YOU ARE NOT ALONE - A companion online community discussion board for The Mental Illness Happy Hour podcast with Paul Gilmartin

Dear diary: I learned a new word on the MIHH podcast yesterday:
gas·light
ˈɡaslīt/

verb:
1.
manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.

So now I have the word for that which he did, and that which he did, and that which she is doing to me now.

I wonder of somatic therapy is really something to pursue, of if it's a bunch of naval gazing bullshit.

I'm now eating to punish.

After a while this suffering is so fucking boring I wish I could just stand up and start over like I was just fucking choosing to be miserable. Because that's what the BFF thinks. And all the fuckin voices in my head.

I have never felt more unwell. It's like my life has been just one cruel twist after another: I can finally "follow my dream" (ugh, how upper-middle-class trustafarian of me) now that my daughter, whom I raised by myself, has abandoned me after being manipulated by her girlfriend, and now she is nearly unrecognizable to me: temperamentally, physically, she even changed her name. But being able to do what i aways wanted is empty and hollow with no meaningful relationships in my life. And how can you have those relationships if you're as fucked up as I apparently am?

I hate my (few) friends right now. They mostly annoy the shit out of me either for their obliviousness because they are too busy to include me in anything, or because they just don't fucking get that I can't just fucking snap out of the PTSD and the depression and anxiety. I can't say that I blame them, for even when i actually try to be good company, I have a hard time mustering enthusiasm for anything. And then there are the times when i don't even feel like fuckin trying. So I stay home and I don't talk to anyone for fuckin days.

Is it too early to go to bed?

Today seems like a good day to just fucking annihilate myself. SO tired of waking up in the middle of ruminating. So tired of the nightmares. So tired of fighting. so tired. Tired of crying. tired of feeling stuck feeling alone feeling like an idiot who can't do anything just because of the way I think. Tired of feeling like there's all this really good stuff out there in the world for everyone else to experience but me. For no discernible reason I just don't get to have loving parents, teachers who acted on what they knew, a positive prom experience, a nice wedding, a baby shower, a partner who loves me and won't mindfuck me at the first opportunity. Tired of reciting the list of shitty things I've experienced to remind myself of why I am the way I am, that I'm not crazy, that other people willfully fucked me over for their own amusement.

Tired of sounding like a whiny bitch. Wah wah wah I didn't get what I wanted again. Boo hoo life isn't fucking fair get over it. Oh yeah, and be grateful for what you have.

Thanks, Dad, for the money and the neuroses to go with it. At least I can pay for expensive shrinks.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for silencing me so well that i am a fucking codependent passive aggressive cyclothymic doormat with PTSD. Do you think I should lead with that on my dating profile?

Codependency is a hell of a thing. Of course, you know you deserve better. I hate that they try to fuck you over. Please take care.

Ella there's so much I wish I could express to you. Unfortunately I can't seem to get the words to come out of my fingers because there's just too damn many of them. If I was able to, I'd love to just give you a hug. Not just a friendly "Hey, good seeing you" kind of hug, but a true hug to express just how much my heart goes out to you. I'm sure that may sound a bit creep-tastic, and for that I do apologize. I know we don't know each other and chances are never truly will, but please know that even given those circumstances I care.

Thanks, Dave. I will consider myself hugged in a well-meaning and not creepy way. It's exactly what I needed. Thanks.

Anytime friend.

Dear Diary, Believe me, if I knew how to let it go, I fucking would. I fantasize about unleashing on the next person who tells me to, "*JUST* let it go." Isn;t that the point of this mental illness, that I know that this shit is toxic, but it's been part of me for 29 years and I don't know how to let it go. It's like telling me I'll lose weight if I *JUST* learn portion control. I would love to carve those 29 years of feeling like I'm a lousy piece of shit not worthy of any kind of love right off my body. Give me a knife and I'd love to slice the rape right off my hips and thighs. I'd like to shave some of the gas lighting off my ass, too. And all the years of never being good enough that have accumulated in my fat belly--I'd be happy to cut that off, too. Because that's what I imagine it will take to Let. It. Go.

I am struggling with portion control as well. Please take care, Ella Menneau.

Thanks, Manuel Moe.