Disintegrating again

Tired of disintegrating under the weight of my own fear of disintegration. Tired of watching everything I suffered so hard to build, crumble away, to slide back into the trauma I desperately want to distance myself from. Tired of the fear of disintegration, only to have it happen in actuality, and have all of my worst fears come true, for the x-teenth time: To relieve my worst experiences, those that caused me to be like this, over and over and over, in the context of current work relationships as I try to make my money and pay my rent, barely scraping by, wondering what I’m doing with my life, trying to keep my passions alive, but being constantly pulled into the abyss and away from any light… the same fear, anger, despair, shame, confusion, remorse. Perhaps even writing this helps, but I don’t know. I really would like to not be alive, because I know I’m so much better than this, and that I should be enjoying my life, but can’t, if only all of that shit earlier in my life not happened. Then, I would be a different person, a better person, but I am not. Im a defective version of myself, and aware of it at every moment. Always, I am trying to climb uphill to this person I know I am on some level: nice, compassionate, fun-loving… but that person is nowhere in the present moment, and only existed as an amalgamated conception of past, pre-trauma memories combined with some volitional conception of who I wish to be.  If I could I only gain a more competent self, perhaps I could be be more effective in my relationships with people, but I’m so wired to believe that I am that defective, stupid, ugly, immoral self, and it is reflected in every interaction I have: nervous, disingenuous laughs that are made to sound genuine, strained eye-contact, projecting my negative core beliefs onto others so that the only conclusion I can come to is that no one wants to be around me, ever, so there is no point in continuing the conversation except to get through it and walk away as soon as possible. My only goal is to be alone, so at least I can be in pain without the embarrassment of seeing eyes there to witness and judge. I try to figure my way out of my own pain, but the like the visual analogy for the Munchaussen trilemma, it seems to be akin to lifting myself out of a swamp by my own hair… I only cause myself more pain, and get nowhere. I try to make my relationships with my current family members better, because I know that this is where a lot of the damage was done, and so by reversing it, I should be able to reverse the damage, no? It seems like sound logic, and seems to have worked, yet there is still a hole, and also, people are fickle, and I can not make them understand. I have no idea what the fuck I am writing. I just want to feel sorry for myself, because I just want to die, more than anything, which is paradoxical, because what I long for is a cessation of pain, but that’s not what you really get with suicide, because you aren’t alive to experience the cessation.