I don’t know what is wrong.

Things hurt more. They really, really hurt a lot. I don’t know what triggered it. I don’t even know how to articulate it.

The longing to connect is very, very strong. The feeling that I am not wanted is very, very strong also. The condolence visit seems to have prompted something. Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t really figure it out. I am too overwhelmed by emotions to even know what the emotions are about. There is like one brain cell left over and it’s overtaxed.

I think what I am feeling is that no one wants the reality of the trauma. I went home and was abused, and then I had to go to school and be normal. It was never safe to be me. It wasn’t safe to be me when I wasn’t being abused either. As a child trying to cope with abuse, there is a lot of keeping your own feelings inside so that you can at least have some degree of protection. You are triggered all day long by different small things that happen at school, and you cannot express any of that. You cannot express the terror or the anger or the shame. You would face ostracism from peers, punishment by teachers, disapproval from everyone. Normal life and normal society, what is just every day, is not designed for a child with trauma.

The world is not safe anywhere for a child with trauma. You cannot have problems controlling impulses because no one taught you how to regulate your feelings. You cannot have trouble calming your body down because there was no one to rock you and hold you when you were little. It’s not okay. It disturbs the people around you, and there is no one person with the time and motivation to help you learn those things, because all of the adults are busy with their own lives or with too many things.

So no one wants me. No one wants me for me. They might like the performance I can give when I shove everything inside me, but no one likes what is inside me. No one feels even that it is worth the trouble of tolerating to get the other parts of me. That is the other end of feeling I am bad. My feelings are bad.

The condolence party prompted this, I think, because I sat quietly losing my mind, because C and The Boy both needed my attention. They are my priority, and I wanted to give my attention to them. But I needed to sit with a group of people I was not even interested enough to have a conversation with—the only time anyone spoke to me was when I was trying to think how to respond to a text from C, so only when I wasn’t being a body did anyone have any interest in me.

I am not wanted in life.

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