Trying to Keep Trying

I’m considering going through this blog and taking out some of the more intense content, just in case I actually am discovered one day. For now, it’s been a rocky week. I keep making really bad decisions and I’m confused about how much “blame” I need to take for them. On the one hand, chalking my actions up to an illness seems like a huge cop out. On the other hand, these are definitely decisions that I would not make if I were “in my right mind.” So I have no idea what to make of everything. Maybe I don’t have to figure it out tonight.

Since this blog is supposed to be more focused on finding meaning in a world that seems to be controlled by randomness, I’m going to change the subject back from “🤬 That’s Wrong With Me” to “Potentially Blog-Worthty Topics.”

Early last month, I googled “apostate,” not expecting the first result to be from the denomination I was raised in. In case anyone was wondering what my family believes, this it it in a nutshell (hint: I was lying the whole time about being a Christian and was secretly an agent of Satan.) It’s very invalidating, but I’m not 100% sure why this problem in particular is coming to the forefront right now. But it is.

https://rts.edu/resources/what-is-an-apostate/

Unfortunately, I don’t have time for citations, but the link is above and the pictures are screenshots.

I saw a video today by a woman who was bombarded by family members sending hate letters to her. I’ve never met anyone whose family was as consistent as mine has been in issuing the silent treatment. They use things like this to make it look like they had no choice but to stop talking to me, because they had to prioritize their “faith.” Literally the last time I spoke to either of my parents was in April, nearly eight months ago, when I had called them crying and begging them to advocate for me to get an MRI from the emergency room that I was in. (This was an intervention that later turned out to have actually been necessary.) My parents refused to stick up for me, and basically allowed the hospital to refuse me medical care on the grounds that I had a mental illness. I would have thought that in the eight months that have followed, they might have called back to check in. But yeah, zero attempts at communication from either parental unit. And they want to say it’s because I’m an apostate, so it’s my fault.

Anyway. I’m changing quickly between topics because I have such limited time with my phone. But the meaning of life is a valid question lately. I found out that I’m pretty much going to be institutionalized for the rest of my life, probably won’t ever have a family, etc. So with the mental health thing, I feel myself putting in less effort because I ask myself, “What’s the point?” I’m just going to be locked up for life anyway. I remember writing that I could bring my values with me wherever I went, which is the only purposeful thing I can tell myself lately. It’s just that it’s hard to be in your early thirties and have no hope of a normal life, which makes me care less than I used to about making “adaptive” choices.

When I try to think any kind of positive thoughts about my future at this point, ironically my mind comes back to this song that was played at my homeschool “high school” “graduation:”

Obviously I no longer endorse the religious end of this, but I remember thinking that I was basically going to save the world. (What teenager doesn’t? For once, something about me that was normal!) Looking back now, it was awfully arrogant for me to have believed that I was the flame that was going to light all the candles of the sad and helpless have-nots. But my heart was in the right place. And as much as I’m usually the one being helped by others, I can still commit to making the world a brighter place to the best of my ability.

I wish I had time to keep processing this, but they’re going to call for phones. In sum, I’m trying my darndest to keep trying, but it’s hard when the best case scenario for my life has been reduced to ash.