Lost in my mind

Time. It is such a waste. I feel so lost. The tears fall. The anxiety builds and no end is in sight for relief. I want to die.
I just want this pain to end. I don't know what to do to help ease this feeling. I just know it's there and is very real.
Will I see next year? Will next year see me? How?
Am I doomed to no longer go to social events? Is it my lot to sit and attempt to administer self-care while at home with just my cats for company?
Am I trying too hard? Not enough?
Who do I tell? What do I tell? How much do I tell?
I am lost in my own mind. Big dreams crushed by fear of reality.
I have a camera, I should learn to use it.
I should start walking.
I should...
I should...
I should...
I don't.
I most likely won't.
My intentions mean well.
I'm a major disappointment.
I don't know why I am loved. I doubt I deserve it.
Jordan deserves so much better than me. Everyone does.
I am lost in a field of my own thoughts and emotions.
Mostly emotions.
Feelings I cannot explain, but cause such great anxiety it's almost paralyzing.
I am told I am needed That I am wanted. But I am uncertain if I want or need myself.
I am once again poor.
Some say there is light at the end of the tunnel.
I rarely see it.
Sometimes a glimpse is enough to give e hope and push through just one more day.
Just one more day.
Just one more day.
But how does one continue to live this way?
Just one more day.
One more day of what?!
Crippling anxiety? Endless tears? Paralyzing fear of everything?
And this is what I live "just one more day" for?!
How?
Why?
To what end?
I am dying here and no one can help me!!!!!

I don't know what to say to people.
I want them to know. They NEED to know.

I showered and put on clean clothes.
I bought a pack of smokes on my way out to Utah.
I don't know if it is helping or hurting.
It gives me something to do and replaces my want for herb.
(So much for my tolerance break.)
It feels good having my hear wet and down, drying in the breeze.
(I'm sitting on the front porch.)

I'm thinking of moving my desk down into the den. Maybe if I move out of the bedroom things will be "easier" on me?
Maybe, just maybe, I'll keep things clean better that way.
Although I like my privacy that my room gives me.
Change for simply changes sake may not be the best of ideas.
If the desk wasn't such a pain to move I might be more eager to try it.
I just really don't know what to do anymore.

Day in and day out nothing changes, nothing but the increasing of my anxiety and a great desire to just disappear.
To no longer exist.
To vanish.
To take a long walk in the woods and never come back.
Maybe I'll go live with the bears.

But really, let's talk about death.
What is it?
What is it, really?
Death is the end of this life.
But it is also the beginning of something new.
The catch?
We travel that journey alone.
There are choices.
At anytime I can choose to take that solo journey into the unknown.
(Jordan says I'm do some good day soon. I hope he's right.)
I can always wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Just one more day.
Just one more day.

I guess I want to be in control. 
I want to be in control of something in my life and right now it feels that the only thing that I have control over is to go one more day.

Angela says I can't go.
Her kids (my minions) vie me as their 2nd mom.
They need me around just as much as they need their folks.

I want to hurt myself.
At least then I'd have something worthy to cry about.
Maybe then this emotional pain can have a physical pain outlet.

I stopped blogging.
I stopped writing.
I stopped reading.
And in some ways I stopped caring, mainly about myself.
I matter not.
That's what my mind tells me.
My mind tells me things would be simpler if I were gone.
I am told I shouldn't let these thoughts linger.
It is claimed to be unhealthy.
But my thoughts are real and I don't know what else to do about them.
Too long have I let them simply dance in my head.
I do not know how to evict them.
Maybe writing this down will help.
Maybe blogging and sharing the real will help.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Everything is "maybe".
Maybe moving my desk will help.
Maybe walking will help.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe I should look into pet sitting.
I could get lucky and I like pets.
Animals are better than humans.
__________________________

the lights flash.
The thoughts wander.
A slow drag on one more cigarette.
One more cider before I throw in the towel.
The guy across the street hides behind his fence while trying to skateboard.
The dog wants in on the action.
Or maybe the dog just want some love and attention.

I just want love and attention.
It sounds funny, and it makes little sense.
I get plenty of love and attention.
I am loved.
I know this.
I am told this.
I am shown this.
It should be enough.
It's all I've ever wanted, and yet...
Yet I am haunted by intangible memories.
Triggers with no solid founding.
Flashbacks filled purely with emotion, no actual events to grasp on to and attempt to process.
How do I work through these "issues" without a better understanding of what they are?

My Father (To See or Not To See?)

(Waimea, Kauai, Hawaii Feb. 1997)

I am my father's first child. Growing up in the Navy he wasn't around as much. We constantly butted heads as I got older. We are/were so much alike. I've seen him cry over my struggles with my parents authority. I've heard him tell me that he loves me. 

Years ago, before my mom died my parents had a huge struggle with their marriage. I found myself in the middle of that horrible wave of events. It affected me personally and physically and I found myself siding with my mom, for the most part. 

I won't go into details of the nasty struggle it was to see my father go through his long mid-life crisis and behave like such a juvenile. It was just as rough to hear the nasty words that would flow from my mom's mouth when I refused to go buy her alcohol to numb her emotional pain. It was 2007. 

(San Diego, CA 1981?)

My 3rd marriage had fallen apart. I was in the midst of graduating college with my English degree. I had plans (already paid for) to go to Ireland for 3 weeks as a graduation gift to myself. I never made it to the airport, much less to Ireland. I had to go care for my mom who found herself alone on 10 acres of property my parents had just bought. (They were getting closer and closer to their dream goals.) The property was in the middle of no where, which is nice; however, she had no car and it was 6 miles to the nearest town. I was in Mississippi at the time. My brother was in Hawaii, to far away to help physically. My sister was busy enough with her own family of 4 going on 5 in Utah. As the eldest and closest to my mom, my brother sent me money and I packed up my life and moved out to care for my mom. 

I blame my lost dream trip, and $1000, on my father. I know he'll never be able to repay me. I know it was 8 years ago. But during that time my father and I drifted further and further apart. 

Despite our differences and frustration with each other, as I constantly made the same mistakes over and over again in my young adult life, every time I returned home, I could always look forward to at least one private ride in the car with my father where we truly talked and opened up to each other. It was those moments I looked forward to when I returned home. It was a reminder that underneath it all there was still great love and compassion between us. 

                                     (1980)

After a large struggle between my folks, I decided I could no longer live under their roof anymore. I was an adult and it was truly time for me to grow up and not going rushing "home" every time my life fell apart. I moved to Colorado in mid-July. 

I visited my folks home twice since my move. The first was to collect my things and cats to move it all to Colorado. I was so looking forward to that car ride. To that private moment where all guards were down between my father and I. It never came. In fact, as we packed the last of my belongings in the trailer and car and were setting out for the 12 hour drive back to Colorado and everyone was saying goodbye, hugs and all. My mom and brother with his wife and son standing around outside, giving hugs and well wishes. My father stood to the side. In my minds eye I felt it was as though he didn't even recognize me as his daughter and first born. For the first time, that I can recall, I had to ask him for a hug. It felt as though he was content to stand there and watch us drive away without saying a word. With no emotion and no love for me. It broke my heart and the true rift between he and I had suddenly grown so large I was uncertain any bridge could be built that large to close the gap. 

About a year later I was at a Dead (what was left of the band The Grateful Dead) concert and thought to share this awesome moment with my father. I felt it was something he'd be excited about for me. So I sent him a text telling him where I was and the band I was about to hear play. The text I received from him was "Who is this?". Apparently he had gotten a new phone and failed to put my number in it... It was the last straw for me. 

                                   (1980)

My last trip out there was a few days after my mom had died, March 10, 2010. On that road trip, somewhere along the way, our cars passed each other as he headed to Utah to collect her ashes and I headed "home" to be with my brother. 

                  (San Antonio, TX?1991)

He remarried on March 17, 2011. I didn't know. I knew he was planning on getting married, but I was never told when it had actually happened. At this point I felt he had abandoned his biological family for a new one. 

We have sent texts a few times. I saw him once as he was on the road between my sister's home and his own. I met his soon to be wife (?) and her two children, a teenager and a toddler. I had offered my home for them to stay at and dreamed of making them a great breakfast the following morning to show just how much I had changed and grown. ... They stayed at a hotel instead. It's the last time I saw him. (2011?) He gave me my mom's ashes, as he "didn't know what to do with it". 

Again, there were no car rides, or even any private moments. I do not recall if he told me he loved me. I do not recall if any hugs were involved as my partner and I prepared to leave them at the hotel they were staying at for the night. 

                    (San Antonio, TX 1993)

Since then we have not spoken to each other. Texts have been sent from time to time. Mainly major holidays and if I'm lucky and he remembers, my birthday as well. The rift between us has grown even larger and it hurts me deeply. I miss the man and dad he once was. 

Now to the point of this long story. I have an opportunity to see him again this Summer. He and his now adopted son (my sister informed me of the adoption) are going out to visit my sister. 

At first I quickly asked my sister if it would ok with her if I went out to visit at the same time and then bring my youngest niece home with me for a visit. She said yes. I promised not to cause trouble. I don't want fights. We Crawford's are good at pretending the past is gone and to not talk about it any longer. 

I now question if this is still a good idea. With my #anxiety and #depression can I truly emotionally handle such a meeting at this stage in my life? How many times has my father driven down the highway passing the many exits to my town and not stopped? Does it matter? How important am I to him truly? 

(Laie, Oahu, Hawaii 2003)

My first instinct was to go and with luck move forward, make amends and try to salvage what is left so that he too can share in my joys and triumphs. And later, as I think about it, I start to get overly protective of my "minions" (my sister's children). I feel this overwhelming need to protect them, to be there and be one more eye on them to keep them safe. Why on earth do I feel such a need as that, to protect them from my father? They should grow up knowing their Pappy, as I did not know my grandfather. 

This trip is months away. In the present it all feels reasonable and a good move in the right direction. To reach out an olive branch, if you will. Will I be strong enough then to do this? Is it safe? Will he accept my drinking? My choice of using marijuana as a medicinal to help with my anxiety? To hide my true self to him would be going against my own values. Love me as I am or not at all? 

What do I do?

Very Lost and Very Afraid

I only leave my bedroom to get coffee, feed the fish and take care of the chickens. I am safest here. But even then I am still afraid of myself.

The coping skills are for show.

The hope has vanished.

The motivation is gone.

Death is constantly knocking on my door. For some reason I believe that if I stay in my room Death can't find me here.

I cut myself up yesterday. Both arms and both legs. Things I shouldn't tell my therapist as then she'd be obligated to admit me to a hospital due to self harm. Things I'm afraid to tell my partner, as it only causes him more worry.

I've had depression all my life, but nothing like this. Nothing so horrible that everyday I think of how I could end it all.

To try and keep my thoughts off things I watch movies and play WoW.

I know I should be writing, really writing, but I'm not. I should be out there taking pictures as the hail rains down on us and how the leaves look so green.

Even the beauty of nature has lost it's color for me. I see things in black and white. My partner tries his hardest to understand and do the best he can for me.

I don't eat much. I drink coffee all day. I listen to music all the time. It's on random, 20gig iPod (old) full of music, on shuffle, I never know what I'll hear next. It keeps me from choosing an artists/album to listen to. I don't have to make a choice when it is this way.

I don't want to make choices.

What if I'm just going through the motions because I feel like I have to?

To be this way, this tore up inside. What if I don't want to wake up from this nightmare? What if I feel as though nothing on this earth will fix this shit in my head?

What is love?

Pain

It's so difficult not to cut.

This is an old image. But the thing is, I struggle everyday not to do it again. This was the early stage. I ended up cutting up both hands. Nothing deep enough to draw blood and leave a scare.

The pain I feel inside is so immense that it hurts even more that no one can see it. How do I explain this? This need to have an outward showing of the pain that I carry inside me.

I've ignored the kitchen all week. I wake up take my pills, feed the chickens and go back to bed. Sleep until noon and then contemplate if I want to get out of bed.

This has been one of my toughest weeks. The laundry hasn't been touched in a week or more. One load sits on my couch folded and ready to be put away. Another load sits in the basket on said couch and yet another load sits clean in the dryer. And the clothes keep mounting up and I just don't care.

This is manic in the opposite direction. I go from doing ok, sometimes even pretty good, to being so down that all I want to do is die.

Everywhere I turn there is something stopping me from helping me get better. I feel lost and alone.

I've made a new friend. That's a good thing. I should focus on that, but instead I focus on all the other little stupid shot surrounding it.

I want drive up to the reservoir and drive my car off the road into the water. If I'm lucky I'll die before I drown. I want to swallow a bottle of pills just to make the pain go away. I want to be comfortably numb.

I want to be taken seriously on how much my illness hurts, every fucking day. I'll stop and suddenly I'll cry over my other partner deciding it was time to move on. I thought I was past that, but I'm not.

I am so bless to have a life partner that puts up with my shit. That feeds me dinner, because left to my own devices I'd hardly eat at all.

I'm writing these things in hopes that they will go away in my head. I write these things in hopes that others will know they aren't alone in their internal pain that no one can see and people refuse to understand.

We need to talk...

Let's not talk about what's real! Let's not talk about the taboo. Let's pretend that it's all in my head so that no one else has to worry about it. Let's ignore it and maybe, just maybe it will go away. 

New flash! It's here. It's real. And I can't make it go away. I can't ignore it until it goes away. That's not how it works. 

I've held it in for years. Believing I'd got it all under control. What happened? 

It exploded out of left field, it hit me and knocked the wind out of me knocking me down, like I'd been punched for unknown reasons. 

I can barely stand. Punch after punch. It won't stop. Over and over and over again. One hit, two hits, three. I can't believe I'm doing this to myself. And I can't make it stop. 

And no one wants to talk about it. Everyone wants to believe it's not there. It is not their problem so what does it matter to them? 

If I had a life threatening disease you'd care. The truth is, I do. I struggle with myself to stay alive each and every fucking day. 

Some days are with it more than others.

Safe?

I don't feel safe with myself and U have no one I can tell. They will all want to put me back into the hospital in a 72 hour hold , it would cost a fortune and if little to no good.

Mental illness is a taboo. People don't want to talk about it and people do not want to be with people who show those outward signs of mental illness. 

So what do I do? I'm hearing things. Doors opening and shutting when I know no one is I the house and all three cats are on the bed with me. 

I think I am truly losing my mind. 

Sad

I am starting to hear sounds, like a door opening or closing. I've been hearing them for days now, when no one is home.

My self-harming has been getting worse. It's scrapes at the top of my hands, something for the world to see. I do not hide them on the tender parts of my arm. 

It is difficult. I know I need help. I fear being placed in the hospital, as it will do me no good here, I already know how to "play" the system. Never mind I fear the cost of the hospital bills. 

I am lost. I know I am not alone, but I certainly feel alone. As though I cannot be honest with anyone. Not my therapist, my doctor, no one. 

The sounds scare me. The constant desire to cut frightens me. 

How much longer am I to survive like this?

Secrets

I have secrets. I am not certain how long I should keep them, if I should say anything at all, or allow time to see if the secrets wil go away. If it will stop with time.