Terror and isolation – another stream of consciousness

Once again I feel so sick; and I´m ill, too, which doesn´t make things any better. Everything is completely unreal, I´m not sure there´s anything in this life that I want, anything that could make me feel safe and secure and soothed. I must have quite a temperature, I realize that as I sit up. The nightmares I get from being ill are the worst. I don´t even want to sleep. As soon as I feel any better I need to take sleeping pills.

It´s like I never WILL feel better. I just want to scream until I black out for a lack of oxygen. I feel so dizzy already, why can´t my damn body ever just finish the job and send me to the floor? I can´t even escape into thoughts of suicide. I´m too tired, comatose, apathetic.

It must be that story I just read. Actually I started reading slash fics in order to distract myself from the fact that I´m miserable. It went well until the author mixed some broken hearts into it.

The great tragedy of break-ups is not always one person not wanting the other, but two people who want to be close but can´t overcome a destructive, hostile, distrustful dynamic or mood neither of them wants. The inability to talk and express their real feelings. It sounds so easy, but people can be walls. Hoping for someone to call who simply won´t do so.

Oh god help. I mustn´t even think about it. Sometimes I need somebody else´s support, comfort so badly that I want to yell at them and shake them, but what they can give me doesn´t nearly make up for my disorientation and panic. It´s like holding the hand of a person who is about to be executed and expecting this will alleviate the fear. Sometimes I would like to have a gun held to my head just to know if fear of imminent death feels any different from what I experience in moments like these. At least that way I´d know it can´t get any worse.

I wish I could cry and scream and bang my fists against the walls, but if I do so people will notice and they will either be angry or try to comfort me and fail. People. Don´t. Get. This. They don´t know this kind of fear, when absolutely everything is falling apart. A person about to be murdered can at least scream. I have to keep up a fucking facade!

Normally I´d fight down the fear, I´d read, I´d breathe calmly, I´d lie as still as possible and try to relax. Now there´s so much rage, so much I don´t want this anymore someone fucking help me, that I have to snap into action and manically type type type. As soon as I stop I feel how nauseated I am.

There is this cloud in my head, a fog of tiredness and apathy that makes even this manic writing hard to do. I want to lie down and just sleep. I want to drug myself up, take whatever sleeping pills we have – I wish somebody else did it for me. Just shoot something up my veins and make me sleep. Or slide away into complete, relaxed apathy.

Maybe I haven´t made it. I haven´t survived a thing. Maybe I´m finally going crazy. I could live with that if crazy meant unaware. But crazy is aware. This feeling is a state of craziness. It means to be locked out of this world, locked up inside myself forever. Absolute loneliness because no one can give me the comfort and safety I´d need. There is no coming back from this black pit of fear, nobody can reach down there and pull me up. Or pull me down, back to earth. It´s like everybody else is feeling at home in their lives, on this planet, unaware even that the world is larger than the spheres in which they move daily, while I am staring at all this from outer space, knowing how utterly small and alone we are, and while from the earth´s perspective it looks like there are days, like there is light, I know we are floating through an infinite darkness in which the sun has the impact of a little candle. It is the truth, and there is no remedy against the truth.

So what if I throw up, what then? That question doesn´t cut it. I don´t want to calm down, I don´t want to tell myself everything is alright and my fears are bogus. I want to yell out into space, everything I say here, and see if just about anybody is down in this darkness, too. There must be someone in this same dark place, somebody who can make me cry. I only have to cry and everything will be alright, but it´s like nothing can touch me. Just any goddamn miserably sad story, please.

I read a story about stillborn babies once, and a photographer who took pictures of them. Did I write about this before? It made me cry awfully, but now it does nothing to me. I wish somebody would hit all my sore spots at the same time so I can just break down and sob. I wish somebody would destroy my wrecked psyche and turn me into a robot with very limited, externally controlled feelings and the intellect of a five-year-old. I don´t care about my life, my personhood or my autonomy as long as there is someone out there who can understand me.

Stop demanding that I be someone, achieve something, live up to whatever values and expectations the human race as invented this era. I´m so far out of this world and out of normal peoples´spectrum of experience. And they don´t realize it! They have no clue that their fixes won´t work on me. They genuinely don´t. They and I are two separate circles which do not overlap. Just that they don´t know. They look at me and feel like they understand me, like they can hold me and contain my feelings, like everything is alright. There is no evil intention; the place I´m in is just beyond their imagination. This is worse than being tortured on purpose for if you were your torturer would understand you.

I know this is a misconception of mine. I know it from bloody experience. I know what it´s like to choke someone and I know what it´s like to be choked. When I was little and my father and I would get into a playful tussle sometimes things got out of hand. He was sitting on my back, tickling me and I couldn´t escape. I started to panic, told him to stop and he simply didn´t. I know what it is like to realize there is fuck all you can do. Sometimes I couldn´t breathe, thought I was going to suffocate and tried to tell him this. Make him understand this, somehow get through to him. I knew how drastic the consequences would be if he didn´t hear me, I knew I could not bear this for another moment. But I couldn´t make this known to him. We were in two different universes. When you are the one on top you know you are going to stop, maybe in 10, 9, 8…, but you mustn´t lose sight of the fact that the other person doesn´t know when or even that you will stop. And it´s easy to forget. It is easy to forget that the other person might not be feeling as good as you are. My father was probably just that clueless. He was having fun, so how was he supposed to know this was serious?

Again, what is creepy is not his evil intentions. It is his complete lack of awareness of my perspective. Of the universe I existed in during those moments. That often I was actually unable to speak. I couldn´t scream, so I couldn´t show him how serious it was. So, yes, sometimes the thought of somebody knowing exactly what he is doing to me is very comforting. Makes me feel safe, because I childishly trust they wouldn´t do anything that isn´t ultimately for my benefit. Or something I can take without going crazy or dying or throwing up. Or if I would, they´d stay with me and be still just as close, emotionally.

I want somebody to carry my emotions, take them off me for a while. I do that with others, for a while I crawl into their heads and just understand them. Read their minds and tell them what they are thinking and give them exactly what they need or want. Sometimes I feel like the only thing that can save me is somebody doing just that with me. Someone who doesn´t ask me what I need because I don´t know that myself; the big problem is, after all, that I have no clue what on earth could help me. I need someone to just decide, not in that cold, pressuring kind of way, but someone calmly stating facts. “You will need to sleep now. Take that pill, I´ll stay with you while you swallow it, I´ll stay with you if you throw up. I´ll stay here until you´re sleeping, and I´ll be awake all night in case you need something.”

Oh fuck. Now I finally know why I cannot sleep at night anymore, why I feel so much safer going to bed in the morning when the sun´s gone up already. People are awake then. Help is available. I can always go somewhere, exchange a few words with someone (and be it the lady at the cash point). There´s a world out there which can bring me back to reality. I can risk to let my guard down and sleep for a few hours. And people tell me my sleeping disorder is at fault for my anxiety!

All my imaginary allies had traces of this. They were caretakers. Very often they were more powerful than me, they could even be my kidnappers or prison guards, but somehow we were able to form an actual connection. Ever since I can remember imagination and daydreaming was my way of self-soothing. I could make myself feel cozy, safe, tired and comfortable by thinking of myself as a captive, a passive object, someone who didn´t have to make any decisions, someone who was responsible for nothing that happened, someone who was being taken care of. I withdrew into myself, lulling myself to sleep by imagining someone was holding me. Or even beating me up.

A while ago I was badly creeped out for no reason (just sitting on my bed, but suddenly everything seemed to have eyes staring at me) and my girlfriend offered me a hug. I accepted and suddenly I got that similar tired, good, safe feeling. Like it didn´t matter if something attacked me because I was far away. I hadn´t experienced before (at least not that I can remember) that you can get that same type of comfort from being hugged, that you can melt into somebody else and lose yourself. When my family members hug me it feels awkward; I just feel their body parts crashing against mine and we don´t seem to fit together properly. It´s not really comforting. I don´t feel “held”.

Maybe holding someone´s hand can alleviate the fear of death.  Not the reality of death. Just the terror and isolation. Maybe death itself is nothing to be feared, anyway.

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One Response to “Terror and isolation – another stream of consciousness”

  1. vicariousrising Says:

    I have experienced a lot of the stuff you wrote about in here but with an exception: I think you are feeling a bunch of the stuff I’ve still got locked inside but still haven’t accessed, so it still eats at me, taking advantage of my lack of awareness. It was a strange feeling, seeing what I think I might feel deep down but cannot written by someone else.

    I especially related to this: “I want somebody to carry my emotions, take them off me for a while. I do that with others, for a while I crawl into their heads and just understand them. Read their minds and tell them what they are thinking and give them exactly what they need or want. ”

    Now that is something I do all the time. It’s one of the things I think makes the people who’ve fallen for me fall. I get: “I love the way you make me feel” or “I love who I am when I’m with you” quite a lot. Which would be great if it felt like “I love who YOU are.” it’s not like I try to crawl into their heads as a manipulative trick (although I know it’s a skill born of trying to understand/love my parents). It’s genuine affection, fascination and positive regard for the person that drives me.

    But I’m not sure it’s ever been shifted back on me, even in my longterm relationships. Frankly, it makes me feel horribly lonely and drained.

    Thank you for sharing these thoughts. They’ve helped me clarify a few things I’ve been mulling recently.

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