Anger and survival

I finally got a couple hours of sleep, after nearly twelve hours of "trying". Every time I started to drift, I'd start back into myself in a sort of panic state, reminded why I'm in that state to begin with.

I'm angry; I'm pissed, I'm furious. But I'm using that to keep me going; it's how I've been keeping my head above the quicksand of despair that's relentlessly sucking me down. In an odd sort of way, the anger is an act of desperation, by far the lesser of many evils that has "sinking back there" at the top (or is that the bottom?) of a self-destructive list.

I'm in full-on survival mode now; I'm forcing myself to be still with scraps of control I have left. I'm sequestering myself to keep from further damaging things.

Yet at the same time, stillness both takes work and ensures I stay where I am, which means while things may not get worse, they won't get better either - This ends up being prolonged as it's human interaction, contact, compassion, that will help me out of this place.

A hand over an indescribable place between my shoulder blades to help draw this out. It would work loads better than the hands-feet-and-forehead-pressed-against-the-floor method through which I finally got a couple hours of sleep. I feel less desperate, but little else has changed.

It's one thing if these triggers were a rare occurrences, or even merely infrequent, But no, this has happened nearly every week for about three months -- and twice this past week. It's accelerating, devolving instead of improving, and far outstripping my ability to cope or compensate.

It's why I'm seeking help, but I'm on their schedule, not mine, and I don't need someone with twenty letters after their name to tell me that removing the trigger/event/cue should be the first step, and without that, it's going to be far more difficult, if not impossible, to get better.

Unfortunately, "remove the trigger" in this case means "kick Kim and Alana out of the house" -- or just move out myself, because she's made it quite clear that I have no right to expect her to not drink and smoke herself to oblivion every night; that I have no right to expect her to change anything from what she used to be.

Well, the problem is that she did change, and I thought it was because she'd had enough of that life. I thought she wanted something different, something better. And now she's apparently changing back, with a self-righteous "my choices only affect me" attitude.

How soon she's already forgotten.

Bah. Yes, I'm angry and bitter. But at least that's still feeling. I'm still alive, damnit.