Last night was a rather interesting experience, although I do not remember anything of it. I had taken a sleeping pill prior to going to bed. Pieter had shortly before that arrived from his D&D night and left with the dogs for their walk. I was reading in my book as I waited for him to return and so I could wish him goodnight. That was seemingly the last conscious thought I had that night as by the time Pieter returned home, he found me in a rather sleepish and gigglish state. He wished me goodnight and turned off the light. I have no memory of him even returning home, plus I noticed today that I had put my bookmark a few pages back from where I had left off. Yet Pieter told me today that I was still capable of responding to his questions and such when he checked up on me. Most interesting, albeit slightly disturbing :)
The past weeks are marked by a severe increase in stress levels, to the point where I suffer from a constant headache and sensation of nausea. Today was the first time in a while that I have taken a nap during the day, however. My state is alert, fully aware of my surroundings, yet intensily focused on my intellectual side. I have cut off communications which I deemed unnecessary and not relevant to my mental stability. Applications such as MSN Messenger (Live Messenger) have been uninstalled and all of my attempts to keep in touch with people who didn't seem responsive enough have ceased.
To those who are trying to contact me by text message on my mobile phone, I won't be responding so as to save the few credits I have still left on it. Use email instead.
A good friend in the US has written a letter on my behalf addressed to Oprah Winfrey, in the hope that she or someone connected to her will read it and feel called upon to provide some kind of help. I have tried this way before once already, without even a response, but we'll see how it goes this time.
Saturday my mother and my younger brother will visit, which will be the first time I have seen them since about a year. Sunday a friend of Pieter will visit. Monday I have the appointment at the VUMC.
To talk about hope or such things at this point is rather futile and irrelevant. I have no expectations, no desires, no dreams. I can still feel the remains of them stir inside me at times, but the primary sensation I am aware of is that of fatalism, mixed with silent despair. I find myself unable to cry, unable to emote anything I feel these days. It's as though I am becoming intensely aware of myself and my surroundings, yet I see myself as little more than an interesting construct, a machine, much as I desired to see myself years ago, when I was still withdrawn. Or perhaps I have become withdrawn again.
I desire no contact with others, as their stories and details about their lives stir something painful inside. I can find no compassion for people expressing love, in any form of shape. Desiring purely physical contact for the sake of doing so is something I consider to be something totally horrific and will upset me for hours. Even if there is more involved, the thought of it still sickens me. I consider this to be a part of my PTSD.
What of my future? I guess the only path that is open to me at this point considering my circumstances and my PTSD plus other assorted traumas is to live in a withdrawn fashion, only seeking contact with others for purely work-related business. At this moment it would be silly for me to consider things like dreams, happiness and such, as they are not available to me and I'm fairly certain they'll never be. As said before by doctor Linthorst at the AMC, I may just have to learn to live without ever knowing the answers to the questions I seek. Concretely this means living without solid identity, without self-image, without relations, without intimacy, without a defined place in society, and no refuge other than in intellectual pursuits.
I guess that it would have been better for me to have remained withdrawn and never try to find answers, as the only major things the past four years seem to have resulted in are things I do not understand or which I intensely regret, most of all my more intimate encounters with both guys and girls. I often wish that I could erase all those memories instead of having them haunting me and feeding my doubts and self-loathing.
The one thing which upsets me the most is the suggestion by especially medical specialists and psychologists that I have brought this all over myself, that if I hadn't confused myself into believing all these ramblings I have been telling them and all of you about my body and what I experience, that I could have lived happily on as a perfectly normal boy. They completely ignore that there never has been a moment in my life when I was 'happy', never a moment that I felt that my body was complete, that I understood what was going on, instead they believe that all of this was by my own choice, that I'm just making life difficult for myself.
I do not understand why I had to be born this way, or why people seem to perceive me in so many different ways, draw conclusions which clash with each other at every point. Why me? Why not someone else? Why didn't I get to live a normal life, unaware of a life filled with only uncertainty, pain, terribly memories and completely abandoned by the people who could help me? More and more often this all just seems like a bad joke, an experiment gone wrong. The points at which I feel that reality is slipping away as a specialist draws another conclusion are too many to number. I do not feel that I have a firm grasp on reality, or sanity anymore. Who cares about either when all they are is pure, undiluted pain and agony?
Please, just let me sleep and never wake me up again...