Neena's Homework

 

Is my victimhood a comfort response? 

I’m having a great deal of difficulty with this concept; victimhood. 

Definition:the condition of having been hurt, damaged, or made to suffer, especially when you want people to feel sorry for you because of this or use it as an excuse for something

I have barely, in my life, begun to accept that my brain doesn’t work the same as most people’s and now I have to potentially ignore my diagnoses and just pretend like I'm neuro-typical again. I told myself that lie for years while I was lying to others. My BPD tells me that I deserve to be left by others, especially when I care about and trust them. My anxiety tells me I don’t deserve to be happy. My depression tells me I don’t deserve to live. 

And if it’s a comfort response then I don’t deserve to be on disability because I could work, despite barely being able to function most days.

Do I not want to accept my responsibility to myself and others? 

I accepted my responsibility when I was 15 years old and I had to start working full time so I would have clothes on my back, while my mother was having panic attacks in the local grocery store. I accepted my responsibility when I began to care for my mom when she stopped cooking and cleaning for herself. 

The premise of the question implies that my worst fear is true; that I am a leech on society and on my friends. I am a burden to those I care about and the world would be better off with me either getting off my ass or killing myself. This feels an awful lot like those people who told me to suck it up and just get on with my life.

“Get busy living or get busy dying”

I’m desperately trying to find reasons to keep trying and my counselor is basically telling me two things: I am my own worst enemy, which I already knew, and I don’t do enough to deserve to live.

So I write, trying to figure out which is true while attempting to put my thoughts and feelings into words that make sense to myself and, hopefully, others. But is expressing my thoughts to others simply another version of victimhood and am I unworthy of having my thoughts and feelings validated? Do I want to be understood or pitied?

What I asked Neena to do was help me understand why I don’t feel like I deserve to be happy and she basically implied that I’m a failure and none of it is due to my illnesses. To say that her response seems to be unhelpful is an enormous understatement.

She wants me to identify a concrete goal for me. I feel like I gave her one and she told me I was wrong and that feeling like I deserve to be better is the path, not the goal.

Why am I getting in my own way?

Another implication that my illnesses are my fault. I keep comparing what Neena has said to me as if she had said it to a cancer patient and I’m pretty sure she comes off looking like an ass in the process. I admit that my thoughts and emotions are what is holding me back but I’ve always been told that they are uncontrollable. I can challenge them. I can ignore them. But how the fuck do I change or silence them. 

I’m sitting in Starbucks in a Rick Rypien jersey because it comforts me, a reminder that even from the depths of the worst life can deal us, good can come. Wanting it gave me hope for years. Owning it gives me strength to get through the day. Wearing it makes me feel like I belong in the world. Sitting here, with my headphones in as I type with a movie playing doesn’t mean that I want sympathy or pity from others. It means that I am more comfortable with the sounds of a coffee shop in the background when I want to write rather than the silence of a home or even my friend’s basement. 

What am I afraid of? 

I am afraid of almost everything. I am afraid to live. I’m afraid to fail. I’m afraid to love and care, especially for myself. I’m afraid of others' words and actions towards me. I’m afraid of judgment. I’m afraid of smelling bad on the bus. I’m afraid of suffering a stroke and becoming even more dependent on others. I’m afraid of getting up and getting a refill on my coffee for fear that the redhead across the Starbucks will see me and judge me for my size. 

But I’m not afraid of death. 

Death and nothingness feels like a release from everything this world has cursed me with. That’s what I crave. I crave not feeling anymore. That’s what I felt while I was gambling. I felt nothing, whether I won or lost it didn’t matter. I could feel nothing and I loved it. It’s why I drank when I was using alcohol to self medicate and why I still crave it all too often, both the alcohol and the gambling. 

I am reminded of when I ended up in CRESST. The night before, I had a panic attack but as I lay in bed, with my heart pounding and unable to breathe, I couldn’t rule out a heart attack. It was then that I realized I didn't care if I lived through the night. I wasn’t any better than I was four years earlier when I planned to take my life, I just hadn’t made any effort to do it. That’s how I feel these days and I find myself only surviving, and not living. 

I tried to tell this to Neena, to explain it to her but she dismissed what I was telling her. She told me I was doing more than simply surviving because I was shaving my beard and dressing and showering every couple of days. She doesn’t get it and I’m doubting now that she ever will based on what she’s asking of me. I told her I wanted to make my life mean something by helping others but she doesn’t understand that either. I just want to mean something to someone and if it isn’t me I want it to be someone else and I don’t understand why that’s so hard for her to comprehend.