I was lying on my side, repeating a phrase with which was I was far too familiar. at the “ch” sound in the collection of words, I felt the top of my tongue bounce of the roof of my mouth in a familiar pattern. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, and I could barely transmit breathes past the sounds I was chanting. my eyes burned, and I could feel the air against the entire surface of my eyeballs. tears from the topside eye flowed into the lower. snot was dribbling out of my nostrils, passing just above my upper lip and down onto the couch.
but I didn’t cut. I didn’t pull out any hair. I only hit my head a few time. I didn’t scratch or burn or bite, or anything else that I wanted so terribly to do. I didn’t even drink. I Disappeared for a little bit to calm down, also known as purposefully disassociating. then I slowly rose and took a klonopin. I had no reason to be alive, and even less reason to be awake. I actually had a say-so in the latter, so I worked towards a goal — Disappear until tomorrow.
as I swallowed the pill, a shot of memories ran past my mind as I recalled how what was previously such a wonderful day pushed me into this dark, hateful place….
since I got off the Seroquel, that I wasn’t even supposed to be taking, my anxiety has been increasing. I’m having returning visions of cutting myself to shreds. my “I hate you” mantra returns at all points of the day from even the slightest instigation. to get through the moment of self-disgust, I envision a thin blade dancing across my skin, leaving a bubbling trail of deep crimson behind it, like a blast of shaved ice from an ice skater. or if it’s more active rage, I imagine speeding down a highway and launching my car into a guardrail or off an enormously high bridge, both of which allows me to plow into s solid object and be crushed instantly. sometimes I’m bashing my head into the wall so strongly that the wall begins to crack and my skull splits open. other times I’m scratching aggressively with my own rickety nails that I begin to pull back layers of my skin. or when I’m just tired of everything, I get bitten by a black widow or a water moccasin, then I collapse to the ground and just fade away.
these are things that comfort me, that ground me amidst an anxiety attack or freak out. when all my tools start to work against me, I allow them to do so physically, so as to refocus my attention from inside myself back to the outside world. I must feel this pain, this anger, this disgust. so by self-injuring, I allow myself to feel for just a few moments — and then it is back to the “real world”, to their “reality”.
it’s not healthy, I know. and it’s somewhat alarming that my beautification and romanticizing of self-injury has returned so strongly. but I’m not sure what else to do.
at one point last night, Brian suggested forgiving myself. I’m not sure if he was trying to jest or if he was actually presenting that as an option. my response was silence; but I wanted to comment how telling me at the time to just forgive myself was equivalent to telling a depressed person to just let themselves be happy.
so yesterday. what brought on such a fit that I ran to medication to temporarily ease myself out of existence? yet another miscommunication at work. for privacy reasons, I won’t share details. but you lot already know that I have been struggling to “fit in” here, to do my job sufficiently — all since day one. well, six months later, I am still apparently ill-fitted for this position. in retrospect and after speaking with one of the partners, I see where the fault lies each with them and with me. it was a situation where mistakes and miscommunication on both side yielded a horrid situation. for my mistake, of course I will berate myself repeatedly for days, possibly even weeks. for their mistakes, I will hold anger and resentment for a few days, then it will die out over time — mostly, at least.
I feel horrible for the mistake I made. it should have been a common sense situation regarding social conduct and gift giving, but I just blindly didn’t see it. it’s like when the neater partner in a relationship requests the other to clean up the mess, and he or she has to specially say what they mean, because the other partner literally did not see nor comprehend said clutter as a mess. it completely did not cross my mind to have carried out the actions they desired, though I’m sure to most it would have been common sense. and the guilt of this will follow me for days.
for their end, it was more miscommunication. I am grateful that one partner (my direct boss) admitted the miscommunication mistake was on them — though he didn’t say so in such a direct manner. but still, this is a reoccurring issue with the three of us. either A] I misunderstand something as confirmation to move forward; or B] one partner gives a set of instructions that I carry out, for which I am scolded by the other partner.
henceforth, I have decided, I will prevent the occurrence of either situation by getting advancement on nigh all projects via written communication (ideally email). it is not natural for me and I hate having to be petty and the like, but it seems these reoccurring miscommunications are forcing me to CYA.
I’m not entirely sure the point of this post, other than to work through and collect my thoughts and emotions regarding this situation. I do not take their anger and disappointment personally, as I understand my mistake. but my perfectionism and self-disgust converts my work into a definition of Myself ; thus the panic attack and anxiety. I still greatly respect and appreciate both partners. I just wish they could get some of their shit together regarding communication.
I suppose that’s all for this. how is your day going?