I remember watching the old Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movies as a child, and thinking that someday, he was going to miss the next branch or vine as he swung through the trees. Somehow, there was always another one to grab, and he never fell.
I missed the branch, but I think it's because I was thrown, instead of making the jump myself. Off-balance, gracelessly, I feel like I hit the tree trunk and plummeted to the ground. I'm in so many pieces that I don't know how to even begin to put myself back together.
Everything is discouraging. The world is colorless, airless, joyless. I've started retreating into myself so far that almost no one can reach me on the bad days. I've perfected folding up and disappearing, the way I used to when I was a teenager, out of sight on my big rock in the front yard, up on the roof where nobody thought to look, or under my bed behind the barricade of old toys and boxes, lying perfectly still so no one would know I was there.
It's reached the point where people exasperatedly have told me that they don't want to hear about it, that I need to "snap out of it" and "move on". It doesn't work that way. I shudder to think what it might be like without the small amount of pharmaceuticals I take...but I really don't want to be any more heavily medicated than I am.
I'm treading water in jello, being hauled under by quicksand. I have nightmares about abandonment and exclusion. I feel worthless.
It doesn't really matter what I write in this blog...my ex only trolled it to reinforce his inner justification for pulling his vanishing act. I'm pretty sure the woman for whom he left me is the kind who appreciated the melodramatic gesture asserting his greater devotion to her. Honestly, I don't think anyone else actually reads this thing.
If you've ever wondered why people kill themselves, it's because they realize that they're invisible and that they have never mattered. I've tried, but all I have to show for it is a massive litany of failures.