Why is it so hard for me to believe that everything’s not my fault?
I try to tell myself that’s not true, but I don’t believe me. What takes over is… something else.
Everything wrong in every part of my life is my own fault. I caused all of it. I made things this way. Everything about everything—kids, money, home, love, friends, emotions, and even back pain.
When the kids are upset about something, I am consumed by all the things I wish I could give them or do for them that could have prevented or fixed it (whatever ‘it’ is). And, of course, it’s my fault I don’t have those things or can’t do them.
When I notice that my kids have inherited something crappy from me, that’s my fault.
When something in our (old) house needs help, I should be able to fix it, replace it, or at least make it better because I’m unemployed and home. If it doesn’t improve, you guessed it—my fault.
When I want to do something special (or even not so special) and I can’t afford it, that’s on me.
When I’m lonely, it’s because I don’t know how to talk to people and I suck at making friends. And it’s because I wanted love so much that I made myself believe I had it when I don’t think I ever really did. Or I had it, but I was blind and threw it away.
When I feel terrible, it’s because of something I did… something I brought on myself.
When my back hurts, I get so angry with myself that I didn’t seek help sooner because maybe then, something would have actually helped.
When I’m down at my lowest, it’s because of the bad decisions I’ve made. I got myself here. I’m supposed to believe that it’s an illness… that it’s not my fault. And I try to believe that. But I always seem to blame myself anyway. Medication? I shouldn’t need it because I created my own depression by doing things wrong… so I should be able to make it better on my own, too, shouldn’t I?
It’s all me.
Am I wrong? It doesn’t seem like I’m wrong.
©2018 what sandra thinks