Distraction or Destruction: What’s with grumpy ‘today-Molly’?

Oh, I just don’t know what to do.

Another day of darkness, sadness, tears, hopelessness, self-hatred, confusion, loss, pain and despair. I’m told that I have to distract myself (as I snottily sob at those advising me that I’m trying my hardest) but just for how long can one continue trying to distract themself with no hope or change? Is that not what I’ve done to ill-effect for the past 10 years? Is that not why I am now so burned out as to be useless, helpless and hopeless? Do those telling me this not realise just how much energy, strength, bravery and motivation it takes to try to ‘distract’ yourself when you are so chronically and severely unwell with an illness that saps your energy, strength, bravery, motivation, and (in fact) all that is you, all that is positive, all that is hopeful? The ‘Molly’ that is more often here knows that that was said with the best intentions, and that she has valued that kind of encouragement previously; that ‘Molly’ can see that I’m being irrational today. But the ‘today-Molly’ feels it as severe criticism, reading into the words, the tone of voice, the accompanying comments to overanalyse and fuel those highly self-critical views that ‘Molly’ in general has of herself: that she is lazy, that this is her fault, that she’s wasting valuable resources and professionals’ time, that she’ll never get better (and that’s her own fault, too), that everyone would be better off if she were dead. The ‘today-Molly’ is feeling disappointed and frustrated with a range of people who she would never usually begin to entertain these emotions with (in fact, she never usually would allow herself to feel these emotions of anyone – negativity and blame are only ever directed at herself); this scares the little bit of the ‘everyday-Molly’ that is clinging on. This feels like the beginning of the end.

Ironically, I’ve been more successful than usual in ‘distracting’ myself today – managing half an hour of painting and 15 minutes on my xbox – but now I’m here, once again, pondering my seemingly inescapable destruction. Wondering how 45 minutes of intense effort distracting myself can ever compensate and heal the other 23.25 hours of pain each and every day. Wondering how this pain can ever end.

Distraction or destruction?

Distraction and destruction?

Distraction then destruction?

I fear that I’m beyond all help and sympathy.

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