Dinkaltranen

"I regret to inform you that what you refer to as your 'sparkling personality', is, in fact, a disorder." Is a joke I have told a lot, and I say this now in a way that intends humour.

Unfortunately, whatever happened to me snibbidy snabbed my psyche into a million little pieces. I can scrape some of the pieces close enough together with a dustpan and brush, with great effort, for long enough that you can see a part of a larger image, but even then it's not really me, I could have unluckily pulled together the sick parts of me, and there are many of those. I am a collection of these piles of fragments combining and recombining in response to events that happened years ago but still feel like they are still happening, and as a result I am incomprehensible and impossible to know or be understood, because I am unable to be consistent or stable enough to express myself clearly or articulately, and even if I did there is little point, there is nothing to do about it, at most I will ever be is a broken picture of who I once might have been at 9 or 10 or 11 or 12, glued and taped to the extent that the image of myself is consistent, but indistinguishable.

I do wish to be understood, but I find it intolerably painful and difficult to speak about it in the moment, I am much more able to be consistent within writing, as I can reference myself and others much more easily, and I can barely write at all let alone speak under pressure about very difficult things. There is deep alienation and isolation amongst all of this, but to express it, or rather the way I express it, only pushes people away. There is a deep desire and need to express, to not feel alone, to have someone, anyone, acknowledge what I went through was real, traumatic, i had to do so many terrible things to survive that i didn't choose, and ultimately what happened destroyed me, even if it doesn't feel real much of the time, but also nothing feels real to me most of the time. But also an acknowledgement that things are most likely best left unsaid. That I am not special, and humans cannot ever understand one another, and I should accept my life will be empty, my greatest and best efforts will never be enough or appreciated by others, my failings are intolerable, and my life will be completely made up of suffering I either didn't choose or made worse through my own flailings like an animal dying in a trap.