There is so much to tell. Mostly I'll just say that I feel the same (or "the usual") but right now I feel so confused, so tired, so insane, so far away. I love being insane, that constant losing of all responsibility in my actions knowing that they are not in my capability to control, the experience of not being in control at all both makes me satisfied and yet unfair.
Perhaps I've been too reliant on my illness which I've never really bothered to get checked by a total pro, by a psychiatrist. Mainly because my parents wouldn't want that, they have an 'image' to protect. So, I'm here trying to make sense out of my suffering, out of this unexplained thing brewing inside me for years.
I've tried to get help though. Somehow, I've defied my own philosophy that a man is an island. Reaching out to several wrong people thinking that perhaps they can make me feel liberated but in the end I'm just left more confined in my own corners, I'm going to say "alone" but I was never alone. I have them inside me, the who I thought are my creations but are now creating me. I've surrendered to that one thing that I've been trying so hard to fight. I've become one with my own ill-designed form of self-help and it made help thoroughly impossible no matter how I want it. Because I do not even know the truth now which I've been carefully keeping before. It all died together with that character living in the tower with me. And we all do not know what is what now. But we are trying to. To get the, uhm, right memories again. Like getting it from the abyss. When there is nothing there. I don't know. It bothers us. Most of the time people will ask about this or that and we'll just laugh it off and say that it is just a product of a still maturing brain. When the truth is that we can't remember what it is. Because the one in charge of those memories just died and we're all still grieving about it.
I tried to become a bit of a candour to our guidance counselor just this past week. I told her that I am trying to seek the answer to my dilemma, to one of the things that still confounds us. At first, I tried to take it slowly since she's already aware of my self-harming and past suicide attempts, and I didn't want to just boom it all to her. The matter to which I've opened up first is that I was looking for an explanation upon why I feel like a maniac when it comes to violence. I told her that seeing people get tortured satisfies me to a certain degree that is similar to that sensation when people are watching porn. And that upon this certain craving to hurt and to see someone get hurt (not just hurt but tortured) is getting worse and worse each day and that I fear that I might lash out and just do it to another human being. I also told her that some of my cuts are due to this certain craving, because I want to get the satisfaction of seeing someone in pain, of hearing someone cry out of pain but that I can't get it out of me because no matter how hard we try we can't make us cry in pain or feel it more.
Well, in the end, she tried to help me by dissecting my confession and finding the right term of defense mechanism for it. She can't find one. She said that I am not sadistic and not masochistic. She also said another term to which I couldn't remember because the others wouldn't allow me to. Then she said that if that's the case (that mine is undefinable and is also not normal) then I am sick.
Later on she said that it's just a metaphor to which I've definitely denied. I know us. It isn't a metaphor. Or is it?
Then she said that I should find the cause of it, the root. I told her that I will not simply because I do not see the need for it. That I just need to prove my theory and all and all.
Her questions are still ringing in my head. It makes me not function at times. Bloody hell.
freed from the burden of trying to figure out how to survive for the rest of my life. It's lovely to be able to spend my last few months living and not stressed... Hopefully antidepressants will help me to live my life outside of my bed
