Ramblings about a live

I just watched an IGTV – 40 minute video on instagram, and I’ve so so much to say…. that I’m going to try and put some of it into words. It’s definitely worth watching….

I’m not actually sure where to start, because almost every 5 minutes of it brought up something to write about, which would mean I should be writing 8 different blog posts… anyways. This is really for myself. To out it down.

Her first point was that choosing to have children is an act of courage. About 3 years ago I recall discussing this with my rabbi, and telling him I didn’t want to have children. It’s the first time I’ve heard anyone validate that. I don’t want to bring children into the world. The thought of bringing a child into the world is absolutely terrifying. I’m not saying I never will. I’m still a kid. I’m 26. I don’t know what will happen if I date, or ever decide to marry. Will I want to have children? I don’t know. I really appreciated the validation, the understanding. I don’t want to bring children into the world.

Okay so I’m going to miss out a whole lot of points.

Choosing to love takes courage.

It does. In real life I find it incredibly difficult to reach out to people. Well, online too. I don’t reach out in the way of making myself vulnerable. I share, definitely. I email or DM people, definitely. I don’t message anyone and tell them I’m struggling. I might write a post or story, which says that I am. But because it’s going public, it’s sharing, and isn’t requiring the same vulnerability.

There is someone absolutely gorgeous who lives not far from me. This person has given me the opportunity to be in touch with her a lot. A really lot! I’ve told her how much I appreciate her messages. It’s too scary to build that relationship. There’s also a big part that whenever I have reached out she hasn’t actually followed through with her offer. There’s my part to play. Building such relationships are scary. Terrifying. More than terrifying. I’m not saying I don’t have that honesty with anyone, for I do. My friend M who lives in Israel (I miss her… lockdown means that I haven’t seen her in a year. Haven’t been to israel in a year. I guess she hasn’t had to make that day trip from the north to central – 4 hours each way – in a year).

Choosing to connect takes courage. In any way. Whether through parenting, or teaching, or building any relationships.

I really appreciated those words – not a quote! I teach. My students are the most incredible humans on earth. Most of the students I’ve taught are learning disabled, special needs, or somewhere thereabouts. Teaching is draining. It requires 100% of my focus (which I don’t always have available, which of course brings guilt for they are not getting my all. I do know that my not all often gives more than someone else’s all. And I do give more to my students than most).

Choosing to build relationships is scary. It’s only during the last year that I’ve built a relationship with one of my sisters. A truly honest, vulnerable, relationship with. No, she doesn’t know most of what’s been going on. I’m grateful I’ve spared her the fear she’d have been living with.

Safety. I don’t consider myself to have PTSD, because I haven’t been through trauma. Although I can’t say nothing has been traumatic in my life. The more you talk about something, the more okay it is to talk about. Going off on a tangent here.

Today I was talking to a couple of people on a group call. We were sharing, they did first, what we were ashamed of. The first thing that came to my mind was that when I was 14 I didn’t have good hygiene, which meant I didn’t have friends, and no friends meant no learning what normal hygiene is. That’s something I’ve been ashamed of my entire life. Well, not my entire life. When I was 16 I went to seminary – Jewish girls college – and for the first time I learnt what people do. That hey, you’re meant to shower regularly etc. (My family didn’t practice good hygiene…). I’ve never spoken about it before because it was one of my most shameful secrets. I wrote about this on a private blogpost recently. And today I shared it. And as I was saying it i found it funny. Because. There’s nothing for me to be ashamed of. I wasn’t shown what to do. I didn’t know better. I was the cause of a lack of friends through no fault of my own. I’m going to have to go back to see what I was trying to say, but the point I’m saying here is that the more you talk about something, the more okay it becomes, the more you – I – accept and make sense of it.

Oh. So trauma. There are some things in my life that really impacted me. One of them being my special needs sister whom I was brought up to belief was normal. Who when I was 9 would say she wanted to end her life and it was our fault. I knew I was guilty for living. I knew she was going to due and it was my fault. My sister is a topic that recently is the first time I’m really okay talking about it. I’ve joked about it with my friends. Things like I’ve been sent to hell enough times that hell doesn’t scare me (by my sister and mother).

I’ve come to understand some of my life. Even as I say I haven’t been through trauma, I’ve come to understand that some things in my life traumatised me. And that’s the first time I’m saying that. Yes, writing IS saying. Interestingly enough, on the phone today, one of the people said that writing isn’t as real. I thought, hey, for me writing is real. Is more real.

Trauma brings a lack of safety. Teaches you the world isn’t safe. Why has no one ever put it so clearly into words before? She put it into words in a way that really spoke to me. For I’ve never heard it framed that way. One of the things I’ve said about my world is that there is no safety. I appreciated hearing the why. Why there’s no safety. The world’s definitely not as unsafe as it used to be. I don’t feel unsafe all the time. I don’t feel safe. Ever.

Another thing she put really well was how using something brings along its own set of problems. Yah. Don’t I know that. Her example was a kid choosing to avoid the problem of going to school will create the problems that staying home brings.

Destroying my life, which avoids all the causes for self destruction (to anyone who knows what I’ve been doing, I want to apologise. I don’t think it’s okay for me to have ever written on here what I’ve been doing. For my GP to know is okay – and of course the tight thing. For the psych I met to know, is of course the right thing. They have to know the risks. Which of course there is the risk. Which is why I’ve been living with it. For anyone here to know isn’t okay. I never should have shared. That’s the reason I’ve passworded the posts I’m aware spoke about it. I’m sorry.

Destroying my life takes away the pain of dealing with the world. It gives me an illusion of safety. It gives and control. It brings along self destruction. It brings along the battle of life vs death which is exhausting, and so hard to fight.

Self harm has helped. Side track again. I’m calling it self harm. The past few months I’ve finally named self harm, as exactly that. Self harm. It’s hard for me to say it. Why? Because then I’m saying that’s what it is. Self harm helped. It helps. It helps one problem. It causes others. Such as wrecking clothes I don’t want to wreck.

So yeah. This live brought up a lot. Hang on, I want to check how long I’ve been writing for. Okay. It’s been nearly 40 minutes.

I’m grateful for this space to process my thoughts. I’m grateful for writing, which helps me process my thoughts.

Oh. I wanted to share something positive I posted on instagram. I know I’ve said the same thing before, but, or AND, I’m saying the same thing again now.

If you’ve read this far there’s 2 points I want to say.

The most important point is – thank you for listening. Thank you for being here. Thank you for taking the time to read.

And I forgot the second.

Second point – I’m thinking of you all even as I’m not reading your posts. You all mean so much to me. Your support and encouragement, and belief, and hope, from some relative strangers, means a really lot to me. I’ve read every comment you’ve left even if I haven’t responded. I’m not around much as I haven’t had the headspace (on Instagram I’m reading the stories, not keeping up with posts directly, unless they show up in stories – on the days I check the stories that is). I do think of you all a lot. And thank you for being here.

Thoughts.

I’m sad.

Someone messaged me a really gorgeous message that it’s been a while since they’ve heard from me and they’re a little worried and could I please respond. No pressure but yes pressure.

I’m sad. I’m sad I scared her. I don’t even know if she was scared. I remember TC telling me when I got her post that when she sent it she had no idea whether I’d actually get it or not. I felt the same way then.

I do feel something. Even though I can’t name it.

I hate that I scared her. I don’t know how scared she was or wasn’t. And it’s not like I can even go and tell her she had no reason to worry. It’s not like what I’ve been doing has no potential of killing me. This person doesn’t really know what’s been going on. I’d never tell her. It’s. Yeah whatever.

I can’t really share my world with people. I can on here because it’s public so it’s not like I’m reaching out to a specific person. I can’t reach out in that way. I wouldn’t get what I needed. And even if I did I couldn’t risk not getting it. And I know I don’t deserve others to be there. I know I can’t reach out to others for I’m not worthy of their time. Which is also why all the people who respond here mean so much to me. Especially those who don’t know me at all. You know who you are. I haven’t read your blog. I don’t know your life. I haven’t been here for you. Yet you’re here for me. What’s ironic is how many people I have always responded to and been there for who haven’t been here for me. Most of them I don’t care. I know I don’t deserve it.

I wish she hadn’t been scared. I replied. And. I’m sad I scared her.

Somehow I’m still here. I’m not sure how come I still am. There were so many times during the past few months that I knew I wouldn’t be. Yet I’m here.

I bought myself something expensive yesterday. I’ve been wanting it for months but I haven’t bought it because I may not live, and if I’m not alive than it’s pointless buying it. As in I don’t want the money to be wasted. Buying it, whether I do or don’t keep it (I wonder if it may go down in price over lockdown) is an affirmation of life. Is a statement that I believe I’m going to be here to use and make use of it.

I emailed someone some of this. I feel bad. I know she’ll respond. I’m obligating her to respond. And for all I know this is all too much for her. She just replied and she completely missed the point. I succeeded in scaring her but whatever. Her emails mean way too much to me. I’m on edge until she responds. And then I often have to explain what I meant.

I need to sleep.

At the moment…

I’m not rereading this. Blaming it on the hour.

Trigger warning.

I just want to put this down.

Today has been long. R’R asked a charity here if they can help. Why does he care??? So had work this morning, then filled out this online link, work, people.

Then. Last week I took a blood test. To get a blood test done I had to get a dr to request it so spoke to a GP in the surgery, not my GP, but one who is actually really nice. Had the blood test the next day. That night the out of hours surgery called to tell me that my paracetamol levels were high (well, duh), and it took me a while to tell them to leave the info with my GP. That freaked me out and, that night I knew I’d be dead sooner rather than later.

I asked S if she could do some energy work. I’m assuming it helped because come a couple days ago, life seems possible. Doable. Not just ‘I don’t want to hurt others through dying but death is inevitable’, but, ‘maybe life could be possible’.

This afternoon, just after I got home from school, the dr I spoke to last week called me. She said that one of the liver enzymes are high. She said whatever she said, I can’t recall the conversation, just that she would think I should go to the A&E. To make sure the damage isn’t irreparable. I told her to speak to my GP. I had planned on calling him today but didn’t as I knew she was going to.

And just.

Why now?

And I don’t care.

And I don’t know what I want.

So there’s a few points.

Death would hurt people. It would hurt those who would miss me if I were gone. There are some people I haven’t been in touch with much because I didn’t want there to be such a large gap in their lives when I left them. It would hurt those who feel guilty (though they should know I’d be at peace). It’d hurt those it would trigger.

Meaning to life for me is giving. There are so many dreams I’ve always had about making the world a better place.

Those 2 points are on the side of life.

I don’t know what the rest of the blood results were. I don’t know how high. I do know with certainty that going to the hospital would be the worst thing possible for me. I wouldn’t handle it well. It’d wreck my life, and the reasons on lifes side, which I’ve chosen, would be meaningless.

Then, after 5, I looked at my emails. And saw a response from the online service. It was a really gorgeous response, and wasn’t in response to what I’d written there, but to what R had passed on (in the online form you were meant to write 50 words or so. So I only wrote a couple sentences). With an offer to speak. Or chat online. At around 4. Which was past. I replied only a couple sentences that both work because I wanted the response to potentially go through before the end of the day. Trying to write a proper response would take hours. And now I don’t feel I can write a proper response for I’ve responded. And I don’t know if it’s the same person who will see it. Either way. I’m grateful they responded. And no clue where it will lead.

Found the day weird. It’s ironic. That. On Monday I reached out to 2 people for help. I find reaching out hard because, well asides for knowing no one cares and I don’t deserve it and all that, there’s the entire I need to take responsibility for my own life thing. I can’t just find the balance and ask for help because I never took responsibility until recently and I don’t know how to do this thing.

So I think there are 2 charities here that may actually help. And work has started. And I’m trying to stay okay. And get to a better place. And now I’m told that one of the liver enzymes may be high? Like, what? Why now?? And why now when I’ve actually been taking less. Well actually, I don’t know if I have been. I don’t know. It’s just. It’s just.

Some of what I ordered for people last week came today (I want them to have mementos. Know I love them always). When I saw it this morning I was like, kay. Now I want them to get them already. And need to get stuff for those I didn’t get anything for. I want them to know I love them always. Always and forever.

My day has been such a mixture.

On the one hand is all the above. On the other hand I spent my day in a really productive way, work, family, time with a gorgeous child, out with a friend, out with a workmate/friend, lift to my mother, phone to a friend, reading, now writing this at 2am. Productive. Healthy. Good things. And I don’t know. This drs call earlier freaked me out. Seeing I’d missed the message from the charity made me sad. And I say ‘sad’ when honestly I feel nothing at all.

An online ‘friend’ messaged me how my insights during this time really help her. Funny.

Tomorrow is another day.