I'm kind of sinking. With my new meds my mood is better than ever before, most of the time, sometimes I'm sad about legitimate things and it feels like trying to go underwater wearing armbands, my mood just stays stable at 'okay' instead ofl etting me feel sad sometimes. Which is odd, but not bad. Better certainly than everything before. But I know I'm sinking. I just can't seem to accept that I'm all alone. It's like before when my heart couldn't accept that there was no hope. There's always that last bit of damned hope that just keeps torturing you with dissapointment. I don't want to hope, for friendship or care or life. I hate hope. But you know its that fugly hope that's making me write this. My one millionth or whatever call for help lol... you'd think you'd learn. Some guy said once, "Madness is repeating the same action over and over again and expecting a different response". This is that. I'm one of those people who takes "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all" too seriously. I can't speak.. there's no physical problem, I can actually speak, but when I am in pain... nothing. Even typing or writing or texting. Nothing. I can't make myself do it. This post has been 3 years in the making, with things getting increasingly dire.. I log into the Suicideforum chatroom, and people say "Hello. How are you?" and I say... "Hello." and I let them carry on with their conversations. I don't want to impose. I don't want to interupt. I don't want to make someone else feel low. I work so hard not to disturb anyone else that the only solution is to do nothing. I live in perpetual stillness, too terrified to speak or beg for someone to talk to me. Why won't you talk to me? Of course I love to help people and I do so whenever I can but a lot of the time that just perpetuates the problem. People see me as a source of support. I'm going to have to say how I truly feel here, and people aren't going to like it. I might lose the last people who give a fuck, but I am gagging on it .. I am so alone and it's not (entirely) because people don't ask me how I am, its because I stop myself from actually telling them. and then I get angry and bitter because I feel no one cares. But if I refuse to answer a question time and time again who in their right mind would keep asking it. That's my fault. Except the times when i blow up about somethign and lose control and then people say i'm unprofessional. It's unprofessional to say these things. But who cares? My business is on SL and its full of real people with real problems. If you really won't work with me after you know the real person behind the screen, your loss, because I'm good at what I do for you, but I need someone to care about me, not Keira (my online name). My therapist said that she can't imagine how exhausting it is to be me. That I am constantly trying to be perfect, to not make any ripples. And that its not possible to be perfect all the time which is why I get so upset. Pause for a moment, that point is important but I just want to say, someone today, someone I don't know very well, in Secondlife, someone I work with, said (of someone else) "Close your mouth love, you look like your missing a chromosome".............. To start with, love, the obvious reference to people with downs syndrome is not appreciated here. Wrong audience. That is NOT okay. Secondly, its caused by having an extra chromosome. So even your insult is a fail to begin with. WHY IS THAT STILL OKAY? Why do you get jumped on for saying 'gay' but shit like that is alright?? Isn't one of the most used defenses against anti-homophobic behaviour "I was born gay". Mental and physical disabilities (in this context, not all) are very much THEY WERE BORN THAT WAY. How is that still acceptable. Fucking asshole. Whatever. If it was a RL company I'd tell my boss, but its not so life goes on. Whatever. When I was a kid, I had a super happy life. We were poor, but I didn't know it. I had a mom, a dad, and two sisters, one who happened to be disabled and one who happened to be ginger. I didn't care either way. Jemma (still ginger) was 4 years older than me and Laura (the disabled child) was 2 years older, I was the youngest. She and I were so close. I can't explain it to anyone who didn't experience it. I was only 7 but our whole family was held together by her, by trying to give her the most life we could give her. She even went absailing. She couldn't even walk, lol. We shared a room, we threw books at each other, I helped get her dressed for school and helped her eat. We played together. We knew macaton (spelling) a type of sign language plus a load of other random signs she just made up. On family holidays to France she would use her electric wheelchair to go really fast past the dining room table and steal our parents red wine and drink it before they caught her. She didn't like the crust of bagettes so shed pull the white center out and eat that, and one day she went right through to the other end and the baguette crust got stuck on her arm. While the french guard (who had guns) were being told by my parents, in poor french, that she owned the car because it had been hit by something. I adored her. April 13th her teaching assistant dropped her off at home, from the bus. Yes she went to a special school and yes she was taken to it on a special bus. No it wasn't yellow.. Anyway, D***** said that Laura had been grouchy that day. My dad and my sister went out that evening, to see a show. My mum and I stayed at home. I did colouring and went to bed. Normal. But Laura was crying. I dont remember when the crying began, or stopped, I just remember the noise. It's a noise that is unlike any other, and only if you've heard it will you know what I mean, but it is the crying a person does when they are in agony. Laura was severely disabled and she cried A LOT. Notoriously our family moved 98 miles to a new town simply because the first time Laura stopped crying in the first two yearso f her life is when my parents went there. (TRUE). But this was new. My mum called me to get her towels and I did that and was sent back to bed. Jemma and Dad still hadnt come home. I remember lying awake and feeling afraid because I knew something wasnt right. Mum called me again, around ten. She asked me to sit on the sofa and hold Laura, while she phoned an ambulance. Despite many many major operations for Laura we had never called an ambulance for her. All the nurses and doctors in the area knew her (and I, I had acute asthma as a child). She had her own room at the hospital because she and I were there so often. But never an ambulance. I rememberh olding her and the smell of her hair. The ambulance came and I told them that she was sick, and then I remember being in the ambulance, watching the rain hit the windows and we were going so fast and it was so dark, and there were lights, blue and red. I went to a waiting room, my dad and Jemma arrived and we waited. Things get confused here, I know that at various points people left the room but I dont remember. I remember sitting on the rocking horse and staring into space, I was tired. Laura had been scheduled for an exploratory operation in June to see what caused her stomach to bloat (like her stomach would become distended randomly then go down in a few days). We knew that instead of going from left to right her intestines went up and down and things in her were a little mixed up, they wanted to see what they could do. So that night the doctors told my parents they didnt know what was wrong but she was in so much pain they should do the operation then. They said yes. They did. They found the problem. Want to know ? This beautiful angelic little girl, she was 9 years old remember, happy, sunny, loving, never hurt anyone because she didnt know how, the person I most adored and relied upon - was rotting. From the inside out. Her stomach had ripped a tiny bit when it had bloated one of the times, her stomach had started to eat itself, and it was now gangrenous. I didn't know that when I was 7, I found it out years later, and was sick for days. It is horrific to imagine how much pain she must have been in, with no way to tell any one Eventually they realised there wasn othing they could do, the options were to let her live but she would never wake up because shed be in too much pain, and eventually her small heart would give way to the anastetic, or to let her die that night. So my parents, and Jemma, discussed it. and she died. I remember most significantly, my mum asking my dad if he wanted to be there when it happened, and he said no. And then she asked Jemma, who said no.. and then she left the room. I forgave her for that, when I was about 15. But it hurt for a long time. It still hurts now. I've known people to die in some terrible ways, but most of them quick or with high doses of pain medication. It still makes me sick to my core. That was the start though. Before she even died, Laura needed so much care and love, I tried to make my needs as small as possible. Long after she'd gone it continued. I was hyper aware to other peoples needs. When I found out we were in debt when I was 10, it became much worse. I walked to school in the snow with my shoes falling apart because I didn't want to have to tell my mum we needed to fnid the money for new ones. She would have got them for me, don't even doubt that, but I didn't want her to worry. That's where that part of my personality comes from. and after Laura died, everyone around me was in so much pain. We lost something so pure and beautiful. My family fell apart. We didn't know each other or ourselves without the context of caring for her. At my sisters funeral my grandmother told me and Jemma "Not to cry" because " it will upset your father". My dad didn't want to talk about it, so for the most part, we didnt. For the most part any negative emotion had to be hidden and stiffled. If I was upset id hide under the bathroom sink and curl up as small as possible to contain it, because the bathroom was the only room with a lock. A habit I carry around to this day. So that's why its so hard for me to speak. I don't want to worry anyone. Don't want to burden anyone, you all have your own things your going through. Don't want to bother anyone or take up their time or energy. I work overtime just trying not to infringe on peoples emotional thought space. Have you ever tried being perfect 24 hours a day. I'm exhausted. But now I've started talking I need to follow through. People often criticise me. OFTEN. And other people, who care for me, tell me not to worry about it. I don't know how many times I've said this, but I will include it here - I can't not worry about it. I am literally, not able, NOT ABLE, to not worry about it. If someone says something bad about me, whether its true or not, it will never stop hurting me. Because I am riddled with self hatred and because it is part of my personality disorder and my anxiety disorder. Beyond that, the fun part about my anxiety disorder (social anxiety disorder) is that it responds to all criticism but responds equally to perceived criticism. That means if I imagine I've pissed you off, I will feel so ashamed of myself, disgusted with myself, upset and angry, that I may never speak to you again. And you may never have been angry at me at all. The troublesome thing is, most of the time I behave like a "normal person" albeit eccentric so people CONSISTANTLY forget that I am NOT ABLE to control that behaviour. It is something I constantly struggle with. I don't go out of the house because if I see someone looking at me I assume they are thinking how ugly I am, and then I think, well you are ugly you fat fucking *****, and then I run home crying, telling myself all the things Ive ever done run until I'm suicidal and have no place else to go. It is a spiral I can't control. (Yet, I'm praying for progress in therapy). So Hi, I'm K, my diagnosis' are: Mixed Personality Disorders (that's right, even my personality is broken) Social Anxiety Disorder Mood Dysthymia (consistant low mood) with Major depressive episodes My dad left home when I was 12, just about to turn 13. I was relieved because for almsot an entire year before it he had stopped speaking to me or my mom. He would speak to Jemma, but I wasn't allowed in the living room (his space) and if I said hello he just ignored me. I have been a self harmer and an 'ex self harmer' on and off since I was 15. I have attempted suicide 47 times. The ONE time out of those that I was forced to go to a hospital I saw a psychiatrist who helpfully said "everybody knows you can't overdose on pain killers, this is just a cry for help, you didnt mean it. If you did you would have used a reliable method" and when I asked for an example, he helpfully LISTED 7 ways I should do it. I have been bullied so bad I had to move school, psychologically bullied so that I didn't even know which way was up... by my friends. It only eventually stopped by me leaving the school after I caught them bullying another girl, by shaking the bathroom stall walls when she was in there. Don't think thats bad? Well she was completely deaf. and I was so angry I screamed blue murder and when I got home my mum agreed to let me leave the school. I've cut myself at home, on the bus, at school, in the school toilets (favourite hideout), in class and, dramatically, in my GCSE math exam with a piece of broken mirror. I was predicted to get all As and go to Oxford University. I didn't get a single A, and I eventually dropped out of college at 17 when I stopped leaving the house completely. I actually have no count of how many break downs I've had, but my first was at 15, at school, when I became a gibbering wreck sobbing "pink and shouldnt have been" (a reference to how the doctors predicted that I would have whatever Laura had - never diagnosed - 100% certain and my mum told the Doctor she was going to have an abortion. The doctor knew she was a catholic so signed her off as 24 weeks pregnant even though she wasnt because he knew shed never forgive herself. I was supposed to be like laura, who at the time they thought had a condition which meant she would live for four years in agony and then die. I wasnt. I have no genetic disorders whatsoever.) My friends took me to a psychiatrist who (obviously) said I didnt have an appoaintment so they couldnt see me and to go home. They got bollocked for leaving school by their parents, who then phoned my mum who went mental and cut trhough my internet cable with a pair of scissors, so I left home to live with the guy I was seeing. Oh yeah, 15, the guy I was seeing, my sisters best friend. I thought I was super mature for my age (well I was) and he was super immature for his age (he still is) so it worked, intellectually at least. He was 27. I lived with him for 3 months, during which I turned 16. He proposed. I accepted. He refused to wear a condom and I was so terrified that if I accidentally got pregnant my child would have what Laura had that I had a breakdown. Which meant I hated sex, and often said no. He would then talk me into it, or if I still said no, do it anyway. We were engaged and I thought you had to make sacrafices for your husband (to be) and I thought that I was a freak for not liking sex and this was just my sacrafice I had to make. There's a word for that, is what your thinking. Your right there is. I forgave him, eventually, when he apologised to me years later, because he didnt do it out of malice. He was just a very stupid selfish thoughtless man. and thats not a malicious action, it just is what it is. But now he's married to my childhood bestfriend. He's 36 and shes now 23. They have two kids. So knowing he learnt absolutely nothing by traumatising me for life and refusing to wear a condom, made me unforgive him. (I didnt even know that was possible, apparently it is). After him I went on to another nut job. A guy in a wheelchair. I get on very well with disabled people generally because they are always refreshed by my complete lack of notice about their disability. I accept the restrictions it puts on their life and whatever but other than that it has no affect on me. It has no affect on how I view them, and they tend to like that about me. This guy, who woke up one morning unable to walk (very nasty way to suddenly become disabled, suprise!) was a complete manipulative sociopath. Who had to be right all of the time. You know what happens if you have to be right all the time? The people around you always have to be wrong. I was just coming out of a sexually abusive relationship, and in a relationship with an emotional manipulator. For example, I was often told not to tell him about his problems because "I'm in a wheelchair". To those of you who think thats a valid answer hes now walking again, in his dream career and has a girlfriend. I have no job, no friends, no life, I dont go out side and I now receive disability payments for being so freaking insane. Not to mention that, whilst he told me he would wait for me, I felt the need to push myself to try to have sex wth him (remember me, the people pleaser, always obsessed with other peoples needs?), again not his fault. So I pushed myself and tried, 3 times total in our 1 year relationship. It was horrific and he told me he'd been with a girl before me so he knew what he was doing, implying it was my fault. After our relationship was long dead he told me not only that that was a lie, hed been a virgin and had no clue what he was doing, so I was trying to deal with not only finding sex uncomfortable, unpleasurable and upsetting, but also trying to negotiate a virgin who had no feeling in his legs, believing that he had slept with someone before so if it didn't work I was fucing it up. He also told me that "the times we did do it" he could "see it in my eyes how much I was hating it." Which in a way makes him worse than the first guy. The first guy was stupid a selfish, but he didn't purposefully hurt me. The second guy knew how fucked up I was, what I'd been trough, and let me push myself further than I was comfortable with for his pleasure and did nothing. Disgusting. I'm 24 now, and I still hate sex. I might just give up on the whole idea. It's not necessarily upsetting for me any more (although depending on what I think about at that time it can be, most of the time I don't think about those bad memories any more during attempts) I just don't enjoy it. At all. So at 17 I became a lock in, unable to leave my house, suicidal, unable to get help from the NHS. I saw 9 GPs before one took me seriously, 7 psychology and psychiatry assessments, all said there was nothing wrong with me. One failed family therapist. One child psychologist (when I was 15). All said I was fine. Oh yes but I can't leave my house, I have blood streaming down my arms and I keep taking lots of pain pills, thats okay is it? That's as good as I'm going to get? Got to the point wherE I thought they were doing it on purpose. Trying to push me over the edge so they didnt have to deal with me. If I was dead they wouldnt have my failed statistic on their books.