“Welcome to the jungle, it gets worse here every dayYou learn to live like an animal in the jungle where we play.”
Guns N’ Roses, Welcome To The Jungle
In my last post I said I was crying when I arrived at my new place, another caravan in somebody’s backyard. I was so scared this was the next chapter of my horror story. Unfortunately I was right. Continue reading “Psychotic descent- part 4: quest for safety, autism, discrimination, noise sensitivity and stuck in a world not made for us”
I don’t see the point in me being in the city right now. I’m too unwell to see friends. I’m too unwell to play badminton, and don’t know if I can ever show my face there again after pissing my pants on the court. My physio doesn’t seem to want to see me until things settle down with my housing, which may take a while. I don’t have a job here. I basically don’t have a life here, and am just spending my days wasting away in bed. Without any structure I lose sense of what day it is. I am simply existing outside of time, no longer part of the world around me. Continue reading “Psychotic descent”
Part 1. Fleeing the city to live with mice
My time away in the country just got worse and worse by the minute. I couldn’t get rid of the mice in the caravan which would keep me awake all night. My friend and I carried a mattress down from her house one night and I slept in the annex, a room adjoining the caravan, but the little shits were in there as well. They kept running through the room all night. I was so exhausted I couldn’t even get up. Continue reading “Reality makes you mad”
It’s the first time I’ve opened my laptop all week. Right now has got to be one of the lowest most distressing points in my life, and I can’t imagine it getting any worse than this, although life always surprises me. Continue reading “Escape”
Dissociative systems has become a bit of an interest of mine, and I am writing this post to take my mind off how much discomfort I am in physically. Most people will be more familiar with the terms “Dissociative Identity Disorder”, or “multiple personality disorder”, but “dissociative systems” is actually the term the community tends to prefer. The word “system” is used to describe the collective that lives in the one body, and the term is less pathologising. Many members of the community do not see this as a “disorder”. It is a highly creative and helpful way of dealing with unbearable trauma, usually starting in early childhood, and many members do not wish for it to go away. Attempting to treat it through “integration” is like murder. Continue reading “Dissociative systems (aka Dissociative Identity Disorder)”
My nervous system is on steroids. You don’t know how many times I have Googled that sentence. Not surprisingly, I got another highly sensitive person’s website. But still, I don’t think they quite know the extent of it. People say sensitivity is a wonderful trait, but not sensitivity to this extent. If I could make this go away I would. My nervous system detects threat in everything these days. I have been left with chronic pain radiating down to my fingers from a massage years ago. Recently I started hearing a noise which sounds a bit like an electrical hum or mosquito. I went to the doctor about it a week ago. I wish I didn’t. He poked his instrument in my ears to see if I had an ear infection and my ears have been hurting ever since. Everyone’s confused how such a benign procedure could cause lasting pain. But inserting anything into my body is a huge no I’m realising. My nervous system is totally fucked; it is like having a car alarm that goes off at the slightest touch and doesn’t stop. I have pain receptors everywhere it seems, I can’t sleep, I hear the world ten times louder than most people and am constantly in a fight, flight, freeze, flop, fawn state. My physiotherapist tells me to practice mindfulness but I think it’s a bit beyond that now. I hate being alive. I hate being in this body. I hate being in this world. I’m assaulted by noise even in my own home with dogs barking, neighbours waking me with their violently noisy electric leaf blower, hammering, and basketball game. Saturday night party heads. People are annoying as fuck. Feels like I live in a completely different world to everyone else. Today a friend from high school texted me. She told me her younger siblings have all had babies now. The last I remember of them were when they were school kids, my friend’s younger sister an obnoxious teenager who blasted Big Girls Don’t Cry by Fergie from their chunky desktop computer when I came over to visit them at their old house back in the early 2000s. People my age are starting careers, families and having babies, while I am 32 and have never had a relationship as I am always in survival mode around people and can’t let people get close to me. Feels like the world has moved on while I am stuck in this sickness amber. Trauma does emotionally freeze us at the ages it occurred. People are just wandering around with their heads in the clouds while a subset of the population suffer stuff most people couldn’t even fathom. I just want to go live on a deserted island, or even better another planet. But it’s not going to fix the pain and all the damage that’s already been done. I am depressed and distressed every day and can barely do anything. I suffer for a living. I wish I got paid to breathe. Life is like a turbulent plane ride. As I said in my last post, I have no quality of life and at this point life has become about surviving the days and trying to minimise my distress until I finally die. What is the point in living? I seem to exist just to suffer, and perhaps write a book about it, if I survive long enough for it to get published.
Last night I had the worst sleep. I woke up all the time, interspersed with dreams about my old psychiatrist dying and the feeling that I was dying, something that has become a common experience for me, especially when I try to sleep. I also dreamt about escaping to the countryside, as well as people my age superseding me career-wise and becoming doctors. I dreamt about a girl I used to know in high school. In my dream she had become a psychiatrist and I was helping her run some kind of retreat in the countryside for kids with mental health issues. I was no good with people, and decided I’d be better off caring for the animals on the farm. Continue reading “Excruciatingly sensitive”
hsphaven 