DurAnorak (duranorak) wrote,
DurAnorak
duranorak

Duranorak takes LJ break, returns with long mildly crazy post...

...on a weekend where no-one will read it. Film at eleven!

Hi, hi. Since coming back from America I have been under a black cloud of depression the approximate size of much of Russia. This leads to not posting to LiveJournal - this always leads to not posting to LiveJournal - and I don't really want to start again, but true to form my fear of being utterly forgotten by everyone is temporarily winning out over my desire to be utterly forgotten by everyone, so here I am.

In the past few weeks I have seen basically a set of six people, a few times, and the rest of the time has been spent curled up here in front of my computer, mostly crying because I'm not still in America. I've also seen my godmother, who tried to be helpful but ended up convincing me that all was doom, that I should give up on everything, and that it was worth committing suicide right now just to annoy her.

Oh, yes. That's right. I'm suicidal again, although unlikely to do anything about it since I have to give the sanssommeil somewhere to live in September and I am fiercely looking forward to that even as the black cloud tries to suffocate me. This is partly just due to random crazy, but also due to the happy happy fun thing that happened last week, where my mad half-brother found me on Facebook. I poked at his profile page and, to cut a long story short, discovered a long post he'd written on a community about my dad "using him for sex" when he was six.

Happy happy fun thing. See, not only does that accuse my dad of "child abuse" - nasty enough - but also of being a paedophile. Two birds with one particularly unwelcome stone. I've basically said 'blah, blah, I'm very angry but I'm fine' about this to everyone, but I'm not fine at all. It's been the last blow to an already fragile mask of sanity I'm wearing at the minute.

But you're in therapy! I hear you cry. Yes. But my therapist has started being useless at me, viz. claiming that I couldn't work in a women's shelter because, if a woman came to talk with me about her abusive partner and then, the next week, rang to say it had all been a terrible mistake and she'd gone back to him, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from shouting at her down the phone and telling her how stupid she was. This, as I'm sure you realise, is categorically Not True, so I protested, but he had the ultimate argument of 'you would though, wouldn't you?' so there wasn't much I could say. Partly also due to my being utterly furious and extremely upset.

There has been a party, which was deeply enjoyable for everyone, which was good, except me, which is fine; I really shouldn't go to things any more. I don't do any drugs so I can't talk to people after about 10pm, I can't get drunk enough to notice nobody is interested in sleeping with me any more, I don't trust anyone much after the end of 2006 and I can't socialise any more, I'm just either terrified of everyone or wanting to stand there and tell them just what I think of them. I crawled back to booklectic's and sat up all night thinking how I don't really belong anywhere with anyone and so on and so forth.

I have no money, because I can't work, because I'm insane.
I've gone celibate again because doing anything else brings the screaming panic attacks.
I'm having flashbacks.
I'm suicidal again, which is very dull for all concerned, and it's bloody hard to leave the house.
My therapist has turned shite.
My brother thinks my dad raped him as a child.

Help.

E.
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