For now, at least. I’m just tired of talking. It doesn’t seem to get me anywhere; it just leaves me feeling more alone and hopeless.
Everyone wants to tell me I should live, and honestly, I just can’t take hearing it anymore. That probably makes me an asshole, but I guess that doesn’t really matter anymore. Maybe you’re seeing who I really am now, when I can’t keep up appearances anymore. Maybe you’ll hate me. Maybe it’ll make you understand why I can’t live.
I’m tired of people trying to fix me and solve my problems. I’m pretty damn smart, okay? And I’m pretty damn resourceful. If there were resources to be found, solutions to be invented, I would’ve figured them out already. I’m tired of being polite when people suggest the same things over and over. Yes, I’m on disability and food stamps and Medicare and Medicaid, I’ve applied for energy assistance, I’m on the waiting list for housing, I’ve been to the food banks, I’ve tried the buses, I can’t afford paratransit. I’ve tried forums and self-help books and support groups and CBT and DBT and EMDR and psychoanalysis and ECT and the Department of Mental Health and Community-Based Flexible Support. I’ve been to respite, the ER, more psych units than I can count, two trauma units. I’ve gone to church and prayed and mediated and done yoga and changed my diet. I’ve been on antidepressants, anxiolytics, mood stabilizers, stimulants, and anti-psychotics. I’ve taken 5-ASA’s and steroids and chemo and immunosuppressants and biologics. I’ve consulted psychiatrists and chiropractors and reiki masters and neurosurgeons and physical therapists and acupuncturists and gastroenterologists.
Nothing helps enough to make my life survivable.
You can’t fix me because I’m too many problems to solve. It’s depression and complex PTSD and DID. It’s ulcerative colitis and hearing loss and brain surgery and mobility impairment. It’s disability and isolation and poverty.
And you can’t solve just one because they’re just a big knotted mess. You can’t untangle one thread from another; they’re all felted together now, and there’s no extricating them. And nobody can fix the whole big mess. Not even me. I did everything I was supposed to do. I tried so hard for so long, and things just get worse. Now, I just can’t try anymore.