Oh how I desperately hope that soon I’ll wake up and find that this is all a dream.
My brain isn’t broken. I’m not tortured by horrific thoughts and feelings. I’m not plagued by the certainty that I need to punish myself and/or die for the good of everyone. I’m not tortured by any contact with other humans (friends, family, professionals), fearing that I’ll do something wrong, ‘lose’ them, will have my trust abused, will be treated badly in ways that reinforces my fears (as has happened before). I’m not wracked with pain and fear, in every waking moment – even seeping into my sleep as nightmares and night terrors. I don’t have to isolate myself, too scared of doing anything, existing only in a bubble of overwhelming emotional pain and physical pain caused by myself as punishment. I don’t have to rationalise and plan suicide daily, weighing up the pros and cons, the effect it would have on everyone around me. I don’t have to plough on in pain for fear of my death hurting others, fighting with the pain of knowing that my continued existence also hurts others, too. I don’t have to exist in this tortuous turmoil. I don’t have to face the prospect that all there is of me is this illness, dysfunction, disorder, hopeless, pitiful, pathetic, weak pile of sludge.
Simply existing isn’t torture.
If only this was a dream.