Just waiting to die (borrowed time)

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide, suicidal ideation

My existence has descended into little more than a lonely, binge drinking haze.  The bottle is now the only ‘friend’ I have left and the only thing I can trust in this world.  It doesn’t cause me to feel envy towards it and it doesn’t tell lies; it does exactly what I need it to do, which is to numb the pain, kill the remaining time I have left and knock me out when my body has had enough, so I can sleep.  I more alone and isolated here than I was in Rochester, where I at least had a therapist to talk to and I was able to distract myself a little by riding my bike for 15-30 miles a day and avoid people, which is something I am unable to do here in Grantham.

I have severed ties with my mum and my last remaining friend for both their sake and mine.  But just like everyone else, neither of them were honest, but the issue with my mum is far more deep-rotted and is the source of most of my envy.  Since I returned to the UK, the anger towards my family has grown and the past has haunted me like a horror movie haunted house, in which the malevolent ghost is determined to either kill or force out the living occupiers of the house.   She won’t ever acknowledge the favoritism and as a result, I won’t ever be able to have any kind of relationship with her.  Yesterday I lashed out at her over text message in order to finally push her away, as she’d been badgering me about seeing her for the past 2 weeks.  As always, she didn’t acknowledge a single thing I said about the ‘two tier family’ situation or the past and present favoritism.  Instead, she basically told me that I couldn’t see the cats anymore, which I half expected anyway.  While I’m upset that I will probably never get to say goodbye to Lily and Madge, they’re her cats and it will affect me, not them.  At least they have a good home.

As for the ‘friend’ I severed ties with, it wasn’t just my envy of her that led me to do such a thing (the third time I’ve severed ties with her).  I could have dealt with the envy, but not her dishonesty.  I trusted her and I was going to move close to where she lives, as she kept telling me she’d help me, etc.  But t turned out that she was hiding her friendship with me from her parents and most likely from others, which hurt because people have done that to me in the past by keeping the friendship secret and compartmentalized.  I would have made a mistake in moving down there, because how can someone help me when they can’t even talk to me on the phone without having to hide it?  She would repeatedly say !I love you” and called me her “best friend”, but neither of those things were the truth..  Before I deleted my Facebook account, I recall seeing her actual seeing her post a status where she wrote “Spending time with my best friend“, when her actual best friend questioned it in their comment.  These are just words, but words matter to me and carry great meaning.  I notice small details like that; details which turn out to be not so small after all.  I was fooled, once again (but never again).  If she would have just referred to me as one of her best friends and been honest with me about how she was hiding our friendship from her parents (and others), I wouldn’t have had to sever ties and the envy was something I could have controlled.  I could have been happy for her, if it weren’t for the dishonesty and accusations that I didn’t value the friendship because I never mentioned her in my blog (also untrue).

I don’t understand people’s motives, especially not the people who have come and gone in and out of my pathetic life.  I know I’m stupid, but do people assume I’m even more stupid and gullible than I actually look?  Why else would people gaslight me, offer me friendship out of pity and mislead me?  While I always suspect this is the case, it takes me a long time to react accordingly and such a delayed reaction is almost always too late, because I’ve already made a fool of myself.  I don’t even want to talk about it anymore because it doesn’t matter now, but I feel extremely hurt by this form of history continually repeating itself on me.  I’m not good enough to be anyone’s best friend or girlfriend.  I’m not good enough to have a family of my own or a family that actually cares about me and doesn’t relegate me to the lower tier.

I went up to Scotland on the train on Tuesday to spend time at the spot where I’m planning to escape this wretched body.  I achieved my goal, as I now have it all figured out in terms off the timing.  I took my folding bike with me on the train, which came in useful as I was able to cycle along the coast and appreciate being out of ‘Brexit England’ for a while, in a country that voted overwhelmingly to remain in the European Union; a country that is more progressive and less xenophobic than England and less populated in general,   I had a bit to drink, mainly to numb my anxiety.  In my slightly intoxicated state as I sat by the beach, I contemplated attempting to move to Scotland.  While it would certainly allow me to run away from some of my problems, the envy of others, severe anxiety and dysphoria would catch up with me eventually, after the brief ‘honeymoon’ period comes to an end.  It’s unlikely I’d find any kind of help for my mental health problems and I’d still be alone in the world.

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Brexit is happening and it’s looking like being the hardest, worst possible form of Brexit imaginable and that terrifies me.  I’ve already had trouble getting my HRT medication and antidepressants, although I’m not as bothered about the antidepressants as they weren’t working anyway.  The NHS (National Health Service) has finally admitted to the shortages across many local trusts and they’ve attributed it to manufacturer stockpiling because of Brexit.  The whole Brexit thing is utterly depressing in itself, because it is a huge win for populism and small minded nationalism. The prime minister has basically gone rogue and is holding the nation hostage to try to force her ‘deal’ through parliament with just 8 days left.  I despair; both the United Kingdom (a country I once called ;home’) and I are both on borrowed time.

Staring death in the face on Tuesday has made it more ‘real’ for me.  No one will be able to claim that is was a spontaneous decision, because this is something I’ve been contemplating for 2 decades and planning meticulously for the last 3 months.  I have nothing and no one left to live for and I’m sure as shit not going to live for myself, because I loathe every aspect of myself; both my inner self and this hideously ugly outer shell of skin and bone that I long to be freed from.

I hate Brexit.
I hate Trump.
I hate populism.
I hate myself.

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