I don't really talk about myself to anyone. I don't want to bring anyone down. I don't want to be a burden. I know I should open up, uncork, find release for my thoughts---writing helps, but keeping a journal isn't the productivity my life---our life---needs. Something needs to happen to make it better, if that makes any sense whatsoever.
Each step I take, I get violently thrown ten steps back... and I'm currently in a position of being absolutely devoid of care. Now, I'm one of the most compassionate people I know... I have a huge heart that gets broken relatively easily, I do whatever I can to help others, even at a critical cost to myself, and often my altruism gets taken advantage of... None of that has really changed... but I do.not.care about myself right now, and the fact that I feel no sort of fear frightens me.
I am a "survivor" of rape. The first time it happened I was thirteen, nearly fourteen. It was my neighbor. He would routinely break into my home while my mom was away at work---I had dropped out of school because I was severely terrified and emotionally unable to handle any form of public situation. I'm still phobic of people. Long story short, those few years of trauma molded innocence into a darkness and although I know not everyone is out to get me, it made me paranoid about the intentions of others.
I mentioned this to say the following; my job is requiring me to work late into the night---early morning, to be exact. My family (although I use this term loosely, they're incredibly toxic people) is concerned for my safety (not in the way you might think) because of the high crime in our area, and there have been creepy individuals lurking around the parking lot. This would normally send me into great trepidation. Normally, I would be scared stiff, I would re-live all of the nightmares in a split second of time. However... I'm in such a low funk... I can't find the energy to even muster a tremor. My mentality has been, simply, "Oh well."
***Notes: The man in question is rotting in jail. I didn't come clean about everything that had happened until I was nineteen. My mom had no idea, I thought I was protecting her. She and I are now very far away from one another and I fear I'll never see her again...
*My depression is quite situational, and I'm trying so, so hard to remove myself from the situations at hand. We're in a very tight spot and have been for the past four years. We feel trapped and as though there is no escape. My husband and I deserve to live our dreams, or at least try to make them reality... and the forces in our way are vast. This was not the way we wanted to "live" our life... because what we're doing right now? It isn't living.