As you've noticed, I've been entering stories from some of the notebooks that I've written in. I'm calling this one part 1 because there could be more. I almost want to say, "unfortunately", I've found some from when I would write about myself, but I'm a "new me" and I can look back at this and see just how far I've come. I'm not sure when exactly I wrote this, but I can remember times that I'd just grab the nearest notebook and let the pen take over. I feel a bit sad for the "old me", but I'm so happy that I'm coming around!
Here goes:
It has to be a mental illness that I have. I need help, but I don't know where to get it. Our "quack", Dr. Durako doesn't seem to do much but at the same time I can't put all of the blame on him. I need meds, he gives me meds. I DON'T take the meds. I don't want to. The shame and embarrassment are holding me back.
I can't think straight, I have a hard time concentrating. I feel sometimes that the world is out to get me. I can't have total happiness, just partial happiness.
I am shaking inside, my palms are sweaty. I feel like I have a fever. My heart is broken, almost shattered.
too
What the h*ll happened to my life?? How can I possibly repair it? I don't want pills, I don't see how a pill could have such powers?
I am nothing, always have been and always will be. I do nothing. I say nothing. I sit back and let it all take over me. Why can't I be stronger?
I've done so much wrong that I can't make right. I can't change the past and I'm too stupid to try and change to better my future.
I have no friends.
I have no job.
I have no support at home.
I don't want pity. I want to feel important. I want to be happy with who I am, but I can't. Happiness is not allowed. I don't know how to be happy. I've screwed up so many things. How can I or why should I be happy when my own husband is tired of me? Why do I just sit here and wait for him to say we're done? Why can't I stand up to him and show him that what I do is not worthless? Why does he make me so afraid? I can't talk to him and if there's no communication, what's the point? I think he needs help too, but I couldn't tell him that. I don't know how to say it, or God forbid, it should come out of my mouth wrong. He might think I was trying to correct his faults. We all have faults, but his mind is telling him that the ones who love him most are the ones that are out to get him.
I don't feel at all like a woman. I don't look the part, either. I am fat and so unappealing. I can do something about it, but I don't. I like food too much, and bad foods at that. At my pity party I will tell everyone ho I wear hand-me-down bras. No, bras don't make you a woman, but I'd feel a little better having "my own". I don't even know how to shop for them. I don't know my size, but I know that it's something between a "Chrissy" and a "Linda". Oh, and if I talk to Dennis about this, he will get mad. He'd ask me, in a not-so-nice way, "Why don't you go and buy some then?" Like we have all kinds of money to go and do this. I feel a lot of guilt when I buy something for myself. I'm not the only one with needs in this house, and I certainly don't deserve, either.
I'm misunderstood.
It's all my fault.
I'm a disgrace.
I don't fit in.
I am fat.
I am ugly.
I can't let go.
I need a haircut.
I need a life.
I need strength.
I need people to see through my eyes what I see and to hear it how I do.
I need relief.
I need sleep.
I need to feel loved and appreciated.
I need to let go.
I need this to stop.
I need a bigger plate.
I feel trapped.
I feel fear.
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