August 20, 2012

  • Pieces

    It's colossally unfair to expect the one person with crippling anxiety issues to hold it together day after day, while everyone else is falling apart.
    It's extremely unfair to react in nothing but anger towards me.
    I've been working 12hr days 5 days a week. I know this is nothing compared to some people but it's a lot for me. I've been carrying all the financial burdens for months now.
    I didn't lose my finger, I know this.
    I didn't have my gallbladder removed suddenly, I know this.
    I didn't jump off the top railing at a movie theater and (probably) fractured my ankle.

    And yet I'm not allowed to be weak. I have to roll your sleeves, I have to drive an hour and a half to sit with you while your husband goes to play tennis. I have to work extra hours now because I'm not the one who can't walk.

    But I'm more broken than all of you.

    Who was there when I was sick? Nobody.
    Who was there for you when you were sick? Me.

    I'm sorry I'm weak. I'm sorry I've gone so beyond what I can handle that I'm beyond recovery at this point. I'm sorry the stress has been so toxic on my body that my bones ache, my speech is gone, my panic is showing. I'm sorry I can't be happy right now.

    But what do you expect? YOU ALL KNOW I CAN'T HANDLE STUFF LIKE THIS ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

    And yet, where is my help?

    My illness is invisible. My brokenness is dismissed.

    But in the end. I'm not mad at you.
    I hate myself for being a failure. I hate myself for being unable to just keep going when day after day, week after week there is always a new crisis. I tried so hard to be better this time. I tried. Just ask the people here. I tried so hard to hide my problems. I tried. I failed.

    But that's been my life. I'm dashed to pieces against the breakers and it's my fault I can't put it all back together. I'm sorry my illness interferes with yours.
    I try.
    I fail.
    I fucking hate myself.

    And yet, who cares about the truly broken one. Did you wonder what would break first too? My spirit or my body? Is it really a surprise?
    It wasn't your fault you lost your finger.
    It wasn't your fault your gallbladder had to come out.
    It wan't your fault you twisted your ankle.

    But it is my fault when I break.

    It's always my fault when I break.

    "When you can't run, you crawl, and when you can't crawl - when you can't do that...
    You find someone to carry you."

    But let's face it, no one is going to do that. No one wants to carry the crazy person.