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It’s funny how it’s easier to be kind to others than ourselves. It’s funny how we can see what others need better than our own needs. External introspection or something. I want to be helpful and useful and noticed and loved. But whatever I get is never enough. I always feel invisible and on the rare occasions when I don’t, I feel embarrassed and demanding and annoying and unworthy. After my meltdown on Saturday, I wasn’t left to cry alone and in some ways it felt worse, even though I know I was in a less dark place afterwards. It’s all grades of darkness right now, with the occasional flash of joy that leaves me blinded. I’m wading through the swamps of sadness, unsure if I’ll make it through like Atreyu or sink and die like Artax. My second work week starts tomorrow. I’m too happy to keep my arms hidden under the bandages from my fall. With them on, I have more freedom to SH and the ambivalence is deafening. Desperately screaming to be heard and my struggles seen but simultaneously terrified of anyone guessing even a little and being hurt by it or, worse, sending me away from being helpful because they fear I’m a danger. I’m a danger to no one but myself and I haven’t done anything bad enough to myself to worry. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be deemed unsafe