zetasyanthis: (Default)
This one might be a bit disjointed. I've been trying to write the past few weeks, but my energy levels just haven't been there. Maybe it's the medication (Zoloft). Maybe it's the phone call from my sister last week. I just don't know. Whatever it is, I've been nowhere near 100% for a while.

Since I need to write, but am not sure what to write about, I'm just going to start with a bit of a status update. The last few weeks have been rough. I started deep DNMS therapy shortly after my last post, and while it's really helpful, reaching back to comfort my earlier self is a hell of an energy drain. In fact, the first session, combined with an event that happened shortly thereafter (~3 hours or so) knocked me out of commission for a good week and a half. :/

I'm going to try and talk about the therapy a little bit here, but I need to acknowledge, at least in a little detail, the aforementioned event, because it's had a profound effect on my own mental state the last couple weeks. I've learned a lot about the true depth and power of depression and anxiety in the last year, but never more so in the depths of my own mind last October. On that night a few Thursdays ago, I learned a different lesson along the same lines as I spent more than two hours trying to talk a friend down from committing suicide. I learned what it meant to fail. I learned what it meant to fail another, to fail myself, and what will happen if we fail each other.

While she survived the night, I had no way to know she would when she finally disappeared on me. As I laid there, texts going unanswered, I finally collapsed, energy levels flat-lining after far too much energy expenditure in one short span of hours. I awakened to find her alive, and I am eternally grateful for that, but I am scared now. Scared for all of us. :S We have got to do something about the hate and violence directed towards us. We have got to do something about the way we teach children that they are broken in so many ways. And maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to teach everyone else that they can be safe and happy along the way. >.<

This cannot happen any more. We have got to help on another, to help ourselves, and to reach out to those in need. The next few months, and perhaps even years, may be terrible ones, but we can make it through this. We must. We have to teach the rest.

...I guess I didn't talk about therapy, but that's okay. Maybe next time. :S
zetasyanthis: (Default)
Off the heels of that last positive journal, I'm afraid I've got to write a not so pleasant one.

In the last few weeks, I've spent a lot of time thinking about my family, primarily my mom and dad, trying to figure out exactly *what* I feel towards them at this point... I've had a hell of a time connecting with the primary emotion that I feel towards them at this point, and I guess I've figured out why.

That emotion, as you might have guessed by now, is fear... fear of judgment, of rage, and of not ever being what either would want me to be. Fear is what's keeping me from calling them, day after day. It's why I blocked their phone numbers, even as my birthday passed earlier this month. And it's why I can never go back to that place again. Far too much damage has been done, and no explanation I could ever offer would make them understand the pain they caused. There is nothing left there but sadness.

I loved them once. Trusted them, as a child does, to guide me and set me on a path that would hold beneath my feet, trusted them... to catch me if I faltered. I will not say they never did, only that I cannot remember it. I will not say they did not try, either. I have not forgotten those months spent searching in vain for a cure, none of us realizing they had likely caused it in the first place. For that is what I am realizing. My anxiety stems from them, and from the fear of discovery that destroyed me for longer than I have ever acknowledged.

I know they supported me as best they could, and that in the logical ways, the financial ways, they did. In those ways, I had much more than most. But they failed... badly. Emotionally, they destroyed me, without ever realizing what they were doing. And I was a kid. What did I know? I thought I was lucky to have them, and their love.

From this, I may have learned the greatest tragedy in the universe. Love doesn't mean that you aren't hurting someone. It doesn't mean that your judgment of what's right is right for them, or that they'd be happier if they gave in, even if you have to manipulate them to get them to go along. And it certainly doesn't mean bringing them up in a faith that teaches them they are broken from the outset, and can never be fully healed.

I wonder now what might have been, if I had given signs. Almost all the way through college, I never once strayed from the rails, or gave them cause to question. I do not know what they would have done had they known. The only reactions I can remember were those involving money, because that is apparently how my family speaks. Step out of line, and tuition is threatened, or removal from a will. Bonding moments, likewise, involve needlessly expensive trips and restaurants, gifts speaking where words ought to be.

And so I set my own path, away from that which has come before. I cannot bear to continue on my current one, because it is not safe. Grief, a keening that drowns the world and shakes the very foundation of life itself, is now upon me. But I can do no else. I cannot let them hurt me again.

One final word on religion, and on spirituality. I will never be Catholic, or Jewish, or any faith that now walks this earth. Judgment, shame, and control have no place in my heart, and they never will.

A very wise man once said that "Love is a vulnerability, but not a weakness."

I would be vulnerable again.

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Zeta Syanthis

September 2017

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