Today, everything just feels like too much. I was blindsided by this feeling. Didn’t really see it coming. Halloween is over. Now that I’m out from under my family of origin, the holidays suck much less than they could. I’ve even had some fun times this year already. There is nothing unusually stressful about this day. My job is moderately stressful no matter what day it is, but I feel like I deal with it well by brandishing a decent sense of humor and a bigger-picture perspective. When those things fail, I bitch and whine and vent to my co-worker, and she sympathizes, and that’s usually enough.
I have days like this regularly, but I can usually predict them better. They are the burnout days, that people online either talk about constantly ad nauseum, or never mention, depending on the individual. What it looks like for me at the moment is me sitting at my desk trying to remember if I’ve ever read anything helpful about DID, healing, SRA, or life in general, at all. I’m trying to remember whether anyone might care about me, and I’m trying to remember if I care about anyone else enough to plod. Through. One. More. Fricking. Day. Of. This. My mind has let go of everything I have ever known or found helpful, truthful, or anchoring. This is random. This is disconcerting. I am fighting the panic rising in my chest. I am trying to understand why I am here, why this is my life. I do not have the energy to live this way for infinite decades stretching out in front of me. Please don’t make me. You can’t. I can’t. I want someone to tell me that “healing” – that arbitrary term I keep reaching for – is worth it, that life post-trauma, post-DID, post-shattered-life, will be worth it. But no one can. Even if they could, how can I believe them? What do they know? Even if someone told me it wasn’t, what are my choices? Kill myself? That’s hardly a solution. And round and round my brain goes, swirling in circles and half-hearted attempts to lift itself off the ground, out of the ditch. I keep coming back to this, a quote from The Hunger Games (Part 3: Mockingjay), actually.
“…the rest of the world becomes very distant,” he continues. “All the people and things you loved or cared about almost cease to exist. The pink sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel, you’re going to have to do some killing, because in the arena, you only get one wish. And it’s very costly.”
“It costs your life,” says Caesar.
“Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people?” says Peeta. “It costs everything you are.” (emphasis mine)
One of my co-workers notices my lost expression. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
I have no soul. That’s all.
I have no soul, and my body is broken, and my mind is shattered, and putting it back together might take the rest of my life, and you cannot help me. You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you.
“Nothing,” I say.
Everything you are.
Today I think: the price is too high. There’s nothing that could ever compensate for the damage that I had to deal with, that I still have to deal with, the damage that looks back at me from the mirror every day, the damage that I AM.
They should have killed me.
The people in the future, that I haven’t met yet, that I’m supposedly going to help because of what I’ve been through…they’re not enough. Not today. It’s not enough of a reason. I’m sorry. It can’t justify the things that happened, that were done and that I did under duress. Maybe tomorrow I will feel differently, but not today. I won’t stay here, in this place, but leaving it as about as unpredictable as falling into it. And sometimes expressing it is just as good as not talking about it. I don’t think I quite said what I was trying to say, but sometimes your best isn’t good enough. And that has to be okay, because you don’t have anything else to offer. Cheers. ~J8