“What More Can I Do?”
Sometimes, there are things that I can only say in writing, not in person. Things are different now, sometimes, I feel like it was my doing. It’s how it’s going to be. But I’ll take it. It’s hard, and I don’t know whether I’d heal or not.
Long story short, sometimes, I feel like the people that I used to know, don’t want anything to do with me anymore, and it’s my fault, I know it is.
It’s always my fault. My fault for being born. My fault for having mental illness, my fault for being autistic or my fault for just exisiting.
I don’t want to exist, I’ve made that perfectly clear, but I have to. The Dead people don’t want me on “their side.” Believe me, I’m exhausted by existing in a world that doesn’t particularly like me. I’ve been that way all my life. Again, the double standard stacked against me. But, as always, I will take the fall.
People, when they look at me, I look normal, but on the inside, I’m slowly dying, and I just want to end it quickly. I’m always battling myself, because there’s no one there. I think that Deanna Durbin is trying to save me, but it’s in her own way. I’m just trying to survive through everything and it’s hard, because you want people to like you and think good things about you, but there are people that have a bad taste from you and that’s on you, no one else. It’s hard, especially when your mind is not in a good place. No matter how hard you try, you are always struggling. That’s me. I’m fighting hard for my life, and yet, I see no purpose. I don’t. People say, “You do have a purpose!” But what it is? When will I see it? I’m exhausted by it and I just want to end it. But, everytime I do, or try to think about it, I get stopped, usually by the “Dead folk.” They tell me that my life is worth it. Do they enjoy seeing me struggle? Do I have to fight all the time? How on Earth, am I suppose to live my life, with this struggle of suicide in the back of mine? I think, “ If I die now, I won’t have to deal with anything else.” But I don’t want that pain to transfer to the other side or to anyone else. My mind is screaming for help and I am doing the best I can to make sure it’s gonna be ok? But it’s not. I’ve run out of words, or reasons why I’m still alive? Of course, Rosemary Lane said, “ You have so much to do, Kate, you have a book to publish and you have a dog to get.” But, sometimes, I get so upset with the way my mind is, and I’m fighting, but there are days I can’t.
I don’t know, I just cry, and the pain of everything I’ve done, comes back and it eats at me. I know people have made mistakes, but I feel like with me, I’m always paying for them, all the time. It’s like it repeats itself in my head and my mind is tired of reliving them. I just wish sometimes I was liked all the time, and I guess that’s the autism speaking. I’m just screaming, but on the inside. I can’t yell at people, I can’t tell them how I really feel, because if I do, it’ll make them hate me. I’m sorry, it hurts. I’m not doing well, and haven’t been for a while. I don’t know what should do, or who to turn to? Sometimes, I just want things to get better and it seems like, the more I try, the harder it gets. Is it medicine to blame, or just my health? I don’t know? I can’t tell? I’m scared. Scared that I’ll do something stupid that will actually end me. Scared that I’ll cause more pain . Scared that everyone will leave me. But that’s my fear, I’m scared to death of Everything. I’m so scared that I’ll end up in the ground, though, it’s where I want to end up, but knowing my pain won’t end, it’ll keep going. I just want it to go away, but why won’t it? The past mistakes? The hurt? The pain of living, is enormous. Yes, I’m very happily married, but I still don’t want to exist anymore. It’s tough for me not to try to take a half of bottle of pills, but I’m tired, and I don’t feel good. I was doing fine and then things started going down hill, at least for me.
I know that I’m trying, but I’m giving up at the same time. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but hopefully, I’ll make time to go to the hospitial and I know the doctors will put me on heavier drugs and I’ll change again. I never knew my real self, because it’s always been on medication. So what does the real me look like? I’ll never know? Am I a good person? Or am I just difficult to be around? I’ll never know? I wish I could just scream at people who have fucked me over, but it’ll only give them reasons to talk bad about me online. I feel defeated. But, at the same time, I’m doing my best to try to stay alive. I don’t know why but everytime I feel like talking about dying, people have to make it about them. “My god, do you know how much sadness there’d be? I need you in my life,” Some say. But others, they just stay silent. But, if I were to die, then they’d start talking. They’d wonder, what could we have done? Then, people, who actually do care, will be in rage, and they’ll start screaming. They’re going to be the ones that will talk and ask, “What could you have done to help her?” They will scream at the people who have fucked me over and yell at them, blame them for me, make them feel bad. I never want to be mean, but there are times, where I want. I want to so badly, but it won’t work, because I’ll feel bad about it and my guilt of just living is huge. I always feel bad for someone feel bad. I am the always the one who gets blamed.
When I was going through a bad time last year, I was not asked “How can we help?” Instead, I was told how awful I was, and it just made me want to die even more. Sometimes, the pain of that night, repeats itself in my mind and I start feeling bad. Guiltly, God what have I done? Right, I exist, that’s my crime. Of course, people have tried to mold me in what they want me to be. I’m trying to be the girl that I want to be. Like I said, I don’t know the “real” me. I never knew. I don’t remember what I was like before medicine. But my mother says, medication saves my life. I don’t know. My head, it’s screaming and I don’t know why people won’t help. But, when I talk about dying, they say, “Oh no! We don’t want that!”
People have made me feel so uncomfortable with myself, I can’t look in the mirror without wanting to smash it, because I hate myself so much .
The whole “You don’t belong here,” has been said to me so many times and I just never knew where I fit. I was odd, and I still am. I dream of fame, sometimes because, I feel that when you’re famous, people will listen to you. I don’t get listened to. When I say I need help, I need help. But, people will tell me “Just go to the hospital!” I’ve been there before, I don’t want to go back. They just treat you like a disease there. It’s awful, I just don’t want to be medicated more heavily, where the effects are bad. I don’t know, I don’t want that. I don’t want to placed on two or three meds to try to keep me alive. I don’t want that. I just want people to feel what I feel. Will they ever? No, probably not. I’ve already been shown what it looks like without me, and I know the pain was bad to watch, but at the same time, I was wondering, what I actually did, to make a difference? All I do, is do everything for everything. I pay for everything, I am kind and then I get fucked over, because I’m easy one and then I wonder why you don’t reply to my messages, but that’s fine, I see where they stand.
I don’t know, I’m easy. Easy to fuck over, easy to love and most importantly, easy to be friends with. But I’m also the first one to cry, the first one to give up and the first one to take it all on my shoulders, cause that’s what I do. I bare it all. I take what people say, literally. Some say I’m a burden, and then I believe it. I’m always told that my life is worth it, but I don’t see it that way. I’m just the person who is always showing up for others, but when it comes time for me to need help, nobody does, or let me put it this way: Very few do. I can’t keep doing this, living as if I’m a ghost. Do they even see me? I wish I would yell, and scream, and tell the people off, but it wouldn’t make me feel good, cause my empathy would hit me: “What if they’re going through something?” I don’t want to make them feel worse. They already have made me feel worse. What more can I do? I’ll never know. But as of now, I’m just trying to find the good in my life, because I want to be happy. Oh God, how much I want to be happy. It’s hard, and I’m trying my best.
But, I have to remember, you can’t make people feel bad. Don’t want to make them feel worse. But, yet, when they make me feel bad, they just go about their day and then I’m left with the damage. People will say, “We’re doing this to help you.” But, according to my husband, friends don’t do that, and they gaslit you into thinking you were a bad person. I ask people if I am, but they tell me I’m not. I’m not a bad person, so stop making me feel like one. Yeah, I know I’ve fucked up in my life, but please, have mercy on me. For God sake, I don’t mean to do the things I do. I’ve been gaslit all my life, to thinking I’m the worst person in the whole world. I know I’m not, but why do people make me think that way? I don’t make people feel that way, and when I do, I of course, am told that It wasn’t very nice and it hurt them. That’s the point, so you get a taste of what I feel. Yes, vendictive it may be, but I just want these people to feel what I feel. I see it in black and white, but I don’t get that. They get to live happily, and knowing what they’ve done to me, while I stand here, trying to figure out how to get out of bed the next day. I’m trying to forgive myself, but for what? All I ever was- supportive and I showed up for them. That’s what I’ve done, and they never showed up for me, only except to exclude me. Why? What have I done that was so bad? Exist, that’s what it is, I exist. If I didn’t, then maybe they’d be sorry, but I know they’ll just go on their merry day and not think about it.
But, as for me, my autism gets worse as I get older. Maybe, I hope for the future, I’ll get better, instead of worse?
