Ironically, it’s still quite embarrassing for me to come forward and talk about particular issues that I’m going through. Even after everything that I’ve said publicly. I think I will always be afraid of what people will think. Thankfully, even though it is in the back of my mind, I rarely let is stop me from being the same brutally honest person that I have always been.
Most of you know by now that I’ve written a book. You may also be aware that the sales are not nearly what I had hoped for. That has been a source of stress for me, but I felt like I was handling it pretty well, for a while. You may also not be aware that I have had little to no relationship with the original publisher of the book. After the giant catastrophe that occurred with errors in the book, he hasn’t been around much.
Last night, I found myself having to reach out to him again about more errors. Quite frankly, it caused one of the worst panic attacks I’ve experienced in quite some time. I was irrational, I was sobbing, and I couldn’t breathe. It was like the dam broke. It started a flood of pain and heartache that I’ve just been swallowing since November 1st when I had maybe 10 people in attendance at my book signing. What kind of a fool am I? How could I ever possibly think that I could be a success. Everything that I’ve ever touched has turned to shit. The ONLY thing I haven’t screwed up yet is my marriage and thank GOD for that.
So, the darkness set in. The depression, the sadness, the feelings of worthlessness, of hopelessness. I feel like someone draped a lead blanket across my back and shoulders. It’s inescapable. Last night, I tried to go to bed early, hoping I might feel better with sleep, but I felt even heavier when I woke up. I started this project, attempting to get my book on another format, and it wasn’t working. I had to call the company and when I hung up, I just lost it.
The feelings of failure were suffocating me. I was hyperventilating. I didn’t understand a word she said to me, and I had no idea how to fix a thing. Suddenly, I felt like a small child lost in the woods. Which way do I go? Where do I turn? It felt like there was no answer, so I was frozen in my fears.
All I could think of was, how stupid are you? What the hell made you think you were capable of succeeding at anything? So, you told people you were depressed, big damn deal…nobody cares.
This repeated in my head obsessively…until it happened. Something I truly thought I had let go of. It was the images of cutting. It starts out slowly. I just sort of picture what I might use, what the cuts may look like. Then the cravings kick in…the deep burning desire to punish myself for being a failure. To feel the rush of having cut hard enough to bleed. The rush calms the nerves, and everything slows down for a few minutes. The need runs through my head like a song on repeat.
I’ve never in my life told anyone outside my closest family members or therapists that. The first thing I did was tell Joe. God how I hate having to be that kind of person that interrupts her husband’s work day to tell him this horrible news. As bad as that news is, there’s even better news. I DIDN’T CUT. That’s the real accomplishment in this story. Even now, it’s buzzing around in my brain. I know it probably sounds really stupid to someone that hasn’t experienced it. Maybe you think it’s a dumb reason to want to do it. None of that matters. What matters is, I had horribly painful urges and I made it through them.
I’m not going to sit here and run down the laundry list of things that are going wrong for us right now, that’s not what this blog is about. What matters is that these things are painful enough…life altering enough that for one moment in time, I wanted to hurt myself to stop thinking about these things. To punish myself for not living up to the expectations I had for myself.
I’m sure there are many people that don’t understand. It’s OK. I don’t need you to understand. If you still want to be my friend, what I need is maybe a, “hey, are you OK?” once in a while. You would be amazed at how much feeling cared about can change your outlook on self-injury.
Is my book a success? No. Is it the only dream that I truly ever had? Yes. Do I feel like a gigantic failure? You bet your sweet ass I do. I long for someone to come along that has some fantastic ideas or really wants to help me get my name out there…because I am exhausted. I beat myself up for being too tired to spend more time online trying to reach out to anyone and everyone in hopes of hitting it big. Maybe to the average person, none of this is reason enough for me to want to hurt myself. Well…good for you, truly. I’m glad for you not having to experience this.
Do I feel better about my life? No…not at all, honestly. However, I have an ever-so-small glimmer of hope in the back of my mind know that I am still able to maintain my 2 years and 6 months clean of self-injury.
I guess I’ll think about the rest of it tomorrow.
Thanks for listening.
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