I’m sickened and saddened.
I want to rip through something. I want my fingers to shred something apart.
The lovely little pills and shining knives call out to me.
The lump you get in your throat when you’re about to cry does not currently exist for me. It’s hidden deep in the center of my chest. Quaking with despair.
I have the sensation to drop my head on the keyboard and scream. I also have the sensation to reach out with my hands and grab onto the computer screen shaking ever so violently. My knuckles turning white from my fingers locking around the thin technology. Snapping it under the force being fueled by my frustration, anxiety and desperation.
I crave to stand in the middle of a field pouring gasoline to set it alight. I can almost feel the warmth on my skin now, eyes burning from staring too long.
All of this is simply because I’m disappointed and feeling hopeless as usual. You see I’m very mental and I tend to be a bit on the suicidal side. I won’t be able to work because I’m so disabled by it. So I’ve spent a lot of time looking into getting a service dog.
I can understand the difficulty and pressure I’d be putting unto my mother but I have no other options. She had difficult moment trying to deal with her Chihuahua, cleaning her teeth. She was being difficult and my mom blew up saying
“No more dogs for me-ever! It’s too much. I know you think a service dog will help you but it will be my undoing.” I know she hasn’t been feeling well and the hormones she’s dealing with can be a bit much but it devastated me. Again. Here we go again was the only thing I could think about. But without skipping a beat I replied in the most casual tone I could possibly muster “Then we won’t do it. Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” She didn’t say anything after that. Just headed off to the other room to watch a bit of YouTube. She laughs and occasionally calls out to me to tell me something as if nothing happened. It’s possible I’m taking this too much to heart. She used to say this stuff near constantly. Flip flopping back and forth between saying “We are doing this for you, you need this.” to “I can’t do it. It’s too much for me to handle.”
Every time she does this it’s a kick in the gut. I am back to square one again. So hopeless. My heart trampled again. I’m certain It’s so difficult for me to hear because I have my own doubts still. It’s likely I always will. I don’t want a service dog. A small part of me wants it but more of me doesn’t. However, a larger part of me keeps pushing and nagging, telling me I need it more than anything.
Internally I am burning with an angering numbness. I am sick. I must sacrifice my mental health for the peace of my mother. I must do what I used to do, I fear. Go back to holding it all in and pretending that everything is fine. That I am well and mental illness doesn’t exist in this mind.
I’m crumbling. I’ve no choice but to be strong and survive. I just wish I didn’t have so many days that make me want it all to end.