Blog: fairly sure it's not normal to hate my life this much
Is it normal that roughly 75% of my life makes me want to carve out my insides? Yeah. I thought not.
Last week in Creative Writing class we had an in-class assignment to write a piece that was a metaphor, beginning with “I am in the ocean and…” We were supposed to use the ocean as a metaphor for the way we were feeling. Here’s a slightly edited version of what I wrote:
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I am in the ocean and the ocean is big and deep and powerful and dark, dark blue. It is cold, so cold. When you get in it feels like opening the door after dark on a hot day that has become a cold night; that same shocked, unexpected sensation as the chill hits you- I didn’t expect this, I didn’t have time to prepare.
The ocean is my enemy, always trying to drag me down- No, just don’t do anything; don’t do the reading, go to class, apply for that job you know you can get if you get off your ass… The ocean tries to steal me away deep into the depths, sometimes it’s all I can do to leave a buoy floating to mark the place where I’ve sunk in the hopes that someone comes along to pull me out.
The ocean wins sometimes; it will always win, it is the darkness. It is empty, it tells me to do what I want, it tells me to sleep and sleep and sleep forever- Endless sleep, wouldn’t that be wonderful, wouldn’t that be grand? Never have to care again, never feel pain again, the price of that is shame and sorrow, but aren’t you used to that by now? I am- Don’t you have that every day even if you fight me? I do- Don’t you want to just give up? Sometimes, yes, sometimes I long for it- Don’t you know your life is hopeless and you’ll never win? Sometimes I think I fear I know it’s true- Don’t you know you’re nothing special? Yes, oh yes, I know that- And you’ll never ever beat me?
The only thing that keeps me treading water in this painful ocean is one single, solitary word: but. BUT. But maybe. Maybe the ocean is lying to me. Maybe there is a reason to get out of bed, maybe, just maybe, and if I go out and do things the waters will calm and it will be easier, so much easier to forget that I’m fighting this battle of such unequal odds.
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Lately I haven’t had that but maybe, so it’s become about lying. Telling people I didn’t feel well when they ask why I didn’t go to class. Texting “XD” to my friends back at home when it’s the last thing I’m feeling so that they won’t worry, because there’s nothing they can do.
There’s nothing anyone can do, apparently. All the mental health professionals say that no one can help me but me, and I wish they knew how much of an injustice that was. It feels like they’ve given up, and are throwing that out as a disclaimer- “Only you can help yourself,” so that way if I crash and burn, they’ve covered their ass- “Oh, well, I guess you didn’t help yourself!” It’s like they’re wiping their hands of me and just leaving me to wallow in the space between appointments. Then I show back up again and they encourage and placate me with words I’ve heard before and have frankly stopped believing in.
Is there something wrong with me, or am I just weak? I don’t even know. I just wish someone could help me or at the very least give me an answer. There’s precious little that seems worth living for, at this point. Just trying to live my life is making me miserable.
But, I mean, I do still kind of hate my life. I suppose I should take that as a good sign. I still care enough to hate. When the hate goes away, I’ll truly be screwed.