After yesterday I thought that I'd be able to stabilise a bit emotionally, count on being able to negotiate away at least most of this sudden hidden fee for the new apartment and just wrestle my way through all the tasks involved in switching places. Today I learned that I was horribly wrong about that assumption.
From hitting my head repeatedly until I could taste blood, to having to force myself to not plunge that knife into my abdomen, to otherwise prevent myself from inflicting grievous harm to my body... it's been an eventful day. It also demonstrates in a most painful manner that I am not capable of dealing with situations like this, nor that I am in control of my PTSD. It shows just how dangerous trying to find a new place is as well. Without the self-control I displayed today, I'd now possibly be in the ER with severe abdominal wounds.
As a result of this I may have to concede that unless the situation with the new apartment resolves itself, I may end up not signing the contract and look elsewhere for further options. While my current apartment is terrible and the current owner (large real-estate company) tries its best to get me evicted somehow, it's at least something I have learned to somewhat cope with over the past years.
I have already let my contact person at the relocation service known that my trust in this new apartment owner has been shattered by this hidden fee. Tomorrow I'll hopefully learn what their response is.
With how much stress, pain and triggering of my PTSD this all causes me, it almost makes me think that those who recommend that I have myself checked into a mental hospital have a point. Maybe I'm just not capable of dealing with daily life and society at all. Maybe I do need treatment before I can pretend to be just a happy little cog again.
Still, having others take care of me and me not having to worry about a thing would be kind of nice... it would be like committing suicide, but without the 'permanently dead' thing.
This morning I even got an email from my psychotherapist, in which she spelled out her worries for me after reading yesterday's blog post. Unfortunately I wasn't able to send her a text message to reassure her as she requested (buggy iPhone refuses to send SMSes), but I did send an email in response, explaining that I feel that talking about all of this is pointless. What I need at this point are people who help me deal with this part in life.
Of finding a good place, of helping me move in and all the little details around it. Things which for others are easy and not fraught with emotional traps.
I also noted that I'll have to just try to survive the coming weeks, yet that I will not find happiness. The expectation is that I will become happier now that I have fewer things to worry about, but frankly I am not seeing it. This whole housing thing may ultimately be the thing which does me in, instead of the twelve years of fighting for medical recognition and help.
I do have to wonder, what is the point of living anyway?