Back Too Soon by PinsterWGlasses on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

Always too soon.

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It's been a long time since I wrote anything under my venting artwork. It always felt so alienating to spill my guts to a bunch of random people only to know they probably glance at a giant wall of text and find it too much to read. I understand that feeling, though. It's hard for me to concentrate on anything more than a few moments at a time anymore. I guess I just feel so alone and unwanted, but I know that's my mental illness talking. Even when there are people surrounding me, caring for me, expressing concern or love to me, I still feel alone. I still feel disconnected. I know it's in my head and that I can't run away from it. It's more like as horrible storm I have to weather. It comes and goes as it pleases, but it does leave eventually. I just have to remember that it does leave.

I tried reaching out to some people today, strangers and friends alike. I had a good laugh with one of my closest friends, but I can't expect them to keep me smiling all on their own. They have their own illnesses to fight. I feel like the more a reach out for help, the weaker I become. I keep trying to look for therapy options, but I constantly hear about how expensive they are while also hearing that therapists probably won't have time for me nor will I have an antiquate amount of time with them per month. I'm not rich enough to afford treatment, but my illness keeps me from working a physical job, so what do I do? I partially feel responsible for my illness-- choosing to stay inside, to not get help when I potentially could, etc-- so I don't feel I have the right to ask for financial assistance. I don't even know where or how to begin seeking such a thing, anyway.

I've had a lot of dreams of my parents recently. My father is getting older and sick by the day, his death looming over me as I desperately try to escape. He hurt me so many times in so many ways, all of the scars burn into my memories, attacking me in my dreams often. I don't want to feel the rush of impending guilt for not reaching out to him, but I can't fathom allowing him within ear's reach for fear of him cutting open my old wounds. My mother abandoned me, perhaps not completely, but enough for me to feel chronic loneliness and self-depreciation. She could've fought harder for me, spent less on busying toys and more on time and care for her children, but she didn't. She was as broken and lost as I am right now, I know that. But she chose to have six children, knowing fair well she couldn't take care of them, knowing fair well all of our fathers would be just as mentally abusive and evasive as the last. But she didn't think about us. She could only think of herself.

I don't have many friends anymore. Or at least it feels like I don't. Some days I feel like I can't even handle having a single friend, fearing that I'll have to express the appropriate emotions to them when they themselves are sad. But how do you care for someone when you are just as broken as them? You can't. But I know they are desperate and lost just like me, wishing only for a small moment of the attention and care that I, too, search for in my time of need. I want to be all alone. I don't want to have any friends. I don't want to have any family. I just want there to be nothing. Silence.

All I can do is wait for the storm to pass. But it's hard sometimes.