Hostage

33_026bcf317b803257c42ca4dd40950f6d.jpgI am tired of fighting. I feel like I am being held hostage. By who? By the monsters in my head.

The monsters that you might run from are monsters that you can see. The monsters that I try to run from are inside of me. You can walk away from the monsters that you see. You can even walk away from the monsters inside of me. I cannot. I am left with the monsters in my head.

I am stuck between hope and hell and it is tiring. It is exhausting.

Mental Illness is exhausting. Mental Illness is holding me hostage. Depression, Anxiety, BPD and PTSD; they are the monsters holding me hostage.

My mouth tells you “I am OK”. My fingers text you “I am fine”. Yet if it could, my heart would tell you “I am broken”.

I seem strong on the outside. I am facing the abuse. I am going through a police case. I am living life while knowing I have been completely betrayed and rejected by my family. Yes, I guess on the outside I do look strong…but on the inside I am breaking. I am crumbling.
The abuse by my stepfather and the neglect by my mother; that is what caused my monsters.

The Depression exists because of them.

The Anxiety grows because of them.

The Borderline Personality Disorder wrecks my emotions because of them.

The PTSD lives on because of them.

I am in a never ending blackhole.
Pain, sadness, anger, confusion, guilt;  I don’t know how to feel.

Alone. I am alone with my thoughts. I am alone with my memories and my flashbacks. I am alone with what those men did to me and alone with the neglect from my mother. I am alone with my emotions. I am alone with this nightmare that keeps progressing on.

You may tell me you are here and that I am not alone. You may tell me that you care and that you will never leave. I want to believe you and for a while I do believe you but then the monsters take me hostage again.

I am useless. I am broken. I am pathetic. I am annoying. You don’t want me. You will leave me. I must push you away because I do not deserve you.

I am back under the monsters control. I am back as their hostage.

I cannot leave. I cannot walk away. Instead I must fight every day to keep the monsters at bay.

I am hurting. My head is hurting; pressure building from trying to hide the monsters away. Pain growing as I struggle to be strong and keep the tears from flowing. I am in physical pain.

I fight the monsters every day. I am their hostage. I am unwanted. I am unloveable. I am a mistake. You would be better off without me.

Sometimes even to live is an act of courage when juggling these monsters in my head.

I am frightened. I am tired. I am tired of fighting them.

Maybe I should give in to the monsters.

Maybe I should let the tears from the depression flow. Maybe I should release the emotions that the BPD tells me I should keep locked away. Maybe I should let the PTSD bring me the memories and nightmares so I can tell people what happened to me.

Maybe doing all of this will set me free? But will it make me weak? Will you think less of me if I crumble for a while?

I am a hostage of mental illness

I am a hostage of my own mind.

And it is terrifying.

Thanks for reading

** Image courtesy of Google Images **

One thought on “Hostage

  1. Well, you really aren’t alone, not in the sense that you are alone in feeling those feelings you so expertly described. I so wish you did not have to suffer these real after effects of childhood sexual abuse; it is pain on pain on pain, so many layers how does one strip each away to get to its center, the core, the real place of being? I know that aloneness, so raw, deep and relentless I needed to escape from it because it felt so bad.

    If one is hurt in other ways, hit by a bus, an accident, a death in the family, others come with casseroles, gifts and condolence. When a child suffers these traumas the shame of the family drives them to shame the child into silence.

    Wounds are compounded to a degree that makes the damage last life-long. It could have instead healed at the time the horrific crimes were committed had an adult stepped up with courage, loyalty and love for the child. It seems they usually don’t. It seems rare if one does.

    It takes work each day to counter these rough words in my head, much like yours; “I am useless. I am broken. I am pathetic. I am annoying.”

    But with work it begins to change softy if one listens… I am special, my broken pieces come together stronger, I am beautiful, I am needed in this world…

    I hope you can list some countering positives to those voices learned in childhood when as a child you were forced to feel bad and take on what was happening. That’s what children do. It of course was the adults entrusted with your care who committed these crimes of abuse and neglect.

    Somehow gentleness, acceptance and loving thoughts need to brought in and fostered. It’s not easy, I’m still working on it…Perceptions of self learned in childhood that formed the base of a personality resist change yet yield after time with enough persistence and patience. Patience is the hardest for me…

    Like

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