Constance Persephone

It’s gotten to a point where I don’t see the value in complaining anymore. I never used to think of it as ‘complaining’ until recently but my mind is still made up, it’s pointless. Yet, I find myself incapable of doing anything else. When I’m short of breath and my sorrows are louder than my own heartbeat, I will still find the time to complain.

I would like to say I’ve gotten smarter about who I can share my troubles with. My manager as cool and supportive as they are, my professional relationships should not know how close I’m teetering to the edge.

They were following up on a workplace injury (I got an electrical shock) and reminded me to reach out if I needed support. I started writing and realized it was way to much detail, but it felt nice to write again so I thought I would share it with you lovely people in the void.

I wrote:

“I think I’m okay physically, there was some nerve pain for the last couple of days but it’s getting better. Emotionally, I’ve definitely been better. We have to get a new car, and we just payed this one off. The repairs would be more than the car is worth, so it makes sense I suppose.”

But what I left out was:

“But my head  is so full of thoughts that I can’t think and everyone’s telling me to be calm, but I can’t remember the last time I was actually calm. 

What everyone perceives as “calm” is actually years of finely tuned anxiety and extreme self control. I’m so numb, that my body is cold. I wish it was a regular chill but the kind that goes bone deep and makes you feel hollow but in a scary way. 

I can feel my happiness slipping further and further away and I don’t know how to catch it. It’s worse than a hole in the bottom of a bucket. It feels like a mirage in the desert. I’ll spare you the grim explanation.

This all isn’t from car troubles, its it the trigger most definitely but not the main source of my troubles. No that would be the fear that this place is no better and it’s going to feel just like Texas. We can’t start over again and I feel like something is waiting for me here despite how much I don’t like the city.

My daydreams don’t even offer me any reprieve anymore. Do you know how stressed you need to be to stop Maladaptive Daydreaming? That was a drug like no other, and I’m desperate for a fix.

Maybe this will be good for me? Forced to face reality with no way to escape to my little fantasy worlds. They are quite pretty, I think if other people got to go where I do they would understand. I think they would weep with me, well for me actually since I can’t cry at the moment. It’s all dried up.

With no safe place in any world, how am I supposed to breathe?”

Something’s gotta give and soon.