I don’t want to feel anything, but I do…

“I want to die.”  The words run through my head again and again.

I know it’s a lie, I know I don’t really want to be dead.  I know what I want is to be alive and to have my life not be such COMPLETE AND UTTER SHIT.

That’s not going to happen right now, though, and since the years of depression and all the other fucked-up-ness leave me with an easy shorthand for “I want life to stop sucking ass, and I want to either be able to fix all of the pain and suffering in the world or stop caring about trying and I know I can’t do either but I don’t know what else to try,” the thoughts come again:

“I want to die.”

But I don’t — I just want to be able to go through one day without huge miscommunications that leave me hurting and vulnerable.  I want to be able to clearly voice how pissed off I am that when I heard “We’ll meet on Thursday and have some fun” what was really meant was “I might maybe possibly be free Thursday, and on the small chance I am, we’ll meet and have fun.”  I want to be able to tell my mom that I need the money she planned to deposit so that I can eat today, I want to be able to tell her when it’s urgent, but to also know that it’s always urgent when someone’s offering me assistance, that every day is a juggling act with pennies and hoping someone decides to take care of me when I can’t.  I want to be honest with her how I budget my money, what I do with my time, the people I see and the things that bring me joy in life — but she’s still talking to her son, and I’m not going to flood her with details of things that to her are morally, fundamentally wrong.

I need a safe place to cry, and I haven’t had that for a long time.  I need someone safe to hold me so that the tears will come out, and I’ve had to go without that for even longer.  I need to be fucked, I need be cuddled, I need pain, all the good kinds of pain that help me make it through the shitty pain that I’m so accustomed to anymore.

I need a safe place to live — emotionally safe, where I don’t feel threatened and I don’t have PTSD triggers flooding in from every side, every hour of the day and night.  I need a quiet place to live, where I don’t have to fight off a sensory overload all the fucking time.  I need to live without men, without masculine-presenting people, without the HURRR HURRR I’M FULL OF TESTOSTERONE AND I LIKE TO SMASH AND YELL AND THAT MAKES ME SO FUCKING AWESOME ALL RIGHT YEAH BITCHES!!!!! I feel threatened by the sounds of men, men’s voices, and I don’t have anywhere I can go to be free of that for even a moment.  I hate this.

I need to have someone who actually gives a FLYING FUCK about anything at all — when my landlord completely forgot that my lease ended at the start of the month, and I finally managed to get in touch with him YESTERDAY, when he was still on vacation.  Said he’d call today, no surprise that he didn’t.  Need to move again, and that scares me.  Scares me on a really deep level because that’s all I’ve fucking DONE for 2 and a half YEARS is move and fail and move in desperation and get fucked over and pack everything again and move and move and move.

And I don’t even want to get started about the people I live with… I’d get even more angry than I am now, and I don’t want to keep hurting like this.

“I just want to fucking curl up and die.”

Curl up, sure. Nice long darkness, definitely. Heavy crushing weight on me, making it hard to breathe, absolutely. Die?  Probably not, but it sure sounds tempting.  Not that I could put the significant effort into the kind of detailed planning it would take to kill myself — if I’m motivated enough to go all Aspie-focused on something, it sure as hell isn’t going to be on researching suicide.  But I don’t want to keep dealing with all this shit.  I don’t want to feel helpless, I don’t want to know that other people are dealing with much worse shit and feel like I’m powerless to help, even though I want to fix everything and I’m having to work hard not to offer more than I can give.

I’m not eating right, when I do eat.  I’m not sleeping enough, or regularly, or very well when I do.  I’m growing tired of trying to explain to people what’s going on, following the same scripts for “How To Open The Eyes Of The Privileged Pricks Who Never Lack In Their Needs” when people suggest over and over the same things that aren’t available or aren’t feasible or sometimes just completely fucking laughably stupid suggestions.  They mean well, which is why it’s really hard not to smash faces in sometimes… they’re just clueless, not intentionally assholes.  If they were trying to be obnoxious, it’d be easier to blow it off.

Sick of it all.

Don’t want to try.

Bored, depressed, apathetic.

Need things, know I can’t have them.

Alone, isolated, lonely.

Yeah, I’m definitely dealing with depression, but as always I have to try to manage until things get a little bit better.  There isn’t much outside support, and anything outside is going to be a long fucking wait.

Maybe tonight’s a good night for Benadryl… at least I’ll sleep.  I’d rather have alcohol than antihistamines, but beggars can’t bitch, right?

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