Stray observations

10:48 PM, Sunday, February 3rd, 2019.

Tonight I killed a bug in my bathroom, and now I feel phantom bugs running up and down my legs.

This is my first blog post since deactivating my Facebook account. I don't know if anyone on Facebook even read my posts anyway.

If I were drinking tonight, I would end up curled in a ball on my bed, sobbing noisily but not very wetly. I have two primary modes of crying: the aforementioned, and silent buckets of tears. I wonder why alcohol is one of the only things that can unlock my tears.

The bug: what was it? A little slug thing; I suppose I was expecting an ant, so I thought it was big when I saw it. The blanket feels like spiders. If I shaved my legs it wouldn't be any better.

Dishes tomorrow, laundry on Tuesday. My depression paralyzes me and chores pile up and the more I have to do, the less I can get done, because I can't even start it out of fear that I won't finish it. The number of things I haven't finished grows far faster than the number of things I finish. Laundry and dishes are neverending chores, so the reward in my brain for "completing" them is almost nothing.

I deserve love on a fundamental level, because everyone does, and I deserve love because I have good qualities, but I'm scared that the bad qualities are outweighing the good -- that isn't even the only reason someone could have to not love me.

In moments like this, when I am forcing myself to think about my flaws, I believe that to be in any kind of relationship with someone else is unfair to them. If they're neurotypical, they have a hard time understanding; and if they're mentally ill, they have more than enough of their own shit without having to deal with me. I don't feel any malice toward anyone, except myself. There is no good answer to the question "why am I like this?"

There have been quite a few moments lately when I have genuinely not believed that I deserve to be loved.

I feel sick because I think I'm either manipulating people into loving me or manipulating them into leaving me. I spin around and around inside my brain, looking for answers, looking for reasons why I hurt this much, and I find nothing. I have to stop using my mental illnesses and my trauma as excuses. I have to get better, do better, fight harder, heal better so that when I sink into a depressive episode, this doesn't happen. I have to stop bursting into tears when someone tells me something that hurts me.

I'm constantly afraid that I'm manipulative. I know it's not manipulative to ask for what I need or to say something when I feel wrong. No, I think I'm manipulative when I'm asked to change. I think that I get defensive, and in my defensiveness I leave no room for growth. I use my hurt as a barrier against personal change. I'm hurt, therefore what they said to me is wrong.

When someone asks me to change, all I hear is "you're wrong." What I think I need to hear is "here's how you could be even better." I don't know how to get there.

I want to squish myself under a shoe and flush myself down the toilet, and even then I don't think my brain will stop thinking about this.