If I’m sleeping…

Thoughts from Saturday, July 16, 2016

I seriously feel more sad these days than I think I ever have in my life. On Monday, I cut my wrist. I’ve been able to avoid cutting (even when it was the hardest thing of my life), since like January, I think. This time, I cut more times and more viciously than I think I ever have before.

—-

On the outside, I smile; I try so hard to go outside my comfort zone and attempt to help people around me be happy. On the inside, it’s like I’m ripping my hair out, slamming my face as hard as I can, lying on the floor, sobbing till the tears won’t even come anymore.

I don’t want to live, because “living” feels more like hell.

—-

I sleep to avoid living.

If I’m sleeping, my mind isn’t constantly racing with terrible thoughts about myself.

If I’m sleeping, I’m not worried about the future, finances.

If I’m sleeping, there is no fear that I will never be able to fulfill my desire of helping people who feel like I do, the fear I will never travel, the fear I will never help people.

If I’m sleeping, I’m not beyond terrified that a man will never love me, never think I’m beautiful enough – never think I am enough at all.

If I’m sleeping, there aren’t terrible things going on all around the world.

If I’m sleeping, people are happy. Women aren’t raped, children aren’t starving, people are kind to one another and don’t judge.

—-

If I’m sleeping, I don’t see myself.

And maybe that’s why I love sleeping so much.

—-

As I sat there, crying and writing, these were just the words that came out. I like to just spit out every little thing I am thinking onto the paper.

The more I wrote about myself and how I felt, the more I cried.

When I wrote the last 2 lines that I shared there, I feel like I just sat there – kind of in shock, honestly – it was hard to realize those words on the page, those tragic thoughts and words, were from me.

This is a lot of what I have felt as I have been reading over my old writings; posting some of them on here, and researching and working on my post on Body Dsymorphic Disorder or BDD.

So, even though I’ve known I have BDD for years now, being diagnosed with it didn’t seem like anything life changing because I have felt so ugly my entire life.
I’ve looked more into Depression and Anxiety over the years; as I studied psychology and whatnot, but I honestly never really researched BDD until a few months ago.

—-

It may sound kind of cheesy or something, I don’t know, but as I’ve read about BDD and been writing my post about it, it has been an incredibly emotional thing for me.

I feel like my mind and heart are finally being forced to accept that this is for real; that I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s the weirdest feeling though.

I don’t even know exactly what has been going on all these years. Have I been in denial, in a sense? Have I not fully understood what all goes into this “disorder”?

 

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