I Want to Die But Haven’t

I lost everything that gave me connection, meaning, comfort and joy. That all happened in a short time frame a year and a half ago. One rug after another after another after another was pulled out from under my feet. There were so many bad turns and they were so astonishing, I can’t count them all. Life is gray. I haven’t had a second of joy for almost two years. People say, Wait it out, who knows what tomorrow will bring? I’m not getting better; it has been a nose dive for all that time. I got into therapy, and it took over a year to figure out that, in spite of my candor and my therapist’s reassurances, she didn’t have a clue how much pain I was in or how to help me. BIG MISTAKE. I attended a church that at first looked positive, but by small degrees over many months I realized it preached a dour, demeaning, death-craving view of life. BIG MISTAKE. At this point my brain felt like exploding, I had tried very hard to fit in but couldn’t adopt its principles.

My mental and physical health has come undone over the last year: agoraphobia, social anxiety, insomnia, high blood pressure, panic attacks, horrid nightmares, bladder problems, neuropathy.

Go ahead, give me some pablum that things will turn around. They won’t, and there are two key reasons why. First, I grew up an only child berated and mocked by both my parents on a constant basis. I thought I was long through with all that and had made my peace, but it has come back to haunt every second. I can’t get past it. Believe me, I have TRIED TRIED TRIED. Useless. I might as well re-write the DNA I was born with.

Second, I can’t stand what the world has become, hardened, coarse, narrow-minded, and ripped from anything that could be called culture. Yeah, I really do care about those things to the core. And there is no stopping the process of pushing aside gentleness, inclusion, beauty, freewheeling inquiry. If I ask myself honestly, I don’t want a part in what the world’s arrived at.