house of illusions

I don’t allow myself to feel sad because there’s so much to feel sad about that if I started I’d rent asunder by all the sadness.

But ever since I’ve come off social media and got more time for solitude I’ve noticed how bleak my life seems.


Aside from two friends( hey Aian & Amy!) I don’t have any support system. And even with the friends I have I don’t share 99% of the things I feel or struggle with because it’s so overwhelming that I don’t know where to begin nor do I want to burden others.
If I can’t do something, I’ll keep to myself in a bid to try to solve my inability and not ask for help. Not because I believe I’m above it but because I feel that any difficulty or inability is a sign of my innate weakness and failures.

I feel ashamed and broken beyond repair. Most of my time goes towards not caving under the sheer weight of my radical pessimism. Despair is a thought cycle away. And suicidal ideation isn’t too far off from there.

I focus on being grounded and mindful. That has worked wonders for me. To freeze pain. To feel a frame of pain at a time. I’ve had to slow down and give up most of my ambitions in the immediate future to allow myself more stability. That in itself has been heart wrenching, to give up my grandiose goals that gave me dissociative escapism.
Dissociative disorder. I’ve been diagnosed with that, in addition to my complex/chronic PTSD. I zone out by default. Imagination is my alternate reality. I always need a *high* to set my eyes on, so as to avert my gaze from my empty reality.

Staying grounded feels like being in an isolation tank. It’s unnervingly quiet and dark. My inner self is a foreign territory because in all these years it’s been nothing but a vessel carrying escapist fantasies and doing other’s bidding.

My inner self seemed only to be of auxiliary worth. Secondary. An afterthought. A means to an end.
And turning that lifelong commitment on its head is unearthing quite a lot. Like: why was I made to feel so afraid to express and be myself? Why was I put through such harsh and extreme treatments? What did I ever do to deserve that?
See why I avoid sadness? Opens a  Pandora’s box that I’m not ready for.
I feel like my life is a Rubik’s cube that I can never seem to solve. I keep twisting and turning, but it never seems to come together.
But perhaps eliminating wrong is a solution in a way? Perhaps experiencing what I thought I wanted can remove the self-doubt that haunts me. I can doubt my soul’s desires but when I go against my nature and I feel the painful repercussions, I can’t deny that.

I’ve always lived on the premise that I need to obliterate everything I am and replace it with ‘lovable’ parts. So in a way, I’m still operating on the basis that not attaining some of my incongruous goals aimed at replacing my shameful core would be a huge setback since I’d be stuck with my original self.
It’s a frickin onion that’s been melted into my emotional makeup such that I have to relive it all over again in order to sift through, decipher and release.
In a culture where all you see is ‘after’ pictures and hauls and goals, it’s difficult to honour the slow process and drudgery that comes with healing and being clear about what you stand for and who you are.
So this is a reminder to myself and you that the process is the destination.

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