I feel really strongly that I need to offload about my latest episode in ridiculous crying.
Tonight has been terrible. What happened was actually pretty tame. I talked with an online friend about something I’ve been feeling/thinking for some time now – and at the same time I was talking to another close friend about my money situation at the moment.
The two things were pretty much completely overwhelming and the sense of hatred I had for myself was so intense. I’m in a public a place whilst this happens, or at least the lounge of a hostel in Australia and my nose was running because I was crying. So, naturally I went off to blow my nose but the moment that I got there I locked the door, grabbed some toilet roll and proceeded to sit down against the wall. Crying is nothing something I’ve ever seen people do gracefully, and I hate myself even more when it happens.
My mind was racing, mostly and it’s difficult to convey that in words. I’d already done the damage though. Called myself out on my worst features. My two-facedness, my cowardice. Talking about the fact that I can’t DO what it seems that I’m supposed to do. I’m in a place right now where I feel comfortable but it isn’t ideal – it’s not what other people could accomplish and I feel so pathetic knowing that I just cannot, for whatever reason achieve what other people do. The phrase ‘one day I’m just going to die and it will all mean nothing’ stuck with me and I suppose that’s where the suicidal thoughts come into it.
It all got worse whilst I was crying though. It was uncontrollable and every time I started to think about something I felt the pain rise up in me all over again. The kind of sobbing where you whine and whimper. Pathetic really. I couldn’t cope with seeing things around me. I pulled my hood up over my head, turned my face toward the wall but the tiles in the bathroom are reflective so I could still see the stuff around me no matter how much I turned my head. So I had to close my eyes, and I’m still crying and trying to stifle the sound with my hood because I both do and don’t want people to hear me crying.
When it gets to the point that my throat is dry and hurting I get mad with myself. I press my knuckles against the wall and recoil instantly because I know that sensation of pain will maybe make me feel better but I don’t really want to hurt myself. So I rest my palm against it instead, but I’m still crying. Still thinking about the things I can’t do. The future I can’t think about. I want to pound my fist against the wall this time – and I do, just once, but that makes me stop, because I don’t want to hurt myself. I don’t want to have scars and I don’t want to damage the things around me.
I’m still crying, and it just seems natural to bump my head against the wall now – but I’ve done that before. Against a concrete lamp post some years ago in the middle of my home town and it hurt, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I can recall what it made me feel at the time physical pain was better to think about than the crushing pain in my chest. I don’t think banging my head against the wall is going to help anyone.
I’m still crying. My abdomen is starting to hurt because of the sharp breaths and my back hurts from the way I’m hunched over and struggling to make the feeling go away. It’s only when I’m thinking, completely focused on making myself stop that I wonder if I will ever stop. Is this going to be like the time I completely blacked out a few months ago? Didn’t this happen then? I’d started screaming and what if I start screaming now? It’s 3am, in the basement of a hostel.
The desire for someone to find me strikes me hard, and it’s both a desperate need and something I don’t think I’d be able to handle. I just want someone to wrap their arms around me and rock me until I stop. I think about something a friend once said to me, and it soothes me for a moment before I remember that it’s the same friend who I feel like I’ve let down. By being so unable to achieve social norms. I hold on to the memory of the words they spoke months and months before and very slowly I can feel myself begin to calm down.
I’m still thinking about that time I blacked out though. I’m thinking about the thoughts I had then, and I’m thinking about the children I’ve worked with, and I’m thinking about the link via mental health and I’m thinking maybe we need to make sure our quiet, calm spaces are clean because I can see dust on the floor here and just the fact that is is there is making me cross. I’m cross that I have to think about it, that it’s THERE when it shouldn’t be and all I want is darkness and calm and I turn toward the tile again and I can feel it’s wet from the condensation I’m creating.
The tissue in my hand is nothing but a wrinkled mass of paper, it’s not going to be any use for my nose, but I press it under my nostrils to try and get rid of anything there because at one point I swear it was just water coming out of me.
At least I’m not thinking by this point. Except that thought alone is a reminder of what I’m trying not to think about. It comes again in a wave I’m really not expecting and that just makes everything worse. Is this ever going to stop? It’s got to stop at some point. I’ve done nothing ‘wrong’ with my body except forget to take my meds and that wasn’t going to have that much impact on this, it wasn’t like it was AGES ago that I last had them, only 5 or so hours overdue.
Eventually I conclude that the only way I’m going to stop crying is if I really try hard to. Deep breaths. I’m still sobbing ever other breath but that means it’s working. I’m going to be okay though. Even if I sit here all night, eventually someone will knock on the door and reality will be here again to wake me up. Do I want people to think I’m crazy though? I don’t want the people that I know are currently on shift to think that there’s a huge problem here. I don’t want to worry them. Yes, I wanted one of them to hold me until it stopped but without the questions.
It’s only when I’ve stopped that I hear a knock on the door. The guy on duty asks me, by name, to open the door. This is okay, because I know him. I can’t stand up though, so I crawl to the door and right when I get there I can feel the urge to cry overwhelming me again. I want to just turn the lock and leave the door, but I manage to pull the door open and he steps in, but I can’t see above the bottom of his shorts. Am I okay. I will be. Of course I will. I’m always okay. I never hurt myself, and I never do anything with any finality. I’m not sure what it is that keeps me hooked so deeply to life. Whether it’s the promises I made when I was 17 to a person I’d never met before, or the lives of the people who didn’t deserve to die but did that remind me how precious life is. If it’s just because I am a coward, or because I still hope it will get better or because these outbursts AREN’T what I am. I’m still alive, and I’m still breathing.
I say I just need five minutes and he’s gone. Promising to be back in five minutes if I don’t. There’s a pressure for a moment. Can I regain enough composure to be out of here in five minutes. I kind of need to go to the toilet anyway. Getting up is hard though. A part of me thinks I could stay there all night, just staring. Just thinking about the fact that I’ve worried someone I barely know and interrupted another person’s cleaning schedule by sitting on the floor of the toilet he was going to clean and suddenly I just want to beg for forgiveness and apologise over and over and over.
By the time I’m on my feet, relieved and washing my hands it’s got to have been five minutes but I just can’t. What do I say? What if there are questions I don’t know how to answer? What if I just start crying again? They’ll think it’s something serious but actually, some of my friends talked to me about some stuff. That’s it. Some friends talked to me about things that needed to be discussed. I’m supposed to think about my future, and the things I’m doing with my life right now and those are the things I was talking about. Normal every day things.
I steel myself, try on a smile and decide that it’s the only way I can get through this. Smile. Let them know I’m okay. Hope it’s enough to act as a thank you. I still feel badly for disrupting their evening’s work. I still feel ridiculous.
Then I sat back where I’d been – as if nothing had happened. Except my nose is the same colour as my lips and it makes me look so pale, and I’ve written a post semi-publicly that I need to delete and this deep need to write about the experience.