I Really Am Trying
I've been trying to make myself start this blog for months. I'm trying. I'm really trying. Nobody notices it when I try, nobody has any idea how it looks when I'm trying my hardest because it looks like nothing at all, everyone thinks I'm lazy and enjoy being lazy. But I am trying. I've always been trying. Even if no one believes me.
I've been trying to make myself contact my friends for months. I can't do it. I can't make myself do it. There's one of me insisting I need to end a major friendship I've had for half my life, and she is objectively correct, but I can't stand to do it. I can't make myself contact the other friends either. No matter close or acquaintance. It's an amount of energy I don't possess.
I've been trying to make myself talk to the parent I'm not living with, the one that's interested in knowing what's going on with my mental health symptoms. I can't. Never enough energy. And, one of me apparently does not want to speak to either of my parents and says it won't go well. I know he's probably right, but I want to try. And... I can't.
About a year ago, I had to move back in with the parent who's an emotional vampire on the best of days, verbally abusive on the worst. About a year since I learned the one of me that doesn't want to talk to my parents even existed. My spouse and I cannot afford to move out for the foreseeable future, if ever.
Before that, I ended up in a lot of debt (to my standard, anyway) because during the nearly 2 years I attempted to live as a real adult, the person who's now my spouse was fired and had a hard time finding a new job, and once my spouse had a job, suddenly had a huge, life-threatening, life-altering medical event. Many months of trying to survive on one income in an apartment that we thought we'd have both incomes to pay for. Financially, there was really no choice but moving back in with my parent that was always offering to have me move back in (thank fuck that was an option, honestly). My spouse has a new job again, but after applying diligently, could only find part-time work. I'm full-time, I make more than minimum wage, I pay bills, I have little to nothing left over. Unless something massive changes with our financial situation, I may be in debt for life. I can't handle a second job, neither can my spouse (would be fucking cool if anyone were hiring full-time anymore). There is no forcing it, we are both on the edge of collapse (both mentally and physically) as it is.
I wanted to help people like me so badly. More than 70 percent of people with DID attempt suicide. I've been writing poetry for a decade, caught literary portraits of how my head was doing, caught the realization of what's happening, thought my life was finally getting better and I could prove there's reason to have hope. Well. The USA is becoming a fascist country. And, shortly after the election, what used to be my main social group was outed as a bunch of sexual predators (not anyone aforementioned), which was so shocking and upsetting that I developed a new self. I am not doing well in the fucking slightest. My life story won't provide hope for fucking anyone. It feels like I'm being punished for continuing to live. Everything just keeps getting worse, no matter how hard I try, no matter what I do. My efforts amount to nothing compared to whatever ends up kicking me back down and I am fucking tired of being told I need to pride myself on how well I take getting kicked. I don't want to lie to people anymore that I'm "fine." Actually, I physically can't anymore. I'm not being allowed to, it seems like.
I'm deeply afraid that telling the truth about my life will just get people hurt. For one, my spouse, the best thing in my life. But I'm worried I'll just hurt the people I want to help. The others like me. That my life is too depressing to help anyone (and, mind you, what you're reading now is just barely scratching the surface). Or that I'm hurting myself by talking about anything personal. I don't know anymore. Seems like every road leads to me getting hurt in some way. Do I at least get a fucking say in what road I travel?
The only consolation I've got right now is that I can die trying, or I can die not trying. And as little as trying has gotten me, I can't fucking stand to do nothing. I'm not naive enough to expect success anymore, or even dare to hope for it. It feels like tempting fate to even say the word success. No hope goes unpunished for me. Not a crumb of it.
I want to believe in people. Especially after No Kings. I want to believe in people so badly.
I am fucked exhausted. Constantly. I married the only person that truly gets it. Everyone else screams "it gets better" or "try harder" or "you choose your own reality" or any number of things that are very easy to say so they don't have to think about how hard other people's lives are because that's too uncomfortable, and god forbid they experience a second of discomfort. They don't actually fucking care, they just want to suck their own dicks about being such a good/smart/helpful superior person, pat themselves on the back for regurgitating the "right" therapy meme, and then get angry and insist you "just want to be miserable" when you say life isn't that simple. It's so widespread it makes me sick. It's what makes me want to be honest. I wish someone had been honest with me earlier that life just sucks a lot of the fucking time and is much less in your own control than you would expect. If I could've just been informed of this earlier, maybe I could have coped with it or tried to cope with it sooner. Maybe I wouldn't feel like my life is fucking over before it ever truly began. Maybe I'd have managed to accomplish SOMETHING before hitting 30- which is a bit of a joke, so much has been out of my control (I should specify, outside of any of myselve's control).
I'm trying. I've been trying the whole time. I have nothing to show for it. I don't want to fucking die like this. I don't want to wait for life to get better so I can "be inspiring" when I talk about where I am now vs where I've been, because if I have to wait for life to get better before I'm allowed to talk about my experiences, I'm afraid I'm going to die silent. So, sorry. This is the best I can do. Legitimately. I really, really am trying. Always have been.
And if all you're going to do is whine that I'm "trauma dumping" on my own fucking blog, eat shit and fuck off to somewhere else.