It wasn’t the Monsters

listen to me

as i tell thee

a story

of how

it came to be

the monsters

in my head

weren’t always there see?

they were planted

and grown

in the garden

i sowed

and i blame myself

for the mess im in

and i blame myself

not the monsters that infest

its my fault 

my head is such a mess

 

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Sleep feels amazing

Waking up for the 4th time today. I set an alarm after posting earlier to sleep for another hour. Then I woke up and wanted more sleep so I set another alarm for 2 more hours. But then sleep felt so good so I didn’t set another alarm. Went back to sleep until my boyfriend called me. He was worried because I didn’t text him back. I’m glad he woke me up. But I wish he was here. He usually gets Tuesdays and Wednesdays off but he’s covering for someone today. I hope we still get to have our date night tomorrow.

I finally went to therapy yesterday. It helped a lot. Just being there and setting a schedule to keep coming in gives me hope. I’m going to join a group therapy every week to help manage my depression without medication. Then I’ll come back to see her the 19th of July. We talked about my rape but only for a little bit. I couldn’t do it so soon. But she wants me to think about what I want to get out of talking about it. That’s something I thought I would never have to think about.

That’s something I thought I would never have to think about. That’s a question I didn’t even know exist. I thought everyone went to therapy to talk about trauma so they can stop the nightmares and go back to their normal life. But perhaps there is another reason I want to talk about my rape? Like some kind of closure? Maybe I want to know why he did it?

I don’t really know. But that’s why I’m going to think about it. I have a whole month to figure it out.

What’s happening to me?

In a burst of frustration and rage, I threw a stool. My mom woke me up and I was just falling asleep. She doesn’t understand that I haven’t been sleeping well because of my anxiety flairs at night when I’m trying to fall asleep. I wanted to tell her that but she was moving too fast and reminding me of all the shit I have to do. Like I don’t know. Like I wasn’t up all night worrying about all that shit. I probably shouldn’t think too much about why I threw it. I can’t help but realize that it’s out of character for me. I’m always frustrated when someone wakes me up. But I’ve never been this angry before.

It reminds me of those times when I was in high school. I would bring home a bad report card and they would scold me. I would get so angry and frustrated because they don’t know and I didn’t know how to tell them just how stressful school was for me. I would start backing away but they kept pressing me they kept yelling at me. I remember one time, in particular, I got so frustrated I almost broke. My parents backed me into a corner, literally and figuratively, and I started screaming and pulling my hair out. I couldn’t control myself I was so scared. I don’t remember how my parents reacted or what happened after that.

My worst fear is to have a psychotic breakdown and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life in an institute. I’ve always been scared of losing control and I feel like I’m losing control. I don’t know what to do.

Trying to explain how I feel

There are stacks of antique TVs with old 80’s and 90’s smash hits music videos playing in my head. But they’re distorted, chopped and screwed. I like it better that way. It makes me feel something. Something is better than the nothing I’ve been feeling all these years. I start reminiscing about the “good old days.” But then I realize they weren’t so good were they? They’re actually filled with endless mistakes and regrets and missed opportunities. And the songs I held so dearly now possess a different meaning. They no longer remind me of the good old days. They remind me of all the things I wish I could have said. Things I could have done instead. And I  have this overwhelming urge to go back and fix my life. But then I realize it’s all in vain. I already know how things will end. And I can’t change that. So I disassociate. And pretend that I don’t feel anything. Feeling nothing is better than feeling this.