i don’t know how to tell you

I’ve been struggling. A lot. With life and therapy and my relationship with T. He hasn’t changed at all (at least not that I’ve noticed), so I’m not sure what it’s all about. For as long as I’ve been in therapy it’s been hard for me to talk, so T and I communicate most of the time through writing. It works for us, although I do wish it were different. I’ve been working on a new letter to share with him, but I’m not sure if I’m going to. I don’t know what it is exactly that’s holding me back, but something is there.

Anyways, here it is:

There’s a lot we need to talk about. The past. The present. The future. Me, and where I see myself in this world

I’m feeling a bit lost. I’m not sure what to do. There is a part of me that simply wants to quit it all but in many ways it is a terrifying thought. You say that eventually the pain lessens and passes more quickly. The impatience of waiting for it to happen is almost too much to bear. When is it going to happen? How much longer is it going to feel this way?

When will you give up on me? I don’t know why you care. About me and what happens to me. I don’t have anything to offer and there is nothing that makes me believe that I add anything to your life. So, why do you care? Why do you do what you do? Is there something I don’t understand? What do you want or need or get from me that makes you want to stay? Because I just don’t know.

There are things I want to tell you. Things I need to share because they are too much for me to handle on my own. But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to say the things that are destroying me.

I don’t know how to tell you what my Auntie said. I don’t know how to tell you that the similarities between how my mother was raised and how I was raised make me feel bad. I don’t know how to describe the deep pain inside of my chest that makes it hard to breathe when I think about how she should have tried to make things so different and how she would understand–truly understand–what it was like growing up in hostile territory. Yet, she did nothing to change it for us. She should have tried harder. I don’t know how to tell you that my mother was alone all of the time because her parents wouldn’t come home. I don’t know how to tell you that my grandmother would drink as soon as she opened her eyes and would be drunk before noon. I don’t know how to talk about the knife that I found  wrapped in plastic and hidden in the cupboard because a man had broken into the house and tried to kill everyone with it. I don’t know how to tell you that my mother was the only mother my Auntie had and that she left her too. I don’t know how to tell you that I don’t remember my Auntie living with us, but she did, for awhile, and then she was gone. I don’t know how to tell you that my grandfather used to beat my grandmother and I saw it, just once, but he was still the safest person I had. I don’t know how to say that it feels like I was born from two horrific family trees. 

I don’t know how to tell you how hurtful it is and how much I resent my parents at times. I don’t know how to tell you how incredibly unfair it feels that I am now providing for my mother what she never provided for me. I am not her mother. I cannot take care of everyone all the time. I am not prepared for it. I don’t know how to say I can’t do it anymore. I don’t know how to say that I need to let her go–just a little bit. I don’t know how to tell you about the sinking feeling I get when people mention my father or how I want to run away when they give me that look upon finding out he’s dead. I don’t want to tell you that for the most part I don’t care. I don’t want to tell you how miserable and mean he was and how he never really added anything positive to my life.

I don’t know how to tell you that it’s so incredibly hard for me to love people. Like truly love them because for the most part I don’t even think I know what it means. I don’t know how to tell you that my parents never told me that they loved me and how it feels completely and utterly devastating to hear that I was too much for them and that they never really wanted me. I don’t know how to tell you that I’ve always felt like the biggest mistake of my parent’s lives and that most of the time I wish I was never born. I don’t know how to tell you that I think I’m doing a horrible job at parenting and that I don’t feel like I am making a better life for my children. I don’t think I should have had them and while I do love them, I don’t think it’s enough. 

I don’t know how to tell you how I feel about my Aunt moving away. I don’t know how to say that in some ways it feels awful. I don’t know how to tell you that sometimes being abused wasn’t as bad as feeling unwanted. I don’t want to tell you that in some ways it feel like she is leaving me and that even though part of me is so angry at her for the things that happened in her house, part of me feels sad too. I don’t know how to tell you that there is also some relief that she will be far away. and that my hope is that in the New Year, when they are all gone away, and it’s just my mother remaining that we will finally be able to just talk about what happened. I don’t know how to tell you how afraid I am that it will never happen.

I don’t know how to tell you how hard it is to pretend to be okay all of the time. I don’t know how to tell you how scared I feel. I don’t know how to talk about the nightmares or the memories that bombard my mind when I am at work. I don’t know how to tell you how incredibly tired I am–all the time–and no matter how much sleep I get, I just never feel better.

I don’t know how to tell you that every single day I fight with myself just to stay alive and that I don’t remember the last day I haven’t thought about hurting myself. I don’t know how to tell you how much I hate my own skin and would burn it off if I could.

I don’t know how to tell you that all I want is to understand–to just understand all that happened. I don’t know how to tell you that I have no plan when I write, but I do because there are parts of me that have a frantic need to put words to paper. But the words are horrible and come from a place of not knowing and I don’t know how to share those details with you. I don’t know how to tell you that those words make me hate myself–so much that I wish I could tear my skin off.

I don’t know how to tell you about the shame–the deep, deep shame–for needing you and for caring about you. I don’t know how to tell you that every time we say goodbye, it feels like forever. I don’t know how to tell you that it drives me to want to self-destruct. I don’t know how to tell you that something inside feels broken. That something inside is missing. That something very dark lurks in the corner of my mind. 

I don’t know how to tell you all of these things.

I want to.

I need to.

I just don’t know how. 

9 thoughts on “i don’t know how to tell you

  1. Oh, Kerry – this is so perfect! You spell it all out. Why not just send it to your T? He can handle it. Then you will have told him, and he can help you hold it all

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Kerry, this is a great letter, and I’m glad you sent it. I know it feels bad and scary to be so vulnerable, and to to show someone so much of ourselves, but all of this is important and you do deserve to be heard. I hope you were able to go to your session after sending this. Xx

    Like

  3. Pingback: progress? | This Takes Courage

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