Introduction

I self-harmed tonight for the first time in a while. I had to stop my racing heart, the third day of tension pain all over my body. My bowels keep cramping painfully and I don't even know why this time. The Ativan from earlier wore off, so what else was I supposed to do? Listening to music while sitting out on my balcony in the cool night air did nothing. Eating my favorite comfort food did nothing. I tried everything.

I mentally thanked my now ex-partner for leaving their new kitchen knife at my place, after I told her why I'd gotten rid of all of my sharp kitchen knives. She told me if I felt the urge to self-harm, to let her know and she'd take it back home the next time she was over, but you know, I got to thinking; if you knew your partner had gotten rid of those things to keep themself safe, why would you even leave one with them? No matter what they said? If you cared, why?

If you cared, why did you, a few years back, force me to watch a trailer for a movie I begged you not to show me because it dealt with people who were 'cutters,' who committed suicide? why did you force me to watch that after I told you several times to stop because it was triggering me heavily?

Why do you change your mind every year? Your rules change all the time and then I bring up the old ones, only for you to say those were never a thing. But I know they were.

You just... You just. You just.

You don't say anything. You do not communicate. I cannot read you. I do not understand why you were flirting so much with me and drawing me back in, because you know I love you and always have, and then you just turn it all off when I finally find the bravery to try again.

Is that really what's getting to me right now? The way you share my personal, vulnerable things with others without asking, the way you make me too scared to tell you that you're being hurtful because you'll take it to the extreme and then beat yourself up or hate yourself, or like the time you thought you brought over bugs so you freaked out, went and threw up in the toilet because of anxiety, and then went on about how distressed you were for bringing bugs into my home. You were so distraught there was no room for my worries for what you did.

That's what happens. You shut down. You hate yourself. You make it so hard to bring up anything that you've done wrong. You end up making people feel bad for you because now you hate yourself and you're so distressed that you hurt someone else, or you just dismiss it. You think saying sorry is good enough and then move on, or you said what you said and you don't care.

And then if I'd bring any of this up, you'd say no, that's not what you thought at all. You'd say that wasn't what you meant. You'd say it was never the case that... something I heard with my own ears. You'll lie about the weirdest things, and you'll lie to put yourself in dangerous or weird positions so you can be hurt or be a victim when you don't need to, and then when you're caught lying, you shrug and put on a show acting helpless.

Apparently it is bothering me.

But so is everything else. My health. The feeling of not feeling loved or desired or wanted by a romantic partner; the feeling of being invisible; the feeling of frustration that there is nothing I can do about being disabled and poor and so painfully alone when it comes to active support.

My safety net is me. And that safety net has been sun-dried and cracking and ready to snap for so long.

I haven't been able to rest. I try to sleep but my body is restless. My legs are fidgety and my limbs hurt and it's like restless leg syndrome all fucking night. I wake up in pain because I was so tense, because I can't rest because I'm in so much emotional pain. I'm worrying about so much, stressed about so much; the government trying to destroy trans people's lives, take away my mental health care, reduce my food stamps. And I'm in pain because I'm in a loop of chronic illness flares because of this stress.

And cutting didn't ease things like it usually does. My last resort didn't fucking help this time.

I sat outside earlier, listening to my usual droning sad music, and I turned to look through the screen door into my home. I wondered if that's what my ghost would see if I died there on the balcony. Then I saw my cat. I just stared at him, wondering if he'd still be sitting there not even noticing if my body was lifeless on my chair outside.

But he needs me. Both of my cats need me. God damn it, sometimes that isn't enough.

I'm struggling to even get a fucking power wheelchair so I can get to have a life of any kind. I'm in a constant loop of fighting for every basic need, or I'm denied at every turn for help. Home delivered meals for the disabled? Too young. In-home cleaning help for the disabled? I'm too young. In-home peer support? Sorry, we don't partner with your insurance company.

Ask local friends on Facebook to help me out, and I'd pay them $20 once a week to clean? I was told that wasn't nearly enough and no one would help me clean for that little. That was all I could afford.

When I was homeless years ago, I asked two different friends if I could borrow a tent so I didn't have to sleep under the bridge if I didn't get my home in time. Both knew I couldn't drive, and they said I was welcome to use their tent, but I had to go get it myself. So I went without because two guys with cars couldn't drive over to drop a tent off; because I couldn't make the several hours' walk to a different city, and I had only my two hands to carry the heavy equipment.

What is it about me that people just... do this? Why do relationships go this way? Why am I not taken seriously, why does help always come with a caveat that I can't meet? And why did my friends blame me for everything a few years ago, basically insinuating I was at fault for the falling outs with friends I'd had. That I always fucked everything up, even though they didn't even witness those fallouts. The same friends who once told me I must have done something to cause the serious bullying I dealt with in 2017, it must have been my fault somehow that people were telling me to drink bleach.

What is wrong with me? What about me is so worthless? Well, everything. I can't even write a good book, my shit ends up falling under the radar and I'm forever just going to be mediocre at what I do because I don't write what's popular so who gives a shit, right? I've been abandoned by writer friends who made it big and then forgot I existed. Same with artist friends. Someone I cared about a lot became popular and then I just became another number.

Why am I still here? I just keep failing at everything, and people keep showing me, intentionally and unintentionally, that I am not worth a shit. Many just see the worst in me, or they just disappear and don't even care when I've tried my best to be there for them.

What do you do when the coping mechanisms don't work? The breathing doesn't work. Meditating is impossible. Fresh air didn't do anything. Ativan wore off. Cutting didn't numb me like it usually does. I'm not used to nothing working.

I don't want to even be in my own body right now.