Breathing

There are times when I don't even want to breathe. I want to sink into myself and make the world go away. I don't want to hurt and I don't want to be hurt.

I don't want to wonder what other people are thinking any more either. I don't want to be near them and know how they are feeling but not be sure to whom it is directed. I can feel the emotions and I can even get the gist of their thoughts. I don't want to do it any more. I think I will never look anyone in the eye again.

Do flashbacks ever truly go away? They get so bad. Everything disappears and the scene takes over my sight, my hearing, my breathing, every aspect of my being for the duration of it. Then I think I will never have a conscious moment without his face behind my eyes again. It has eased of a little. I'm okay until someone starts mentioning having a choice or making a choice or forcing a choice or anything about choice.

Why does everything that hurts lead back to that one stupid word? CHOICE. I think I'm going to go vomit now.

What is with this total dichotomy in my head? How can one moment I be thinking about how I'm going to get to some generic point in the future and the next I am drowning in my own feelings? One moment I am trying to reassure my husband that I will never do anything "stupid" again and the next forcing myself to walk through the kitchen and not stop in it. How do I promise him that I'm fine and don't want to talk and the next moment wonder how he can NOT know what is going on? How can I sit in front of him, pretending not to be seeing a totally different scene while feeling like I'm going to die? How can I sit in a room full of people and feel so alone and sit by myself in a room and feel crowded out by people that aren't there?

I like my shrink. I trust him. He's the only shrink I have ever trusted. But I completely feel like I don't exist except for 45 minutes once a week. Until he reviews my chart when we sit down, I don't exist and the moment I stand to leave, I cease to exist again. I was freaking out last week. After Wednesday morning, those stupid flashbacks started. I tried to cope to make them go away and they wouldn't. I called his office and let a voicemail for him to please help me figure out what to do. I heard nothing.

I know that I cannot call him if I am in crisis. I don't actually know who to call if I go into crisis. I can't tell Craig - he knows nothing about me. He wouldn't know how to talk me down if it were printed on cue cards in ten foot letters. The only people that I trust, aren't people I can't call in crisis.

Then there is the fact that when I get into TRUE crisis - when I am pushed all the way to the edge - I don't want help. I want out. If I am to the point where I'm about to check out and let the darkness take over, I don't see why I would call for help when I don't WANT help. Why do people call a suicide hot-line to get talked out of it if that's what they really want? Maybe I just think that way because I don't have anyone that I could call, would call if I got that way.

I am no one. I never will be something or someone. It is my job, my lot, to be no one. There has be 999 people for that 1 in a 1000 to make a difference. I watch television shows about people who are unique and cool and have special abilities. And I read books about people who make a difference and are stand-out, stand-up, 1 in a 1000 people. And I know that I will never be one. I have never have. I never will be. And while a large part of me is greatly relieved at that, a small part of me wishes that I was special. Someone important. Someone that is 1 in a 1000. And I'm not. Never will be. Invisible me says that's a good thing.

It is now a quarter til 2 in the morning. The baby will be here by 7:15. I will have nightmares all night long. Why am I up? Why? Because I'm a night person. And now I am being pushed into being an early morning person. And it occurred to me that I will be stuck in this role for another 17 or 18 years. Please, someone shoot me. I'm not kidding. I hate mornings.

Okay, off to bed...

"All I can do is keep breathing..." (Ingrid Michaelson, "Keep Breathing")