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Raggedy Edge

eternum

Active Member
#1
I don't ask for help, I don't talk to people 'bout things I struggle with. Like, not real talk. I vent, I make it seem like I'm open, so I can hide the stuff that matters.

I can say I got C-PTSD as a stupid, simple label with a wide interpretation. Not, "My psychotic grandmother kept me stuck in the house for a year when I was 6-7 years old and would hit me on the head with a brush, tell me my mom would kill me, and drag me around by the arm. But wait, there's more." One long story of many. One event on a pile. One impact crater into my life after another. It's just Swiss cheese.

In the past 2 weeks I went through this giant freeze in Texas and got out luckier than most. Literally two days before that I took one friend out of my life with Nazi sympathies and a long-time friend, knew me since I was a teen, who was not just sexually harassing but being a predator in my life. Whole story to it. Always. Stuff doesn't even phase me.

I do have sane friends. The ones who get what's going on with me are too stressed with their own stuff to talk.

I've had therapy. I'm on medication. But stuff has just kept happening and kept happening that I know I am beyond my ability to cope. I keep going on auto-pilot. I feel like if I blink, if I pause even a little to start processing, I will lose it. I will just fall apart. I'm going as long as I can, I just drift into this unknown. I don't know what falling apart would look like.

I am physically disabled from a severe chronic illness and must live with someone to survive. So I live with my younger brother. Disability doesn't cut it, so I am learning the stock market. I go through constant pain, exhaustion, nausea, sinus infections, bronchitis, what have you to get up every day and keep going. I know when I do finally get to die I will just be so relieved. I'm exhausted on many levels. I've almost died to this illness before and I'm tired of wondering, "Is this it? Is this the thing that'll kill me?"

People have made things worse, one after another. Want more from me. Want me to work harder for nothing. Give and give and give. It's all empty. They mistake that for weakness and find out otherwise.

I don't know if I like people anymore. I don't know if I want to interact with them. Sometimes I think I'd want an off-grid house in nature, only close enough to civilization to go to a doctor and get my meds, and let that be my people interaction each month.

Maybe I say "I don't know" since I would be fine with people if I'd stop encountering these a-hole predators and don't even get me started on the wannabe Nazi.

And sometimes I don't know if I'm so far along that I'm just done, that I'm just going to be in this state until my last breath, and no amount of good people or love or acceptance or letting the traumatize mess of a human hurricane of emotions finally come out of repression that would make it better anymore.
 

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