I am not a wonderful person.  Blame it on the disease, the personality, the person that I am, but the truth is I am a difficult person to love.  There are no words that can change my mind about this, nothing that anyone can say that would make me think any differently.

I isolate myself day in and day out to protect myself.  I keep my emotions in check and try desperately to stay far away from the chaotic world around me so that I can survive. There are those that believe that they know me, my husband for instance, people who believe that because they understand a piece of me they know the whole of me.

I get angry at this world.  I get angry at this world because it isn’t the fairy tale that everyone else seems to be living.  I am smart enough to understand that there are real problems that everyone faces and monsters that everyone must fight – no one is exempt. They are very normal people out there who live life to their best capability and live for those seconds of perfection that remind them of the fairy tale they believe in. But that simply isn’t the world that I live in.

I get angry at the people who have others to talk to; even when it is a simple text to say hello.  I get frustrated with the people who live their lives each day and never really know the defeat of hating one’s own self.  I hate the people who don’t have the disease that God decided I must suffer.  I purposely leave my marriage, my family, even my children in disgust of who and what they are.  Not because they are bad, but because I have no one who understands me and no one to trust.

If you try and understand me you will find that who and what I am today is not how I will feel or think tomorrow.  I internalize little hurts and little mistakes made towards me by people who are supposed to understand me.  I hate the fact that in all the mirrors of this world no one knows which one is me.

I don’t have anyone to talk to; partly because I have separated myself out of desperation and the need to protect myself and partly because there are so many times this world disappoints me.  There are so many times that I hold my breath in anticipation only for those I love to once again show me their reality.  And their reality isn’t my reality.

I have a disease that destroys everything good in life.  It turns me against my own self and it turns me against those that are supposed to be there.  It makes me believe that no one loves me, for how could anyone love someone like me?  How could anyone love a woman who hates herself, a woman who doesn’t understand the security of touch, a woman who doesn’t understand how this world could ignore, not even try, to understand me? Why doesn’t anyone try to know who I am?

If you ask those who profess to love me they will tell you that they understand parts of me.  And they may actually be able to do so.  They may know about the masks I put on in order to hide from the world my own personal disdain, and they may know about the times when I am inside my head.

But they don’t know the times I cry.  They don’t understand the moments when their simple words crush me.  They blame the disease for all manners of emotions that I have, almost like the men who blame PMS for their girlfriend’s anger.  People that I love can’t understand what it feels like to not be able to talk about my day or what is going through my mind because of a very simple fear.  They are sitting there with ears ready to listen, but they don’t know what it feels like to realize no one is hearing.

I accept that part of everything in my world is my own.  I can’t blame most things on either the disease or the people around me; it is truly only on me.  But I can blame them for so much more.

I am literally staring at the phone, doing my damn-est not to once again try and kill myself with a bottle of pills, and I realize that I have no one to call.  There are those that would stand up and ask why not me? Why can you not talk to me? But the truth is, I know deep in my soul that with all the best of intentions those people will make it worse before they ever could make it better.

So once again, I am on my own.  I have built a world of isolation that mocks me during times such as these.  I have built such walls around myself, that when the world collapses there is no one to help build it back up.  There is no one to love and there is no one that resides in the deepest, darkness parts in my mind.  No one to reach out to.

I will get through this episode, I seem to get through them all.

I will sit in my straight-back chair, not move in case the demons find a weakness, and stare straight ahead until the world stops spinning.  I won’t talk, I won’t cry, I will build my fortress once again.  And this time, like all the times before it, there will be one less brick, one less beam to support the whole.  Until the only alternative will be to let those walls collapse, and fall to the ground with them.

Be still and know.  Be still and fight the whispers deep in my mind.  Be still and look for the light in the darkness.  Be still and know that maybe today the Angels will be merciful.