Intruder at the Market
Death by self-flagellation has always been one of my subconscious' fascinations and drives.
I just cannot find it within myself to perceive myself of any worth, beyond more than a moment.
IHaving vanquished all drugs which held power over me, besides nicotine just makes me a bit sad I don't get to use them anymore. Maybe a little emotional pat-on-the-back, but.. It's little more than those occasions you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile for one like me.
I find myself constantly feeling like a stranger in my own land, to all I meet, to all I know. Not that I don't know them: but that I don't know their thoughts. Are they an enemy? Are they a friend? Will what I've just said make them hate me, make them so furious that they discard everything? What am I going to do?
I love my friends, so-so-so much. I am grateful they are in my life.
Schema (as far as my rudimentary knowledge of them goes from psychology lessons) are behavioural scripts. When a person in a growing stage psychologically is affected in a particular way, this behavioural script can go way off or change dramatically (like that cruel experiment where they shock the dog and call it 'learned helplessness').
My issue is that I probably possess a lot of these maladaptive schema, though I'm getting around to the age where I've rectified my worst behaviours long ago, and I have the insight to realise when I'm doing fallacious things.
But some issues will probably stick with me forever. A droopy sunflower that grows in a strange way one particular summer won't do too well in the other summers. And in most cases, little can be done.
To reduce the symptoms crudely and without more elegant metaphors, I am essentially self-hating. Low self esteem means I feel like I'm always so far below everyone else. Consequently, a pushover, so it's easy to get people to pressure me into things, often without any pressure. But I think I'm getting better at that to some degree.
My health issues haven't gone away (potential of seizures recurring, micro-seizures concealed and unrelated to any of my traditional remedies, depression/anxiety/agoraphobia -- the doctors like to use any combination of the three, my CPTSD). But I'm still being (at least for now), pushed into the potential of a college course. I can't do this shit, and I'm not trying to just whine and be lazy. All the while I have to wait for an epoch to end before I can see anyone for help.
I still feel like I'm an evil fake, like I'm just some trash that needs to be thrown away. I still cry at the drop of a hat.
I still want to die by the time I hit 30 if I don't get to reach the goals that I want. I don't think I ask for a lot. Just to be happy and for everything to be okay. I don't think if I die it should be painful. I don't think that's fair. But none that has been done to me was ever fair -- and each linger in the seas ahead of me like mines.
To be liked is nice. To be wanted is nice. I feel that a lot more often these days. So I shouldn't catastrophise quite too much.
My breaths feel shallow all the time these days. Life, in many ways, can feel shallow itself.
I saw what looked like an angel between the words and lines while writing this text in the particular way I do in the source editor. That or a Google Map of a city. Kind of interesting either way ^^
I'm sorry I didn't write in my usual type of writing. I just wanted to get something out there for the sake of my own mental health.