cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/46941411

I'm not doing so hot, but not for the reasons everyone keeps telling me to take my meds. It feels exactly like it did when I was fifteen, after the police interrogated me about a nonexistent bomb using hypothetical questions, but before being suspended. This is the same feeling I had throughout college. I know the boat is sinking yet can do nothing but plow forward.

World collapsing, not that there was much going for me before. I suppose I always have God, but that's part of the problem. If our fathers were our models for God, what does that tell us about God? For me, it's that I'm never good enough and I always have to go farther and harder and faster to appease my master.

I remember an invitational early in my junior year of high school track where I just couldn't run fast. My coach wasn't worried as it was the beginning of the season and he was preparing us for those races that mattered. My dad was having none of it. He screamed at me while I was running in the same way he yelled at us in Little League; with borderline fucking death threats. He was "livid" the whole way home, which is a very specific word he used when he would methodically go through my soul and shit in every inch of it.

And this is where I'm falling apart, because my life partner is deliberately evoking these feelings by being like my negligent, narcissistic father, and I can't take it anymore. And the thing that kills me is wondering if him taking some pills is going to magick him back to being the man I fell in love with, and that is fucking with my head. Is he so capable and callous that he is using me for his ends and he can be nice to me in the ways a considerate person might, but just chooses to make me feel this way?

I can't even trust my ability to love. He could be playing with that! Certainly love bombs me enough, but he doesn't know what that is just as he doesn't know anything about "jedi mind tricks" he told me about once. He's intentionally dense and aloof. Maybe? Is that his definite schizoid-type disorder? I can't tell what reality is.

Just keep trusting, just keep giving, and that was what I did in the cult. I let them walk all over me. They used me. And I genuinely think they did it for my benefit. I don't know what's real. The world doesn't even exist as a physical, external object to us. That's easy to understand, how the Earth is an illusion, but the circumstances of my life? Impossible to discern anything from.