No end in sight

I’m in my 30s. I’ve been depressed my entire life; my first memories are as early as 2 or 3, of me standing in my crib screaming my head off, wondering why my mother won’t come to me. But neither my mother nor my father ever really did. They managed to care and provide for me very well, and still be emotionally negligent and abusive. Even now, I have the emotional development of a 15 yr old. Waiting, always waiting. Lingering and hovering around my mom – I live with her now – hoping for an opportunity to sit with her, be with her, even though I know I’m just going to irritate her and she’ll push me away. I still keep doing it, even though it hurts me every time, I still keep going back and waiting, lingering. I want to to crawl into her bed and sleep next to her, have her hug me and be with me, but I know she’d never allow it. She never has.

My father moved away and started a new family. They seem to be very happy. My father confuses me. When I was a little girl, hugging and kissing him felt very… wrong. I’ve only now realized, as an adult, that my relationship with my father was not normal. There was no sexual abuse or any sexual activity of any kind, but my therapist says I behave as if I were sexually abused. Regardless, I can’t have any kind of romantic relationship with a man as a result. I swoop in, relishing in the new-love scenarios, and then I destroy the relationship, run away, and shut them out. I do this over and over and over again. It’s even worse with women; women I almost abuse. I use them and discard them. They mean nothing to me.

Approaching my middle years rapidly, I’ve given up hope of having children. I’ve developed a mild case of agoraphobia, so I haven’t worked in 2.5 yrs, now living with my mother in the middle of nowhere. All my friends and family have lives of their own, but I have nothing. Apathy. Emptiness. No ambition. No will. No desire.

I tried to cut my wrist open in February of 2011. I didn’t cut deep, I just… wanted to see what would happen, where this action would leave me, what the consequences would be. All I knew was I had to act, in whatever misguided way I could. I wound up in the ER at 2am, and then into a police cruiser to the nearest “acute care facility” aka psych hospital. It was miserable. They changed my meds completely so I was a zombie the entire time. I received nothing of value from that experience, except that in no way will I ever be returning… so I better do it right the next time. No hesitations, no squeamishness, no opening my mother’s door and dripping blood on her carpet.

I’ve had a “plan” for a long time now. When my cats pass away – they are my final obligation at the moment, the only thing keeping me here – when I’m about 40 yrs old, then I’ll do it. Then I’ll really have nothing. It’s sad that I care for the welfare of my animals more than myself. That I would think of them living after my death and what they would go through, before I think of my friends’ and family’s reactions and what they would go through, how it would hurt them. But I guess my cats are innocent. They love me unconditionally.

There is nothing in front of me. Nothing. I have no purpose, except to feel pain and sorrow and guilt. Well, I think I’ve felt this way long enough. I just want it all to end. To lay down and not wake up. I’m tired… so tired.