Baby me

How can someone save me from myself? I feel trapped. Like I’m screaming an SOS to the world but no one can hear me or see me. Why is this happening? I’m so angry. No…I’m hurting. That’s what I am. I don’t even know if I know why? I feel like no one cares. The smallest things…ugh I hate me. I accidentally dropped my ring in the garbage disposal and it totally destroyed it. I sent a picture to my boyfriend and all I get back is, “I bet that made a lot of noise.”

I just wanted to throw my phone against a wall. Somewhere in my head I guess I know that his response was ok? But I just hear myself screaming inside, “YOU DON’T EVEN FUCKING CARE!!!!” That’s how I feel.

Then earlier…I am terrified of storms and I’m always afraid if my loved ones aren’t with me, that something will happen to them in the storm. I’m not sure where the fear comes from. Anyway…I texted him because I saw there was a severe thunderstorm watch and I said, “Sever thunderstorm watch xoxoxoxoxox” He replies, “Yep”…and again I scream inside, “YOU DON’T EVEN FUCKING CARE!!!!!!”

I mean, he might as well just ignore the shit out of me. I am SO angry!

Do you ever feel like you just NEED someone to validate the shit out of you? I don’t fucking care how old I am. I can’t help it. I just get in these modes and I feel like a little kid or something. It’s like a small child being lost and telling a grown-up that they’re lost and the grown-up saying, “You’ll be fine, kid.” I feel like no one really hears me. 😦 😦 😦 😦 😦

I want to scream, and cry, and throw things, and just go crazy until someone notices me and realizes that I’m hurting inside and to stop treating me like an annoying little gnat. I feel constantly swatted away. I wish I could runaway. I wish I had no ties to stay where I was. If I had to do life over again, I’d make sure that I’d have nothing keeping me anywhere. That was my entire plan growing up because no one ever cared and all I wanted to do was go on with life on my own and never get attached ever again to anyone. I didn’t want to meet anyone, or know anyone, or for anyone to know me.

I just don’t want to live. I should have made that decision a long time ago.




7 thoughts on “Baby me

  1. “I don’t fucking care how old I am. I can’t help it. I just get in these modes and I feel like a little kid or something.”

    I’m 62 years old. Until September.
    I know the feeling.
    At sixty-fucking-two.

    I had to drive fifteen miles one way today to pick up my wife’s Geodon and Trileptal (for her BPD) and about five minutes into the drive, it was torturous.
    My wife has a real bad back too. Really bad. One surgery already on her lower back, and now the vertebrae are fusing halfway up to her shoulders
    She’s been in a lot of pain, wasn’t able to take the drive with me as badly as she wanted to get out of the house.
    I was way too damned antsy for my comfort, ended up staying in the parking lot at Kaiser for fifteen minutes before I headed home just to hear her voice before driving back down.

    I’ve gotten teary in the middle of a WalMart because I was picking up some of our dog’s favorite treats and started to worry about him for no reason whatsoever and the only thing that would have helped was to cuddle his ninety-five pound ass.

    It’s times like that you need to rely on the DBT classes and whatever you have learned there is about all you have to work with at the time.
    When all else fails, I go back out to my car, grab my cell phone, turn it off, put it to my ear and pretend to be talking to the someone who I felt could help me the most at the time.
    I would actually say – out loud – what was on my mind, and I would hear the answers I needed to hear.
    It would be enough to get me through.

    When I come up with someone who just can’t get it, I’d let them know I just have the same feelings they do. The exact same feelings, and many of them are the exact same feelings I would (more) often have as a little kid. Just like they did.
    The only difference between me and them was the severity and intensity of the feelings and the delicate balance within me that might set those feelings off.
    I’d let them know that in no uncertain terms am I any not just some freakin’ lunatic and that if it were as easy telling myself “You’ll be fine, old man” I would have fucking done that a long time before they came up with that epiphany.

    You can’t begin to explain it to someone in the middle of one of “those episodes” that baffle their narrow-minded shit-spouts. You make it a quiet, conversational, intimate chance to educate them.
    And then you likely have to do it again.

    I don’t claim to be some incredible oracle, but it hurts when I see people – especially kids – who don’t have anyone close by who wants to hear what they have to say.
    And sometimes they don’t want to hear it because it scares them, and it scares them because they can’t understand.
    Vicious damned circle.

    What they don’t know can hurt you.
    But trying to listen to you at the wrong time just makes it harder.

    The best time to explain to someone about thunderstorms is on a sunny, cloudless day with a cool breeze and a rushing stream close by.

    1. “What they don’t know can hurt you.”

      Powerful words. I’m not even sure what to say because that just says so much. Thank you for your reply.

      1. You can teach them.
        Put it right out there for them in terms they can understand, and if that means lots of one syllable words, so be it …
        … but what I mean is make them relate to it.
        I have ADD, and when one of my Supervisors at work told me I had to just ignore all the distractions from all around me, then told me just not to pay attention I told her it would like “telling someone who’s one croissant shy of a gastric bypass ‘put down that fucking Twinkie and have a carrot stick instead.'”
        This lady was over three-hundred pounds on a 5’ 7″ frame.
        All of a sudden she understood.

        We all have shit that controls us.

  2. Reading your words…is like I wrote them. 😦
    The whole experience is so familiar to me. It hurts a lot, I know.
    And I am sorry that you feel the same way.
    BPD does that to you.
    It also turns me into small little girl in the corner, faced against the wall, trembling and crying because no one cares.

    My scars are reminders of the pain inside that couldn’t have been expressed in another way, or when I tried to explain it to someone, they didn’t understand. So, again, the little girl’s conclusion was: no one cares, I’ll take care of myself in the only possible way I know it works for me.
    Physical pain is nothing compared to what I was feeling inside.

    But when it starts hurting physically, the terror stops.
    And that’s all what matters to me at the moment. I don’t give a shit of the consequences , the scars, the blood, the look of the people when they see my arms…

    Yeah, and I do understand your craving for not being attached , to go away, to disappear and have no one who can hurt you around.

    Unfortunately, in real life, that’s impossible to do. At least for me. I am a prisoner in my own body and mind, Sometimes I want that I just vanish into thin air, but I cannot. I must not. And that is good, because I have that thing that obliges me to stay on this Earth.

    Please, find the way to cope with the decision. About not living. It’s on my mind, constantly, but I fight it.

    I feel for you. Be strong as much as you can. ❤

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