“That’s what you should be like. That’s what people want. You’re so fucking ugly, it’s pathetic that you think that anyone is anything other than revolted by you.”
Pretty appallingly isn’t it. Such horrifying words. Such hatred and harmful intent.
See. See how everyone else is not only accepted but delighted over. They are just tolerated. They’re welcomed, wanted, desired – everything you just fake being.
It’s hard to keep my defences up against these comments. They hurt. They cut deep.
When are you going to ‘get it’? People hit that like because they are polite. No-one means it. Don’t believe me? Go look at the comments others get and then try to find the same quality in yours.
These comments are so well crafted to my insecurities that it’s hard to argue against them.
Ugly. Fat. Useless. Boring. Hated.
I wish words were easy to ignore. I wish thoughts were easy to control.
You will never be worth anything. You should have disappeared from existence when you ran away. Too late now.
These words make me feel trapped. I don’t want to exist but I don’t want to cause hurt to anyone else.
No-one even notices that you aren’t there. That is how meaningless you are.
Maybe if I stop putting myself out there, I won’t hear these comments any more.
I hate you!
This is why I am mentally exhausted. Surviving against this torrent of abuse and hatred is awful. I am scarred by it. I need it to stop. I know that the torrent will slow and stop for a week or two but the damage doesn’t just melt away. It’s there all of the time, undermining any recovery during the periods of respite. This is the tiniest snapshot of it. The ones that are relevant to my interactions on social media. Some things are so awful that I cannot bring myself to type them here. I wish I could silence my tormentor but the tormentor is me. When my PMT strikes, there is no escape, just the fear that one day I will not pull back from the need to seek oblivion.
It takes every fibre of my being to survive for those days every month and to manage the short-lived but destabilising manic episode that follows. I wish I could silence the voice. I need to feel connected at these times but the toxicity of my mind drives me away, amplifying everything that it can and turning it to poison if I try to linger. I fight against the stigma of mental illness and yet, the horror of what my own mind does disgusts me and makes me ashamed of existing. If another person said any of those things to me, it would be easy to deal with. They would be abusive and I would cut them out of my life. What do you do if the abuser is yourself?
Oh, Honey, this cuts me to the core to read. It’s incredibly brave of you to put these thoughts in writing, you may not realize you are helping others see the lies in our own brains. It hurts to know our own minds lie to us. Yours is a very formidable one and it is heartbreaking. I wish there was something I could say or do to help you. You are lovely and loved.
I don’t have an answer to this, I just know what’s worked for me, even though there are times I wallow in bad places. I find if I can remind myself, at least occasionally that this is just my brain lying to me, I can make it through the moment/day/depression long enough so I don’t open a vein. You’re not alone in this and from what I see on social media you do have a lot of people who care about you, reach out to us if you need it. The world will be a darker place without your light in it.
I cried when I read this. I have no words, I don’t know how to support you, I want to tell you how beautiful you are, how much I value you as a friend, how I love you for the person you are, for the friend you are, for the beautiful human you are, and I just don’t know how. I so wish I could ease your pain… I have no words.
Rebel xox