They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result each time. I always have felt like I’m different then everyone else, but I never truly believed that I’m crazy.. Well, not loony-bin crazy, at least. I just think for the most part I’m a product of my environment, and as the years have gone on and I’ve been through so much pain and bullshit, I am starting to see the steady deterioration of my mental health. God, I wish I could turn back time. I mean, at 13, I knew I’d been abused as a child, and I had relentless night terrors beginning around that time that served as a great reminder to me, but- for the most part, I was happy. I hadn’t made irrevocable mistakes yet, I had yet to rot my body from the inside out with years of drugs and eating disorders, and my family still loved me in more of the “blood is blood” kinda way. Damn, all that budding teenage angst really is feeling ironic now. I am so completely devoid of any hope, and really of any feelings. I know how I’m supposed to react, so I seem normal to outsiders, but really I have spent too many years pushing the hurt and emotions so deep down into me that I don’t know how to let myself feel them for real… Although, I have to admit,  the feelings of  resonating isolation and an anger that urges me to stab the girl’s chest bloody red when I see her in the mirror each morning is only growing stronger like a disease. And it is consuming me. I cannot do anything right, despite my good intentions (we all know how THAT saying goes). I am just not a fully functional human being, and I ruin everything good around me. I try so god damn hard, but I always seem to fuck it up. My family barely talks to me- really, my mother is the only one and she is sick of me because she helped me out and I had every opportunity to make a good life, and I fucked it all off. Disappointed her, betrayed her trust, let her down- AGAIN. My grandpa has always been #1, and he’s dying and won’t even meet me for lunch. I swear, if he goes- I go- end of story, cuz he is the only one who really loved me. I know my mom loves me, but not like how my grandpa did. I’m so fucking sick of letting everyone I love down, and always being the black sheep.
share your suicide story
Report Post
Please log in to report posts
1 comment
A Native American grandfather was talking to his grandson about how he felt.
He said, “I feel as if I have two wolves fighting in my heart.
One wolf is the vengeful, angry, violent one. The other wolf is the loving, compassionate one.”
The grandson asked him, “Which wolf will win the fight in your heart?”
The grandfather answered: “The one I feed.”
When I read your post I was reminded of this story as your focus and your language was very intense and one sided. And I can only imagine the inner turbulence the images have created for you.
The story makes an obvious point, the emotions we feed are the ones we feel the most.
What most people miss is that both “sidesâ€, the negative and the positive, are wolves!!
It has been my experience that the wolf we don’t feed is the one that attacks us even if only in a subtle but often even more hurtful way.
The “good†we deny will bit us.
The illusion of separateness, that ‘the good’ and ‘the bad’ are separate can get us into all kinds of trouble. The reality is that the good and the bad coexist in the same moment and are revealed through the other.
It might sound strange that we would deny the best parts of ourselves yet any inner reflection will acknowledge the truth of this statement. For whatever reasons the negative is easier to fall into, maybe because we think we close the door to disappoint and failure if we only look to the worst…. this our experience knows is not true we are disappointed anyway.
It is not surprising that when we hope to be happy and are never surprised when we are not… And I can’t help but wonder if we hoped for despair at least might be surprised when we find ourselves happy.
Maybe it’s not the wolf we feed as much as the wolf we don’t respect that gives us the most trouble. We must become master of both.
I will add that it’s not fair to depend on family for physiological support – Family can support us but they should not be our therapists as their own physiological wellbeing and identity are two closely tied together with ours. If your pain and world view forces them to look at their own lives and such, they are likely to react with resistance and even anger, just as you experience anger and resistance when their pain and world views impacts your truth and experiences.