Inflexible, control freak, brittle, and a thesaurus worth of similar terms, many here have heard at least on of them before. And from the outside it can look like one is being deliberately obtuse, solely for the sake of being a pill. But in reality you're holding onto your routine in a death grip because if you let go you will fall and it won't be a controlled decent.
It feels like every effort is a failure. Nothing is good enough and all you do is upset others unintentionally. You feel like you're the actual size of Gachnar in Season 4 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You want to be swallowed by the earth and recycled by mycelia colonies, knowing then at least you would have a tangible function instead of annoying all and sundry with your existence.
You want to speak up. But you don't know how. Your mind literally tells you, you can't. You're fine. All you have is leftover word salad decaying in the back of the refrigerator. You don't have a safe space to freak out. You can't set your mask down because it would upset and/or inconvenience those around you, so you dig a little deeper and swallow the exhaustion, the emotions. But you know the cracks are there.
You're failing because the facade slips. It isn't perfect. You're angry and upset with yourself that others have to deal with your hypersensitivity and brittle shell, its edges jagged and raw, causing unnecessary and unintential damage. Guilt adds its weight and presence to the load.
This isn't a meltdown or shutdown. This isn't a sudden flood of overwhelming emotion that boils over and resolves within a couple days. This is bone weary exhaustion to the point of physical pain, but you can't say anything because it is selfish. You've gotten through it before, you just have to try harder. But you have nothing left...
You want to cry, to rage, furious at the gaslighting stupidity of your own inner voice. A stupidity that translates directly on to you...you're the one in charge of your own brain. Just tell it to shut up...but it won't. So you turn your music up louder, so loud that it physically hurts.
The fragmented logic of redirection. Overload the system enough and the focus goes elsewhere, however briefly. So you resort to maladative coping mechanisms.
You very deliberately push your physical limits to the absolute brink. The park is less than a block away and you learned as a kid what a simple playground swing can do to the skin of your hands and arms. You fling yourself into the air, by turns furious, but free even as the arc pulls you back and beyond.
You are beyond caring if you land face first on the frozen ground. A part of you says you've brought yourself to this point, that anything that happens, any bones you break will be your just desserts. And by some fluke of sheer dumb luck, you don't fall.
So you fling yourself into the breach again even as you feel metal biting into your hands raising blisters against old calluses. Even as your skin burns like a scraped knee, you push harder, lungs, muscles, heart...all of it still have more to give...because if you stop you will fail...
Fail at what? There is literally nothing defining any parameters except that stupid inner voice honed by decades of corrections, expectations, and arbitrary requirements. Logically it isn't reasonable, which means you are being completely unreasonable. You're out of control and spiting yourself because you cannot get control.
You can't be upset and unreasonable. It isn't fair to anyone, especially those around you. Morally, mentally, socially, this is profoundly true. Those emotions aren't fair to others. So how do you cope? The swing at the park, running hiking trails in the cold and dark praying for your systems to finally break. But they don't...the only reason you go home is because you won't do anything to jeopardize the dog. He matters in a way you don't and never have. He doesn't judge your stupidity; he doesn't understand it, but he doesn't judge.
You hide the blisters, the bruising, the pain, and pretend you're fine. You don't have the ability to say: I'm not okay. And as before, once again, you fail because you don't speak up because you don't know how.
It is just three words. I'm not okay. Why is it so hard to say?
It feels like every effort is a failure. Nothing is good enough and all you do is upset others unintentionally. You feel like you're the actual size of Gachnar in Season 4 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You want to be swallowed by the earth and recycled by mycelia colonies, knowing then at least you would have a tangible function instead of annoying all and sundry with your existence.
You want to speak up. But you don't know how. Your mind literally tells you, you can't. You're fine. All you have is leftover word salad decaying in the back of the refrigerator. You don't have a safe space to freak out. You can't set your mask down because it would upset and/or inconvenience those around you, so you dig a little deeper and swallow the exhaustion, the emotions. But you know the cracks are there.
You're failing because the facade slips. It isn't perfect. You're angry and upset with yourself that others have to deal with your hypersensitivity and brittle shell, its edges jagged and raw, causing unnecessary and unintential damage. Guilt adds its weight and presence to the load.
This isn't a meltdown or shutdown. This isn't a sudden flood of overwhelming emotion that boils over and resolves within a couple days. This is bone weary exhaustion to the point of physical pain, but you can't say anything because it is selfish. You've gotten through it before, you just have to try harder. But you have nothing left...
You want to cry, to rage, furious at the gaslighting stupidity of your own inner voice. A stupidity that translates directly on to you...you're the one in charge of your own brain. Just tell it to shut up...but it won't. So you turn your music up louder, so loud that it physically hurts.
The fragmented logic of redirection. Overload the system enough and the focus goes elsewhere, however briefly. So you resort to maladative coping mechanisms.
You very deliberately push your physical limits to the absolute brink. The park is less than a block away and you learned as a kid what a simple playground swing can do to the skin of your hands and arms. You fling yourself into the air, by turns furious, but free even as the arc pulls you back and beyond.
You are beyond caring if you land face first on the frozen ground. A part of you says you've brought yourself to this point, that anything that happens, any bones you break will be your just desserts. And by some fluke of sheer dumb luck, you don't fall.
So you fling yourself into the breach again even as you feel metal biting into your hands raising blisters against old calluses. Even as your skin burns like a scraped knee, you push harder, lungs, muscles, heart...all of it still have more to give...because if you stop you will fail...
Fail at what? There is literally nothing defining any parameters except that stupid inner voice honed by decades of corrections, expectations, and arbitrary requirements. Logically it isn't reasonable, which means you are being completely unreasonable. You're out of control and spiting yourself because you cannot get control.
You can't be upset and unreasonable. It isn't fair to anyone, especially those around you. Morally, mentally, socially, this is profoundly true. Those emotions aren't fair to others. So how do you cope? The swing at the park, running hiking trails in the cold and dark praying for your systems to finally break. But they don't...the only reason you go home is because you won't do anything to jeopardize the dog. He matters in a way you don't and never have. He doesn't judge your stupidity; he doesn't understand it, but he doesn't judge.
You hide the blisters, the bruising, the pain, and pretend you're fine. You don't have the ability to say: I'm not okay. And as before, once again, you fail because you don't speak up because you don't know how.
It is just three words. I'm not okay. Why is it so hard to say?
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