I feel like I sort of talked about this the other day but for some reason I caught myself thinking about it.

It's sometimes hard to describe my internal thoughts to my parents, especially when they still seem a bit confused when I say that in retrospect, I had these issues for a long time.  I just was unable to hide them anymore after a certain point, and that also is when I stopped denying that I was sick and that I actually needed help otherwise there would be a good chance I would die.  They mean well, and they want to understand, but it is hard for me to really explain, especially in a way that does not hurt them.  I still sometimes think that they feel like they've done something wrong when I say that, even when I assure them that nothing can be further from the truth.  Maybe I'm reading too much into it, since I am prone to doing things like that.

My being better does not mean my suicidal ideations have gone away, and I sometimes feel terrible about that.  But I remember in high school there was more than one occasion where I got dangerously close to swallowing a whole fuck ton of pills because I thought that it would be better than dealing with my own perfectionism and self-hatred that I for some reason could not find an escape from.  I spilled them out onto my bed and stared at them after looking up how many I would need.  Each time I caught myself, luckily, and erased any evidence that such things were on my mind. 

And the next day, I went about my business as normal.  Acting like the confident self-possessed person I wished I truly was.

Maybe it was easier in high school to pretend, because it was easier to excel, in a way.  I tied my worth to my work, and in high school, I found that many things came naturally to me and I was not yet burning out like I would years later in grad school.  Since I got all As all the time, I was able to at least play the part of the confident teenager, though the cracks began to show whenever I stumbled.  I would berate myself mercilessly whenever I did poorly on...anything, really.  (And 'poorly' for me usually meant like a B+ or below.  Sometimes even an A- I was unhappy with depending on the subject.)  Many times that manifested as anger and I lashed out. 

But overall, I did well. 

Undergrad began sort of picking things apart with certain subjects.  Computer science was one that got to me; I did well in the end due to getting a last minute tutor to help with my final project and I creatively found answers online and all that.  It was frustrating - it was a topic I truly could not understand, and I hated that.  I still have problems with programming even in my statistics software because certain things I just don't get for some reason.  I didn't know how exactly to handle it.  While I struggled a little bit in high school with biology, I eventually got it (or at least parts of it...enough to do well).  I never got computer science.  It was a huge blow, in all honesty.

I had to be perfect in order for others to love or like me.  For me to be worthy of living.

And I never got involved with romance because I did not like the idea of depending on another human being like that.  Also I just never saw people that way, really.  Even in high school I wondered if something was wrong with me because I didn't have crushes and didn't want to have them.  (I'm probably on the acearo spectrum, truthfully, but I didn't know that at the time.)  When the ex showed up I was confused and scared and I didn't know what to do.

Of course, I made a super bad decision - I got with him and did not recognize the signs of manipulation until far after we broke up.  And since he had his own issues, I could not really open up about my own, though I can't entirely blame that on him - I was closed off about some of my own problems because I did not want him to know about them.  I was supposed to be strong for him because I could handle it.  So I thought.  In reality, my own need to attend to his happiness (even if I was failing) along with his manipulative games and rhetoric chipped away at me until I was basically just a shadow.  Or rather, until my inner turmoil finally spilled over to the surface, and I wasn't able to hide behind the mask as much anymore.

And then he left in the worst possible way.  He left partially because he said he sucked the life out of me, and while that is majorly true...it is also true that it was my own sadness and depression that showed its ugly head.  Rather than deal with me and try to help me, he left.  He said he no longer loved me, and I believe that is true.  But I think he stopped when I started to show my sadness.

That fucked me up.

I loved him through his depression and his aches and wanted to help him.  When I stopped being so cheerful, he stopped loving me and left.  Not only did he leave, but he then played with me and my emotions and took advantage of my compassion and my love and made it even more difficult for me. 

So of course, who would love me with my sadness?  My self-hatred and perfectionism?  Who could?  My family was the answer, and even then I told myself that they were sick of me and would be better off without me around.  People loved the mask - but did they love me? 

No, I told myself.

And I tried so hard to continue wearing the mask but he was the catalyst that shattered it and made it practically impossible to repair.  Grad school then came in like a freight train and destroyed what little self worth I felt I had left.

Even now, my worth is tied to that degree - I need to get it, otherwise I am a failure and should be discarded.

Luckily, I now at least have a voice in my head that lobbies for me; when that other self tells me to drive off a cliff or jump from a building or swallow a bottle of pills or whatnot...there is a voice arguing against it.  It is sometimes soft, but I've been trying to strengthen it.  But...it doesn't always win; my hand is stayed often because of my own fears than my own belief of self-worth.

And of course, Callie.  I attribute her to saving my life because I needed to be there for her.  There were times where I believed that she would be okay without me, but...she is my rock and the light of my life and I told her I would not leave her.  I don't want to break that promise.