326: When You Are Your Own Nightmare
Everyone I know and love is, as far as I know, dead to the world right now. Dead asleep. Dead unconscious. Dead as a doorpost. Dead as a doornail. Dead to me. So I know I’m going crazy or at least partially insane when I can hear every single one of them screaming at me words I never want to hear, words that would break me down, shatter me, tear me, annihilate me. The worst part is that no matter how hard I try to scream back to shut up or silence them, they just scream back even louder. Their words deafen me until all I can hear are words that will drive me to a suicide I nearly committed in 2013.
I never thought of myself as a weak girl. Hearing my loved ones scream at me illustrates that I am not strong. I buckle under the pressure of their cold words, the truth I cannot seem to accept. My version of reality is distorted, unreal, unacceptable, but it’s truer than anything I know. I hear them clearer at night when they are sleeping.
“You’re a failure. You’re weak. You lack intelligence. You’re unkind. You’re rude. You’re arrogant. You’re fucked in the head. No one cares. No one loves you. Everyone forgets. No one gives a fuck. You’re on your own for this one. Get a new family. Love doesn’t exist. You’re the worst friend anyone could ask for. You’re a horrible sister. You’re an insufferable daughter. You’re a useless girlfriend. You’re an unworthy wife. You don’t deserve this, or that, or anything.”
I hear it. Loud and clear. It springs fresh tears in my eyes. I haven’t had to cry in a long time. No one has actually said these to me, but I hear them now. The blow of their words is realer than the silence I should be hearing. The peal of their screams shreds my eardrums. My heart cracks under each threatening syllable. When you hear your loved ones deconstruct you like you’re everything and nothing at the same time, I suppose, in a brief moment of despair, there truly is nothing to live for. I’m straining my ears. I’m hoping to hear a faint whisper of hope, an unfamiliar voice telling me that I have my whole life ahead of me and that I have a loving family, a caring group of friends, a beautiful soulmate, a banging playlist of uplifting songs to neutralise my acidic mood. But I don’t hear it.
I always think about one thing, even if it’s at the back of my mind. When is it a good time to be in a coma? The correct answer should be never, but I always thought that any time would be a good time to be in a coma. Particularly junior school summer holidays. No one would have missed me. No one would have kept steady contact. I have always wanted, but not necessarily needed, that coma. A coma of wilful ignorance, bliss, nothingness. A muffled shield from the shit I get and the shit I bring upon myself. Can I order one induced coma please? You can put me on life support in the meantime. Someone or a few someones who love me enough but not enough to keep me on life support indefinitely will eventually pull the plug. Hopefully.
So you know you’re your own nightmare when everything you do, regardless of it having good or bad consequences or intentions, comes back to fuck you over to the point where you develop your own kind of mental disease.
I have been fucked over so severely. By my own actions. So I lament.