I’m hesitant to talk about what’s going on in my head. Part fear of being judged, part fear of being told I’m totally crazy, part not wanting kindness, part not wanting anyone to try and take away my craziness, part not understanding what’s going on in my head….
But here it is anyway.
I’m not depressed. I have energy and motivation and interest in life. I don’t feel sad or especially distressed. I don’t hate myself (which is not to say I love myself).
But I feel this powerful urge to kill myself. There’s a huge chance things will go downhill from here in ways I don’t want to deal with. There’s also a chance that my life might work out and end up awesome or even just satisfactory. The chances of that are, however, much slimmer.
I know there were reasons I fought like hell to survive all my life. There were things I held onto–mostly the hope of an okay life. Now I have an okay life, and it’s not enough to hold onto anymore. It’s too small.
I feel disconnected from the world. I like my life, my activities, most of the people in my life. But I feel distant from them. Not in an angsty way, just matter-of-fact. So why not shove off this mortal coil? There’s nothing tethering me to it these days.
I sound callous, don’t I? I want to care, but I think I’ve forgotten how.
It’s the same with the anorexia. All the times I’ve done this before, I felt desperate and trapped and in need of release. Now I feel no connection to desperation, either to starve myself or to stop starving myself. I’m doing it because I can and because it entertains me. Again, I wish I felt something about it, but I don’t.
Conventional wisdom is I must be doing this to block something out. That’s not what it feels like. I know when I’m avoiding stuff, even when I’m trying really hard not to know. If I’m avoiding anything, it’s a normal, small life. There’s no underlying angst I’m running from. I just lack ability to connect with my life anymore, so I’m playing with fire for the hell of it.
I think maybe I’m an alter somehow. I think of myself as Sara–but I remember what being Sara felt like, and it wasn’t this. Sara cares about EVERYTHING. I still have the strong opinions like she does, but that’s not the same as actually caring. Sara would be taking all this seriously and figuring out what demons of the past were motivating this–because with Sara, it’s always about the past. Sara would never have lied to Fake Therapist about something as significant as the eating disorder. This doesn’t feel like being Sara feels, but I still think of myself as Sara, or I did until I started thinking about it.
So who the hell am I, and what do I do about it?