Today at my Listening Circle facilitators' meeting, we did our obligatory check-in. Everyone went around. I think I had something planned to say, but what came out was the story about how about three weeks ago, I picked up a razor blade for the first time in six years, and cut myself 45 times before I realized that it wasn't going to make things any better. When I got done, to punish myself for cutting, I washed the cuts out with salt water. That was closer to the pain I needed, but still, neither gave me the relief I needed.
Before this happened, I'd spent the two days before uncontrollably sobbing any time I was alone. My situation was agonizing, and there was no end in sight. I needed it to stop, and none of my techniques were working. Maybe I forgot how to do them after so long, or I wasn't doing them with the right intent...I just don't know. It was horrible.
I had to tell someone in the group who offered support that I just wasn't good at reaching out. There's two reasons. One is that I Do Not Trust people to be around me when I'm that vulnerable. I love my friends, I trust them with a lot of things, but there have been too many people in my past who have proved to me that when I'm vulnerable around them, all I'm doing is giving them something to use against me later.
The more important reason is that the worry that kind of honesty generates is exhausting. It's bad enough carrying around the worry I feel for myself when that happens. It's oppressive. But when I tell someone else, they get this look, their tone changes to something I hear as concern or pity, and then it's like the weight of that worry comes crashing down. Now not only do I have to worry about me, I have to worry about them worrying about me. I feel terrible. I feel like I then have to spend months proving that I'm really okay. I can't stand the tone and the look. I worry enough that I'm breaking, but when someone else seems concerned like that, I get this sense that it's worse than I thought. I'm broken, and they're worrying I'm going to do something else, something worse. I don't want to have to prove that I'm okay to anyone. I know I'll make it through this. I don't need that doubt weighing on me. I don't need pity. I'm not weak, but I feel that way when I tell people.
I did reach out to one person, so that I knew I wasn't going to hide away and never deal with it. He handled it exactly perfectly. He's the first person I've ever talked to about it, other than my therapist, who didn't just make me feel worse for telling.
I know people mean well. I'm not heartless...but I also know how it makes me feel, so I don't speak. I don't speak so I don't have to worry about you, and myself. I don't speak so I don't have to worry that I'm worse than I imagined. I don't speak so that I don't have to be angry about feeling burdened with someone else's worry.
I wish there was a way to make this easier for everyone.
Aside: Yes, I will be fine. I've reached out to my therapist. No, my son is in no danger. I'll voluntarily commit myself if I have to to protect him. He's my biggest priority, and I put him and his mental health above my own.
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