I am grateful to find some place like this. Right now I am very low, and I have been practicing DBT skills to maintain some measure of cohesion in my daily life, as being affected by my other co-morbid disorders (anxiety, quiet BPD, and dissociative disorder) takes a lot out of me. I have been feeling emotionally and socially isolated since about August of 2015, sometimes overwhelmingly so, especially since the death of my father earlier this month. I struggle with recurring feelings that what I do or say doesn't matter, and these feelings have been, and often are reinforced by daily slights or jibes by my girlfriend, and my family. I fight hard to keep the perspective that I do have value, and what I do or say matters, but its an exhausting slog every day, and on some days, I just don't want to even try. That being said, here I am.
I have always said that I don't have it very bad off, or that other people's lives and stories would put mine to shame. I personally do not own the corner store on human suffering, misery, or depression. Nor, are the players in my story likely to be any more cruel, negligent, emotionally distant, or evil than any one you know. But these are my words and I will share them with you, as flawed as they may be. Thank you for reading and listening.
The passing of my father has affected me very deeply, much more so than I wish or desire to acknowledge to even close friends and family. Part of the reason being was that my father passed away suddenly (from my perspective) from cancer, after my sister had failed to keep me informed that his cancer had metastasized, and the regimen of treatment we had agreed on for him had stopped working. My father and I never had a good relationship, and to add this to the mix of feelings and memories makes things complicated for me to handle to say the least. He was not a good man, nor was he an evil man, but many of the things he had done in my childhood led to the greatest amount of anguish and sadness I experience in my adult life. He let me bleed out to the point of shock because he was too busy to look after me, and five days before that I had drowned and had to be resuscitated because, again he was too busy to look after me. All of this pales in comparison to the loss of my best friend, which he made me feel responsible for (which I still do in some small way, and which will always probably be with me) even though it was his behaviour and actions which led her to make the choices she did which resulted in her death. Not to mention a host of other abuse, neglect and willful disregard heaped on top of that do and did not help matters.
My best friend is perhaps the most important element to this story. When my mother, father, and sister were all too busy to care for me, or did not want to, they looked to hire a babysitter. That babysitter took a shy, scared little boy and drew him out of his shell and showed him that there were people who cared, had time for him, wanted him to smile and play, and weren't too busy for him, and loved him without reservation. She mattered, and she she will always matter to me. My time with her only lasted two years before it was ended by my father's affair with her step mother. I never got to say goodbye to her. And to my shame, after years of my parents fighting over my dad's actions, I blocked the memory of her out. It's taken alot of therapy, and while I can remember alot of things very clearly, I cannot remember what she looked like. I only have the few skant drawings I made for her that I never threw away, and one very special barrel of monkeys as a keepsake of our time together.
This perhaps more than anything else is what tears through me. How do I feel loss for someone who didn't want to know me, when he did so much to bring such loss to my life. Why don't I feel.. anything? All I feel is hollow and I feel angry. I feel rage. And I cannot deal with it.
I have always said that I don't have it very bad off, or that other people's lives and stories would put mine to shame. I personally do not own the corner store on human suffering, misery, or depression. Nor, are the players in my story likely to be any more cruel, negligent, emotionally distant, or evil than any one you know. But these are my words and I will share them with you, as flawed as they may be. Thank you for reading and listening.
The passing of my father has affected me very deeply, much more so than I wish or desire to acknowledge to even close friends and family. Part of the reason being was that my father passed away suddenly (from my perspective) from cancer, after my sister had failed to keep me informed that his cancer had metastasized, and the regimen of treatment we had agreed on for him had stopped working. My father and I never had a good relationship, and to add this to the mix of feelings and memories makes things complicated for me to handle to say the least. He was not a good man, nor was he an evil man, but many of the things he had done in my childhood led to the greatest amount of anguish and sadness I experience in my adult life. He let me bleed out to the point of shock because he was too busy to look after me, and five days before that I had drowned and had to be resuscitated because, again he was too busy to look after me. All of this pales in comparison to the loss of my best friend, which he made me feel responsible for (which I still do in some small way, and which will always probably be with me) even though it was his behaviour and actions which led her to make the choices she did which resulted in her death. Not to mention a host of other abuse, neglect and willful disregard heaped on top of that do and did not help matters.
My best friend is perhaps the most important element to this story. When my mother, father, and sister were all too busy to care for me, or did not want to, they looked to hire a babysitter. That babysitter took a shy, scared little boy and drew him out of his shell and showed him that there were people who cared, had time for him, wanted him to smile and play, and weren't too busy for him, and loved him without reservation. She mattered, and she she will always matter to me. My time with her only lasted two years before it was ended by my father's affair with her step mother. I never got to say goodbye to her. And to my shame, after years of my parents fighting over my dad's actions, I blocked the memory of her out. It's taken alot of therapy, and while I can remember alot of things very clearly, I cannot remember what she looked like. I only have the few skant drawings I made for her that I never threw away, and one very special barrel of monkeys as a keepsake of our time together.
This perhaps more than anything else is what tears through me. How do I feel loss for someone who didn't want to know me, when he did so much to bring such loss to my life. Why don't I feel.. anything? All I feel is hollow and I feel angry. I feel rage. And I cannot deal with it.