exiled
i gave so many signs
- Jun 17, 2023
- 294
Hey everyone,
I am really struggling today. Of course, with all of my normal stuff but with something in particular. I'm noticing the lack of compassion people have for suffering people. While I don't have high expectations from the average population, I did have hope that the mental health system in my country (US) would have a higher level of sympathy. But they don't. So many organizations and professionals have turned me away because my situation is way out of their scope. I feel like I am just being passed around because no one wants to touch the story of a sex-trafficked girl who's battled cancer and a liver disease that is coming to the point of needing a transplant. No one wants to deal with the girl that has severe Stockholm syndrome who actively chooses to live with her abusive family of 27 years because she just cannot seem to motivate herself to put herself first. And the girl that, as a result of all of this trauma, has developed severe BPD that causes her to feel everything so intensely that it ruins her relationships.
I feel like I am a lost cause, with my piece of evidence being the mental health community. I have tried every medication under the sun, I have tried TMS (magnetic stimulation of the brain to try and shock the depression away), I even attempted to bravely escape my situation and get my own apartment but I am failing miserably at this "living on my own" thing.
My family never gave me a chance; I was not raised I was kept captive. For years. The real world feels way too harsh for me; I am too soft and too sensitive and way to painfully aware of all that is wrong in this world.
I am starting to go back down a really scary path. In the past, I have had episodes that have lasted months in which I could not leave my house. Not even my house, but my room. Like, going to the bathroom or brushing my teeth even caused me the highest level of screaming panic. I had to request a leave of absence from work, I had to have my mom stand outside the shower door with me and repeatedly dry the bathroom floor because I would get water everywhere from running in and out of the shower due to panic. I needed breaks every 30 seconds. I'd lather up, run out of the shower and take a break in my room, and then go wash it off. I mean, it was a miserable existence and I've had episodes like this in 2016, 2019, and 2022. I am back to work now, however, my liver is in shambles. I was born with a liver disease that I survived despite its incredibly low survival rate. But at 27 it is catching up to me. I am dealing with a cancer in my thyroid. I am actively living with the people who have raped me, choked me, locked me in a room for days at at time, and have held knives to my throat as a threat for trying to escape. People have no compassion for the victim that chooses to stay. Everyone says "just leave" but they leave me before I can even explain why it is so hard.
I used to have so many friends but all of them are so horribly mad at me because I have chosen to not stay at my apartment. They were so proud of this accomplishment, as they never thought they'd see me do it. But instead of praises, I continue to receive criticism that I am failing to be perfect. Yes, they offer to help me and I have friends who would go above and beyond to make my space comfortable for me. Which is why I feel guilty. I don't lack resources per say, I just feel the lack of patience in the people around me. Or perhaps they have been entirely too patient and I actually am the problem here.
I'm willing to admit and accept that I am the problem. But, do I still deserve this hell that everyone is giving me, even if I am in the wrong here?
Sorry, this post seems to not have a concluding point. Nor does it really make much sense, but I just needed a place to free write what's going on in my head. The struggle is so excruciatingly painful that ever millisecond feels like I am just holding my breath, gasping for air through a straw. But like, one of those paper straws that disintegrates. I'm drowning. Choking. Desperate for air. The sad thing is is that I don't actually want to CTB. Hope is what is killing me. Positivity is what is killing me. The desire to rise above and become the miracle no one saw coming is truly what is putting me in this awful pain. Perhaps I need to accept the universe's invite to CTB. Why am I so foolish?
I am really struggling today. Of course, with all of my normal stuff but with something in particular. I'm noticing the lack of compassion people have for suffering people. While I don't have high expectations from the average population, I did have hope that the mental health system in my country (US) would have a higher level of sympathy. But they don't. So many organizations and professionals have turned me away because my situation is way out of their scope. I feel like I am just being passed around because no one wants to touch the story of a sex-trafficked girl who's battled cancer and a liver disease that is coming to the point of needing a transplant. No one wants to deal with the girl that has severe Stockholm syndrome who actively chooses to live with her abusive family of 27 years because she just cannot seem to motivate herself to put herself first. And the girl that, as a result of all of this trauma, has developed severe BPD that causes her to feel everything so intensely that it ruins her relationships.
I feel like I am a lost cause, with my piece of evidence being the mental health community. I have tried every medication under the sun, I have tried TMS (magnetic stimulation of the brain to try and shock the depression away), I even attempted to bravely escape my situation and get my own apartment but I am failing miserably at this "living on my own" thing.
My family never gave me a chance; I was not raised I was kept captive. For years. The real world feels way too harsh for me; I am too soft and too sensitive and way to painfully aware of all that is wrong in this world.
I am starting to go back down a really scary path. In the past, I have had episodes that have lasted months in which I could not leave my house. Not even my house, but my room. Like, going to the bathroom or brushing my teeth even caused me the highest level of screaming panic. I had to request a leave of absence from work, I had to have my mom stand outside the shower door with me and repeatedly dry the bathroom floor because I would get water everywhere from running in and out of the shower due to panic. I needed breaks every 30 seconds. I'd lather up, run out of the shower and take a break in my room, and then go wash it off. I mean, it was a miserable existence and I've had episodes like this in 2016, 2019, and 2022. I am back to work now, however, my liver is in shambles. I was born with a liver disease that I survived despite its incredibly low survival rate. But at 27 it is catching up to me. I am dealing with a cancer in my thyroid. I am actively living with the people who have raped me, choked me, locked me in a room for days at at time, and have held knives to my throat as a threat for trying to escape. People have no compassion for the victim that chooses to stay. Everyone says "just leave" but they leave me before I can even explain why it is so hard.
I used to have so many friends but all of them are so horribly mad at me because I have chosen to not stay at my apartment. They were so proud of this accomplishment, as they never thought they'd see me do it. But instead of praises, I continue to receive criticism that I am failing to be perfect. Yes, they offer to help me and I have friends who would go above and beyond to make my space comfortable for me. Which is why I feel guilty. I don't lack resources per say, I just feel the lack of patience in the people around me. Or perhaps they have been entirely too patient and I actually am the problem here.
I'm willing to admit and accept that I am the problem. But, do I still deserve this hell that everyone is giving me, even if I am in the wrong here?
Sorry, this post seems to not have a concluding point. Nor does it really make much sense, but I just needed a place to free write what's going on in my head. The struggle is so excruciatingly painful that ever millisecond feels like I am just holding my breath, gasping for air through a straw. But like, one of those paper straws that disintegrates. I'm drowning. Choking. Desperate for air. The sad thing is is that I don't actually want to CTB. Hope is what is killing me. Positivity is what is killing me. The desire to rise above and become the miracle no one saw coming is truly what is putting me in this awful pain. Perhaps I need to accept the universe's invite to CTB. Why am I so foolish?
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