One day, my very own mental vacation

Getting ready to go on vacation tomorrow. Yesterday was great, I was full of excitement about leaving.

Today, I came perilously close to harming myself. It started with an unexpected visit from the female half of the friends I used to consider family. She came to take our housemate, who is also their friend but who receives their sympathy and comfort, out to some store.
He didn’t wake up on time, so I sat and talked to her while she waited for him to get ready. Once again the conversation I had with her lead to a later spiral of self-loathing, feeling unloved and unaccepted, and that I was fundamentally unlikeable as a person. That I was just tolerated. That death didn’t seem tragic to me anymore. Just a possibility, one that can free someone from never ending disease.

I ended up going back to bed again, but it didn’t help. I just lay there spiraling deeper and deeper into a pain that I could not see the bottom of. All that I want from others is their comfort and their acceptance of me. I can not feel that from anyone. Maybe I am unable to.

I just ended up scratching myself, just a little. No trace or injury left behind, it just felt good in the moment. I briefly pictured cutting my own throat. It didn’t seem that bad. Normally I safely route this feeling into visualizing a story character doing it. But this time, I imagined myself doing it, with no qualms or hesitation. Of course, I maintained self control. That sort of self control is the only thing I’m good at. I am lucky I have resisted the impulse of self harm for as long as I have.

Today reaffirms my decision I need to step up from a therapist to a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, I’ve come to the conclusion my therapist is not suitable for me. She is like everyone else in the end. Unable to relate to me in any way. The last time I saw her she recommended I do 4-6 weeks of outpatient treatment and seemed (and has seemed) really put off by me.

There’s a big scary type of crazy that runs in my family. My maternal grandmother had it and my maternal uncle has it. Even if I don’t develop it, it’s probably safe to say my neurological wiring is a little more atypical than most. I will never think or behave like most people do. I feel sometimes like I have been forced to the exterior of human society by environment and genetics. It’s cold here on the outside. I don’t get sympathy or comfort because I am weird.

Must be humanity correcting for itself. Any hint of illness and people retract away, an unconscious disease response that removes the healthful affect of positive human interaction from the person in totality. Thus hastening suicide or death. One less genetically unfit person in the gene pool, is nature’s callous response.

I think at this point I need pills. I need pills of some sort, to unfuck my thinking even just a little. I can’t handle these dips into the abyss anymore, they’re turning into full-on dives. And time is wearing on me. In a month or so, I turn 30. 30 is the hot age for the development of the familial disease and I am displaying warning signs.

If I go full-on crazy, if I lose all insight and touch with reality, I want you all to know this. Everyone I loved. Everyone who was kind to me. Thank you for your kindness. I know it was not easy to be friends with me. There were few parts of reality I enjoyed, but you were part of it.

I hope vacation away from this hole, this pit of indecision and powerlessness I call my house will help me. Spending time in the sun, surrounded by trees and true, worthwhile novelty could heal me a little. Just enough to keep going a while longer.


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