you find some level of peace but if you want to take a leave I think you make it happen. It’s too lonely of a life to suffer and work can always wait. I also hope you do that retreat you mentioned before. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Leturos says:

    Without planning to do so, I entered a deep meditation at a retreat in November 2010. I saw the hurtful times in my past as an observer and the events were flames where they had occurred. I walked into the largest flame, the first I encountered and was surprised that I was not burned. I put the flame out with some kind of celestial fire extinguisher. I repeated the process for other things that had occurred in the house I was raised then a few elsewhere. The meditation lasted more than four hours. I was aware of my surroundings twice during that time, mainly because people moved around at 6 AM when they entered the Abbey church for vigils and again closer to 7 AM when the post 30 minute meditation psalms and readings were chanted . I lost something that night. The deep anger. I wasn’t “fixed”. I’d been angry for 37 years. My responses to things were that of an 11 year old child. They still are – per perhaps I’ve progressed to a 12 year old’s responses. Progress, very slow but progress. I wish that I could proceduralize my experience and give it to the world but that is not something that can be done. All I know is that its possible to separate oneself from the cycle. I don’t believe, as some did at the time, that God intervened. If that was the case, why wait so long, why let the hurt happen in the first place. It happened for other reasons and something i’d done a few weeks before was the gateway. I forgave. Myself first – I admitted I’d wronged others even if not to the extent I felt I’d been wronged. I forgave myself then I forgave others .Forgave, not forgot. 37 years. I hope you don’t carry yours with you for as long as I did. Mine still affects me and always will. It changed the person I am. I have no idea who I was or would have been. That matters little. I am who I am where I am and … its OK.

    Liked by 1 person

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