Dear L,
I almost jumped today, but I guess you wouldn't really know or care. That seems impossible to comprehend, since a mere 9 months ago you were by my side at the hospital, sharing your praise in regards to my choice to commit myself again. You were by my side through it all...until you chose to walk away.
I had this dream the other night, so vivid, so real I could have sworn when I touched your face it was really you, really me. I thought I'd forgotten, or at least grown comfortable with this new arrangement...but that dream brought all of my emotions rushing back, with no place for the crashing waves to seek shelter. Drowning in my emotions, my heart screams for you, dear friend...but you're still simply gone.
I've made a new friend, she's amazing, just like you. But the desolation left in my heart after your exit bleeds in fear, terrified to latch on and connect, certain that it's only a matter of time before history repeats itself, just like it did with you, like it did with the others before: Laura and Amber, and Callie, and Brandi, and Jules...and the ones that simply faded like Lisa and Rach, like Lynn, like Sammie, like Martin, like Sam, like Joey, like Jen and Robert too. I can still remember them, all the way back to kindergarten...all those friends that ripped themselves from my lives, or let themselves fade away.
The reality is though, it's never them, it's me. It's just like you said: I am broken, I'm toxic, it's true. I'm incapable of anything real and sustainable, I can never be what a true friend should be.
You said that you are still here, still cheering me on, hoping for progress and healing. Somehow, though, I'm not really sure that's true. If you cared enough about me, you'd be checking in I'd think. In the dream, you came looking, seeking confirmation that I am okay. You knew about my job loss (though I guess in reality you would), but wanted to hear what happened and if I was okay. But that was all the dream world. The reality is that you haven't bothered to find out if I'm even breathing, radio silence from you since the letter and a polite "fuck off" in March when I offered we try just catching up over lunch.
Regardless of the messed up feelings, the questions regarding your ass and my desires for it, I'm still a human, still a person with emotions and a heart...a heart which you've broken to a point that I don't know if it can ever be salvaged or repaired. A heart that is terrified of trusting again, a heart that is in crisis but knows that the weight of the crisis may cost this new friendship, the marriage, and more. But is that blood going to be on your hands if I jump or I hang or I stab? Or is that merely all on me? A monstrous ending to a monstrous girl, a girl who was incapable of loving herself or anyone really ever loving her. A girl who that's all she ever wanted: someone to help hold a heart that was too big, a heart that feels too much, a heart that's constantly being broken.
I miss you,
Megan
Tuesday, June 5, 2018
Monday, February 26, 2018
Monday, February 26: To L
Dear L,
When I saw you standing in that hallway, leaning up against the counter jotting something (I'm guessing talking points) down Friday evening, I couldn't help but notice your beauty. I couldn't help but think of what an amazing woman you are, how much power you hold...all these things that you don't even realize you are. I wanted nothing more than to come stand next to you and tell you these things...but I can't. I can't receive an email from you without feeling anxiety flooding through my body. I can't look at you without losing my mind. I can't dare let our eyes meet...it's too much for me to handle.
I don't know how much longer I will survive this place that my stupidity and my illness let us fall into. I feel so out of touch, so out of control. I want to cut, I want to bleed, I want to just shoot myself and die on your lawn so that this pain will be over.
You aren't feeling any pain at all, are you? You aren't losing sleep over me anymore. You don't even care. I bet even if I did come shoot myself on your front lawn that you would be moved at all. Because to you, I'm already dead. You said goodbye and walked out. That was that. Nothing more.
I wish I could understand what it was that I really did. Was it when I admitted I was bi? Was it officially being diagnosed as BPD? Was it just that you'd been wanting to leave all along and finally found an out?
I'm lost without you. Nothing is working. I want to be able to swim on my own, but without you, without D, without any life lines I'm drowning inside myself. Nobody understands...but you did...you did...
Soon,
M
When I saw you standing in that hallway, leaning up against the counter jotting something (I'm guessing talking points) down Friday evening, I couldn't help but notice your beauty. I couldn't help but think of what an amazing woman you are, how much power you hold...all these things that you don't even realize you are. I wanted nothing more than to come stand next to you and tell you these things...but I can't. I can't receive an email from you without feeling anxiety flooding through my body. I can't look at you without losing my mind. I can't dare let our eyes meet...it's too much for me to handle.
I don't know how much longer I will survive this place that my stupidity and my illness let us fall into. I feel so out of touch, so out of control. I want to cut, I want to bleed, I want to just shoot myself and die on your lawn so that this pain will be over.
You aren't feeling any pain at all, are you? You aren't losing sleep over me anymore. You don't even care. I bet even if I did come shoot myself on your front lawn that you would be moved at all. Because to you, I'm already dead. You said goodbye and walked out. That was that. Nothing more.
I wish I could understand what it was that I really did. Was it when I admitted I was bi? Was it officially being diagnosed as BPD? Was it just that you'd been wanting to leave all along and finally found an out?
I'm lost without you. Nothing is working. I want to be able to swim on my own, but without you, without D, without any life lines I'm drowning inside myself. Nobody understands...but you did...you did...
Soon,
M
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Sunday, February 25: To D
Dear D,
I just looked my certificate hanging on the wall and thought about you. I thought about how you told me back in January that it's okay to write to you about progress but not for help with treatment. I was hopeful that by the end of this month I'd have some news of progress, some happy things to share.
I wanted to share about how much writing I've been doing, about how I'm contributing things regularly to The Mighty. I wanted to tell you how I've stopped planning suicide, how I've stopped buying blades and harming myself. I wanted to be able to tell you how amazing DBT has been so far, and how mindfulness is changing my life and how amazing Dr. Raphaeli has been. I wanted to tell you about the letter I wrote and mailed to Lindsay and how liberating it was to let go of those feelings, how I felt lighter without that pain.
Truth be told, almost all of those things are true (except the self-harm...I had a lapse in early February). As we both know, though, recovery isn't a straight line. It seems I found my roadblock, my kryptonite standing there in my face, this past week.
So now I'm back to that plan that landed me back at Trustpoint in January, the stay that we last spoke. I'd like to think that all my progress means I'm stronger than this...that I don't need to put my plans back on the table. The urge is so strong, the pain is so raw and intense that it is engulfing me...I'm drowning in the darkness again.
I know this is my issue, that I am the one that has to make the choice to fight to see the light, fight for life over caving to death. I have to be the one who even wants to fight...why don't I want to fight?
Just like I constantly battle with myself and my emotions, I battle with the thoughts about if people really care. There's this voice inside my head telling me that nobody cares: not my husband, my children, the few friends I have like Jen, Dr. Raphaeli, Chloe, you...the voice tells me you never cared, that I was just a person who showed up to your program and you were forced to deal with me because it's your job. I fight with myself because I think, I hope, that you really did care...and maybe you still do. I'd like to think I'm more than a patient number, more than a body filling a seat for you to get a check.
I'm going to try to keep practicing mindfulness, writing, and being very honest with Dr. Raphaeli and Dr. Pierce about where I am. I'm going to try my best to keep making progress, even if it's slow, even if it's a path of wandering in the wilderness to get to where I need to be. When I'm really struggling, I say the Serenity Prayer, I look at the picture we took when I "graduated" from IOP, and I think about how far I've come from that first night of IOP back on August 31...because I have made progress, I've come a long way, I've been working too hard for too long to throw it all away now and give in to the desire to blow my brains out and not look back. I've got to look forward, I've got to keep walking and hope I find the light eventually.
Thanks for all you do and the strength you give,
M
I just looked my certificate hanging on the wall and thought about you. I thought about how you told me back in January that it's okay to write to you about progress but not for help with treatment. I was hopeful that by the end of this month I'd have some news of progress, some happy things to share.
I wanted to share about how much writing I've been doing, about how I'm contributing things regularly to The Mighty. I wanted to tell you how I've stopped planning suicide, how I've stopped buying blades and harming myself. I wanted to be able to tell you how amazing DBT has been so far, and how mindfulness is changing my life and how amazing Dr. Raphaeli has been. I wanted to tell you about the letter I wrote and mailed to Lindsay and how liberating it was to let go of those feelings, how I felt lighter without that pain.
Truth be told, almost all of those things are true (except the self-harm...I had a lapse in early February). As we both know, though, recovery isn't a straight line. It seems I found my roadblock, my kryptonite standing there in my face, this past week.
So now I'm back to that plan that landed me back at Trustpoint in January, the stay that we last spoke. I'd like to think that all my progress means I'm stronger than this...that I don't need to put my plans back on the table. The urge is so strong, the pain is so raw and intense that it is engulfing me...I'm drowning in the darkness again.
I know this is my issue, that I am the one that has to make the choice to fight to see the light, fight for life over caving to death. I have to be the one who even wants to fight...why don't I want to fight?
Just like I constantly battle with myself and my emotions, I battle with the thoughts about if people really care. There's this voice inside my head telling me that nobody cares: not my husband, my children, the few friends I have like Jen, Dr. Raphaeli, Chloe, you...the voice tells me you never cared, that I was just a person who showed up to your program and you were forced to deal with me because it's your job. I fight with myself because I think, I hope, that you really did care...and maybe you still do. I'd like to think I'm more than a patient number, more than a body filling a seat for you to get a check.
I'm going to try to keep practicing mindfulness, writing, and being very honest with Dr. Raphaeli and Dr. Pierce about where I am. I'm going to try my best to keep making progress, even if it's slow, even if it's a path of wandering in the wilderness to get to where I need to be. When I'm really struggling, I say the Serenity Prayer, I look at the picture we took when I "graduated" from IOP, and I think about how far I've come from that first night of IOP back on August 31...because I have made progress, I've come a long way, I've been working too hard for too long to throw it all away now and give in to the desire to blow my brains out and not look back. I've got to look forward, I've got to keep walking and hope I find the light eventually.
Thanks for all you do and the strength you give,
M
Sunday, February 25: To L
Dear L,
There aren't words to describe the waves of emotions I've felt over the last four days. I thought things were looking up, I thought I was doing great...and then there you were, in my face, and everything came flooding back. It's hard to explain the storm the brews inside when you are on my mind (trust me, I've tried).
I miss you every single day, I feel completely lost without you. I find myself looking back through things you wrote, messages you sent, trying to gain back just a small piece of the hope you gave me. But then I have to look at the last things you sent, remember that voicemail, accept you are gone.
I'm proud of you and glad for your success. It is nice to see you happy, hear you talking positively to others, looking like you are doing great. So I try to do the same, but inside I know that I'm not really okay because without you there is too much pain.
Every interaction with you on Friday made me crumble on the inside. It's painful to see you doing so well without our friendship, leaving me thinking that you are probably better than you've been in over 10 years when our friendship first began. It's heartbreaking to care so much about you knowing that you don't even care at all, knowing that you hate me. It's incredibly frustrating to have these emotions while you don't... I'm jealous that you don't have this pain inside your heart like I do. It makes me angry that you could so simply walk away and leave me here, telling everyone that you did it to help me get better, while telling me you did it because I was messing up your life, damaging your marriage, tainting your career aspirations.
I have made so many scars on my body since you walked out. I've been hospitalized just from seeing your face. I've tried all that I can to move on, to heal, to grieve the loss of your friendship...yet months later just one look at your face or one moment of the sound of your voice stabs me in the heart and makes me want to do nothing but die.
I got temporary peace from the storm when I mailed you that letter about a month ago. I meant every single paragraph, every single word. I never expected you to respond...I doubt you ever will. But I'm going to try this now, writing these letters that I never plan to send. We will see if it helps? There has to be something to stop this pain in my heart and these thoughts in my head...
Thinking of you,
M
There aren't words to describe the waves of emotions I've felt over the last four days. I thought things were looking up, I thought I was doing great...and then there you were, in my face, and everything came flooding back. It's hard to explain the storm the brews inside when you are on my mind (trust me, I've tried).
I miss you every single day, I feel completely lost without you. I find myself looking back through things you wrote, messages you sent, trying to gain back just a small piece of the hope you gave me. But then I have to look at the last things you sent, remember that voicemail, accept you are gone.
I'm proud of you and glad for your success. It is nice to see you happy, hear you talking positively to others, looking like you are doing great. So I try to do the same, but inside I know that I'm not really okay because without you there is too much pain.
Every interaction with you on Friday made me crumble on the inside. It's painful to see you doing so well without our friendship, leaving me thinking that you are probably better than you've been in over 10 years when our friendship first began. It's heartbreaking to care so much about you knowing that you don't even care at all, knowing that you hate me. It's incredibly frustrating to have these emotions while you don't... I'm jealous that you don't have this pain inside your heart like I do. It makes me angry that you could so simply walk away and leave me here, telling everyone that you did it to help me get better, while telling me you did it because I was messing up your life, damaging your marriage, tainting your career aspirations.
I have made so many scars on my body since you walked out. I've been hospitalized just from seeing your face. I've tried all that I can to move on, to heal, to grieve the loss of your friendship...yet months later just one look at your face or one moment of the sound of your voice stabs me in the heart and makes me want to do nothing but die.
I got temporary peace from the storm when I mailed you that letter about a month ago. I meant every single paragraph, every single word. I never expected you to respond...I doubt you ever will. But I'm going to try this now, writing these letters that I never plan to send. We will see if it helps? There has to be something to stop this pain in my heart and these thoughts in my head...
Thinking of you,
M
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