The reality …at least my reality… is that I don’t believe any of it. After years of being told I was stupid and nobody would ever want me, that I wasn’t wanted by my own parents, it’s stuck. That’s the voice I hear inside my head with every rejection. I destroy myself by repeating it out loud to myself. You’re stupid. You’re fat. You’re ugly. Nobody is ever going to want you, not even just for any kind of physical relationship that doesn’t involve marriage or anything like that. It’s become a mantra on the days where I’ve done something like this, believed there was a possibility.
You’re stupid. You’re fat. You’re ugly. Nobody will ever want you. Your own family didn’t want you. You’re a nobody. Invisible. Only seen when somebody wants something and then thrown away again. Used. Discarded. Worthless. You’re going to be alone forever. Nobody will ever want you.
Nobody is saying those words to me anymore except for me and on days like today they come faster and faster until it’s like a blur inside my own head. When I was a child, I had a closet that was above our stairs. There were two rows of rods and clothing hanging in it and I would climb up into it and hide. Nobody could find me there (not that they were looking) and I was safe. I miss that closet. I miss having a hiding place where I can curl up until it all stops.
When I lost my hiding spot, I started hurting myself. I’d scratch until I nearly bled. Anything to stop the voices in my head. Anything to distract me from the emotional pain. Did you know that a glass dildo when swung at fleshy parts of the body can leave amazing bruises? I do. I’ve done it. I’ve sat and just hit myself in the same spot over and over again in an attempt to get rid of the emotional anguish. It works, right until you stop swinging and things like pants hide the marks you’ve left. Always hide the marks you’ve left. It’s safer than people asking you questions. If you’re lucky, you’ve worn yourself out enough that you sleep. Sleep can help. It quiets the chemicals in the brain.
Still, here I sit, remembering that not having expectations, not having dreams, not thinking yourself worthy and all sorts of horrible things is sometimes safer than letting yourself have those things because when time and time again you don’t get them or you get rejected, you’re brought right back to this place and while it’s familiar, it will never be comfortable.
I long for the times when I had the self-confidence to truly believe in myself and that things were possible. Not just people things, but me things. There are days when I wake up and I smile and I really believe that I am an amazing person, that I can do the things that I want to do, that I’m not crippled by the contents of my own head. They happen and remembering that gives me small bits of hope on the really bad days. I try to remind myself of just how far I’ve come and that I can’t give up. I may be my own worst enemy but sometimes I have to also be my own biggest supporter. It’s hard. It’s hard to pick yourself back up when you’re the one who knocked you down, but sometimes you’re all you have because you live in a world where people just don’t understand. It’s easy to be sympathetic to someone who has cancer or lost a limb or is somehow physically crippled. It’s not so easy when what’s been destroyed is a piece of your very soul and when due to no fault of your own, your own brain chemistry hates you and tries every chance it gets to cause more harm.
I don’t talk about my life, my world, my struggles with very many people anymore. After opening up completely to two people who in the end not only rejected me but cut me completely from their worlds, I’ve shut down. I’ve hidden away here in my little village. Most people only see the surface, they see what they’re comfortable seeing, and don’t have to see anything more. Now again, I tried opening up to someone and I’ve gotten hurt and another brick goes up but maybe it's progress that it isn't an entire wall.
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