My relationship with my family is a lie. I have been betrayed over and over again by them. My parents have betrayed me my whole life. My sisters have betrayed me by refusing to speak to the police. I have so much anger with them that it consumes me. I cannot be betrayed more by them. But still I call them, visit them, talk to them. Still I pretend that everything is alright. I pretend that I don't hate them, that I don't want their world to disintegrate so it resembles mine. But the reality is I want to scream and shout at them. I want to tell them that their selfishness has destroyed the tiny remnant of hope I ever had. Their children have betrayed me by their very existence. Mocking my childlessness and my lack of love.
My relationship with everyone else is a lie. Tomorrow I will go to work. I will put on a face and talk shite to my colleagues. I will do my job, be friendly, chatty and smiley. Inside I will want to die. I will talk nonsense whilst internally trying to think of ways to kill, hurt and destroy myself.
My relationship with the serial killer is a lie. I hate her at the moment. She knows how bad things are but she's fucked off on holiday leaving me with no support. I've texted the cpn asking for an appointment but she can't be arsed with me and hasn't replied. Last appointment with the serial killer I screamed and shouted at her. Told her how I felt. Told her I didn't trust her. She got really pissed off with me for the first time and started bullshitting that I was impugning her professional ethics. I wasn't. I was just trying to tell her how it is to be me. I don't trust the cmht any more. I'm still waiting to the response to my complaint about the psychiatrist. They will more than likely lie and cover up her lies.
I even lie to myself. I pretend I'm ok. I fill my life with things to do so I can attempt to escape the reality of who I am. The rational side of myself forces me to behave in ways I don't want to because it's socially acceptable. But really I don't feel like being socially acceptable. I want to be me. And if being me means destroying everything then that's what I'm going to have to do.
Easter weekend is always extremely triggering. I have no idea why. There is probably some memory hidden in the recesses that I don't want to access. Some awfulness that makes everything unbearable. I think I've attempted suicide twice on an Easter weekend. Last night I wanted to take an overdose. I didn't. I thought and thought about it. I realised I didn't want to die, I just wanted to explain that the real me is coming out.
What happens when the real me takes over? What happens when the straining rational side of me eventually splits? How will people deal with me then? Will I be outcast from my family, my social circle, my work? Will I just give up and not be anymore? The effort involved in hiding the reality is too much. The snake, Notgod and the creatures that torment me are exhausting me. I have run out of bullshit methods of distraction. A bath, a brew and a benzo no longer work.
I could phone the crisis team but what's the fucking point. They've been told that they've got to concentrate on s136s at the exclusion of all else and I imagine with the long bank holiday there will be a lot of them and nothing for me. The crisis team don't give a fuck anyway. They just talk shite on the phone and then tell me they'll fax my cpn who six months later will make an appointment and talk about her horse.
I am so angry, so alone and so betrayed and decompensating and nobody seems to recognise that because I have lied to everybody and pretended that I'm ok because all I know how to do is lie. I have been brought up to think that lies are truth and truth are lies. The 1984 of my life.
The only thing that is giving me comfort is a line from a poem by Wordsworth. I'm not really into poetry and I can't even be arsed googling the whole poem and reading it but this is the reality of who I am:
Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone
Except I'm no longer voyaging, I'm drowning.