Let's Get Real

You’re on an airplane and the oxygen masks fall down from the cabin ceiling. At the beginning of the flight they tell you to put on your mask before assisting those around you, yet you still reach for the mask of the person next to you, whether that be a small child, injured man, elderly woman, parent, or friend. But what happens? Who is reaching to put your oxygen mask on for you? No one. You’re there suffocating. You can’t help anyone around you if you can’t breathe. Put your own mask on first. Breathe your own air before you help others. What good can you do if you can’t breathe?

Therapy yesterday was good. Much better than last week. I felt like we didn’t talk about much, but we made a lot of progress. First we started talking about my stress and anxiety about classes and finals. Then we talked about my fear of talking in class because I don’t feel like I can form my thoughts or have smart ideas quick enough. This eventually transformed to how I willingly listen to other people’s problems, but don’t share my own. Then we talked about how I always just keep it all in. And that became how we haven’t really talked about the sexual assault that much except in vague terms. So she asked if I could share some of that. I didn’t really say much but I told her it’s really hard for me to get used to talking to people and being comfortable because I just don’t want to be a burden on their lives. Then she said maybe that’s because I’m not used to thinking about or taking care of myself. yup. I think that actually is it. After we tried brainstorming ways to keep myself in a positive place and able to reflect on my feelings. So I said I would journal (blog). I mean it was a pretty good session.

But the sad thing is that just a day after my appointment I feel like those depressed feelings are coming back and I really don’t have the motivation to fight them off. I feel like those marks on my skin and those sleepless nights and the low mood will slowly trickle back into my life over the next 1-2 months. And part of me wants to scream it out to everyone I know… but I don’t. And I won’t.

So fucking blessed to have friends that try helping me when I mess up. I don’t care if they are successful in their attempts, but just that they try helping means so much to me. Here comes the cliche: It really isn’t the quantity of friends. It’s the quality.

 I feel like I’m not like some of my friends. Many of them openly talk about their problems and I think it’s great, but I just can’t do that. I feel like a burden, and I see how it stresses them out when multiple people are having issues at the same time. I can’t stand thinking of myself as another burden on the back, so I’ve really considered going to the counseling center. But then I also feel inadequate to go there because I honestly don’t know what is bothering me. Is it the assault still? or not talking to my parents about it like I planned? or just being an anxious person? or self harming? or what? And I guess not being able to figure out how I feel and feeling blank are another reason I should go. I don’t know. It’s just frustrating.

It’s nice when people help you when you’re really down. I guess people care about me. 

I think I’m gonna talk with my dance teacher about my anxiety/panic issues. I just don’t want her to think that I’m not interested in what she’s teaching in class. Sometimes I just can’t help it. I really want to pay attention, but sometimes I just panic when I have to sit in one place for a long period of time and can’t focus because I’m thinking of how bad I want to leave the room. Sigh. Well I trust her so it shouldn’t be an issue, but now I’m kinda nervous for when this meeting happens.

So much anxiety today. It’s kinda ridiculous. I couldn’t even say anything in class because I was so overwhelmed. I struggled just to focus. I don’t think this is normal anxiety. Help… 

Is a week of feeling completely at peace with yourself and your life enough to say you’re healed and don’t need help? This feels like a long time to me. But is being where it happened giving me the bliss of physical survival or an ability to distract my mind through other means?

After I told you, I wanted to hurt myself for the first time in about 2-3 weeks. And I gave in. I told myself no, but before I knew it, my nails already dug into my arm and pulled down. I listened to the quiet sound of flesh ripping. I was doing okay for those few weeks. I could control myself. And I think your reaction hurt me. I know you didn’t mean to. Why would a friend intentionally hurt another? But I think your response made me feel like a freak who doesn’t really matter in your life. Like my pain didn’t affect you one bit.

“It’s not my life that’s messed up. My life is fine.”

“Are you doing it for attention?”

“I would stop being your friend. (Then I told him that would probably make me worse) I wouldn’t care what happened to you anymore. We wouldn’t be friends.”

He has encouraged me to get help and go to therapy, but can his words of “just go to therapy”, “you need to get better”, and “just talk to your parents and yell louder if they don’t listen” really make up for those few phrases and disappointed look that are etched in my mind, almost as clear as the memory of hurt that caused this? And this one conversation slowly encourages me to take away your title of best friend.

What is the sign of a true best friend? Is someone a best friend if they listen to your problems? Are they still a friend if they tell you you’re depressed and that if you hurt yourself again they will stop being friends with you and won’t care what happens to you after? Or maybe that was an in the moment, confused response after you told them you don’t sleep at night, don’t get yourself help, and previously hurt yourself? But are they still considered a best friend after saying something like that, even though it makes you consider hurting yourself for having someone respond to your shame like that? Maybe they’re just telling you how it is. But then again, is it right for you to justify this person’s words or should you take them at face value?

You know you care about them, but maybe they aren’t the best person to have in your life at the moment. Or are they? Do they really care about you as much as you do them? Are they fighting for you to get the help you need more than you do? I wish someone could help me figure this out. What is a best friend?

I didn’t want you in my bed. I don’t want you in my mind. And in both instances, past and present, I can’t get you to leave me alone. Why did you do this to me?

I like that my friend wants to help me. He has probably been the most supportive and helpful when I have bad days. And I don’t know why, but it just excites me that he is willing and wanting to help me though this. I have no clue why. Probably because I don’t feel like anyone else really wants to or tries to talk to me about it besides one other person. I’ve just been feeling a little unloved. I need this.

On a completely separate note, I went to the pet store with my friends and an old guy literally barked at us in a small dog bark. wtf.

Acknowledging you have a problem is difficult but also easy; Difficult because we don’t want to have something wrong, but easy since it is easier than asking for help. But even when you tell yourself you have a problem, it’s not enough or the same as getting that outside help. Voicing your issue to someone else is challenging, but that’s the only way you can get better. Just do it. You will be okay.

I wish I never made the first scratch on my arm. I never understood how someone could find harming one’s self so addicting, but I think I’m starting to get it now. And I hate myself for thinking I could control myself and that I thought scratching would look better and easier to cover up than cuts. I’ve only done it a few times, and part of me hates how bad it looks on my arms and that I’ve resorted to this, but then there is something about it that is also so appealing. But the biggest thing I fear about it is if (or when) my family and friends notice the marks because they are pretty noticeable to me. Need to find some alternative before I get addicted and ruin my arms.