I told myself that as soon as I left my mom’s, as soon as I removed myself from that toxic environment, everything was going to be perfect.
I would finally be on my own. I was an adult now and was free of her own virus. I was to be financially stable with my boyfriend, my cats, a new bed, and kitsch from IKEA. It seemed like paradise to me at the time but my mind had other plans.
It didn’t take long for this ‘thing’ inside to find other reasons to be miserable. Some of them even remained carefully hidden, from me and everyone around me. I thought that at this point, I’d be so happy. I thought I had finally managed to carve out a sane chunk of my brain and wouldn’t be bothered by those other pieces.
I feel like I’ve not made any progress. The self deprecation, consistent self harm, and thoughts of death have persisted. They may even be stronger this round.
Now that I’m jailed in my ‘dream’ home, I’m stuck with my thoughts all the time. I see one person for days at a time and breathe in manufactured air. I can no longer afford this fantasy life anymore. Something must change. I fear the worse.