The selfishness of guilt and shame

I have found myself reading over and over this post at Surviving Prostitution and Addiction. In the first paragraph, Angel K writes:

At times get the strongest urge at times to utterly destroy myself, to hurt and hurt and hurt myself, to shred myself to bits. To punish myself. It’s as if I’ve internalised what they said to me – you deserve it, you like it, you were meant for this – worthless! Bitch! Dirty girl! Slut! Whore… and on. There’s a part of me that feels horribly dirty and damaged beyond repair, which makes any attempt at change seem utterly futile.

Although our life stories are different, I can really, really relate to this urge to all out do myself in. It tends to mostly occur in the evening, when I am by myself, in front of the computer….I don’t see a way out of my troubles, a way to freedom and self-acceptance. I’m not sure I even want self acceptance, if that makes sense.

It would be different if I was some pure, innocent thing. But I’m not. I’ve done some really fucked up shit, for lack of better wording. I’ve hurt people and frankly, the circumstances don’t matter to the people who I’ve wronged. And then writing a post like this feels like pleading for others to tell me that I’m really not that bad, that what I’ve done isn’t really that bad, that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, yadda yadda yadda. Supposedly, I have PTSD from my Evil Actions, but that sounds like an excuse as well. As in, I’m the victim here, when I’m surely not.

I think about what I’ve done every damn day; I experience nightmares about doing it again. I can’t take remove myself from this planet at this time, since seeing first-hand how that destroys loved-ones of the person who commits suicide. I can’t bear the thought of passing on that pain to my parents, so for now I just have to grimmace and bear the Scarlett Letter for what I’ve done. Besides, as I don’t believe in an afterlife, I don’t deserve to get out so easily.

I wonder why I don’t hurt myself even more….every object becomes a way to hurt myself. If I really wanted to, I could make this life into much more of a hell for me than it currently is.

I realize how utterly feminine this self-loathing sounds. But at the same time, it is based in reality. A reality that can’t be undone, no matter how much I may do things differently in my mind.

Posted in Mental Illness, self harm, self hatred, selfish | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Maybe I’m just oversensitive.

I recently viewed the movie Crooked Beauty. In it, the narrator, Jacks Ashley McNamara, discusses her unique take on why she has what we label as bipolar disorder. McNamara sees herself as being more sensitive to all the injustices in the world than the average person and believes this is why she has the leaps and crashes that she experiences. If the world were a different place, McNamaramight not endure the symptoms of bipolar disorder.

Lately I have been wondering if maybe I too am just overly sensitive. For as long as I can recall, I have wanted justice. At times I have come up with plans to help those with terminal illnesses, then those living in extreme poverty, then non-human animals, and, finally I’ve learned to identify with my  own detested social group: women. But over the years,I have become increasingly despondent. I don’t see how things will really change, not just in my lifetime, but ever.

Take the situation of women, for example. Even among the radical left, there are plenty of menfolk who will accuse us of being “divisive” by bringing up the reality of women’s lives. And fighting for the right to condom-free pornography is seen as in the interest of women. Note the irony that the folks who are waging this war argue for “harm reduction” in the sex trade. So, there is not hope from the left, who should be on our side.

I sometimes wonder if I’m the only one who doesn’t find misogyny, in all its’ genius forms, fucking hysterical. We’ve been watching a movie in a class I’m in. I’m not going to name the movie, but it’s an older film with a painfully obvious misogynist streak. Yet, misogyny is so normal in movies, as in life, that this doesn’t even raise an eyebrow let alone an outcry. Indeed, I wonder if I’m the only one who feels as though I’m dying inside when I see two men share an inside joke about statutory rape.

I wonder if it’s because, for my female peers, the misogyny would overwhelm them and they, too, would die a bit inside.  And yet, the only way things will change is if a whole bunch of women are willing to be women-identified.

For most people, I think, it’s more important to go-along-to-get-along. I used to think more people were like me, willing to think things through and if their stance on an issue didn’t make sense, at least consider changing their minds. But now, I think it’s more important for people to keep their friends, and thus go along with whatever their group, even their group of non-conformers, thinks.

I used to think change was possible. And now, well, I suppose it’s possible but highly improbable.

Is this a new form of depression rearing it’s head, I wonder? Or is it that depressed people really do see the world in a more realistic manner?

Posted in depression, feminism, Mental Illness, social justice, woman hatred | Tagged , | 4 Comments