The one people want me to lead, and assume is me all the time, is fairly simple and straight forward. I like that. I'm a number of things: a daughter, a niece, a best friend, a girlfiend, a student, a carer for disabled children, a mentor and a teaching assistant. Every single person who I know, in whatever role I'm in, all seem to think that I'm happy, calm, collected etc. That's quite funny, in the sense that I'm anything but those things. I wish it was that simple, but I feel like I'm battling a demon which is making being those things close to impossible.
I get up in the morning after fighting with those inner voices, which are telling me to give up, to not get out of bed, because I'm worthless and staying in bed would be better for everyone. Sometimes they win and I listen: I don't get out of bed and I tell my tutor at school that I have a migraine. Nothing more is said on the matter. Why would it be? I've hidden how I felt.
School, as a rule, tends to be something I do on autopilot; after 14 years of education that is probably to be expected. I smile when necessary and pretend that I'm happy and answer "I'm okay" simply because I don't know how to answer otherwise. I don't like being there, but not being there fills me with dread because I know once it's over I'm going to have 3 months of sitting at home with nothing to fill my day, feeling pretty rubbish after surgery.
Work is something which requires a bit more thought and concentration, but because of that, I often find it's one of the times I feel safest: those few hours every week when I'm supervising 20 teenagers with mild disabilities. I don't want to cut myself. I don't want to hurt myself in any way. I'm looking after other people and ensuring that they are safe and in doing so, I don't for one moment need to think or have time to think abut myself. It's one of those rare moments when there isn't a little bit of me wanting to cry out how awful and scared I feel. I should probably state that a child has never been put in any danger under my care. Hurting myself is one thing, but I would never hurt another person, especially through a work capacity.
I don't know how to explain the "secret" side of me. This is the part of me which seem intent to destroying myself, through physical hurt or going over memories which are too painful to drag up. This is the part of me which wants to do and believe everything that the voices say. This is the part of me which finds it hilarious that I offer support and care for other people, because I am incapable for doing that for myself. This is the part of me which makes me angry and not want to see or talk to anyone for days.This is the part of me that torments me when I consider really, honestly, telling someone how I feel. This is the part of me which makes me freeze when I see my GP, so all I can admit to is cutting myself, but never more than that. This is the part of me which made me burn the letter I wrote to me GP trying to explain how I felt.
I hate myself for who I have become. I hate myself for letting it happen. But most of all I'm scared, because I can't trust myself. And sometimes, I really want to just do what the voices say.
No comments:
Post a Comment