Tortured by myself

Impossible to describe. It doesn’t matter how much text I write on this entire site, or whatever advice a person can give me, it won’t amount to reflect the amount of torture that I experience on an hourly basis.

I try to make my voice as friendly as possible and try to be just as inviting at almost all times, even if my face doesn’t match my tone. I try to use varied and vibrant language instead of generic and neutral descriptors like “good, all right, okay”.
“Amazing. Outstanding. I absolutely loved it.” Giving reasons why I loved it, so it doesn’t sound out of place.
But those are getting increasingly generic especially when I repeatedly use them just to lighten the mood. Sometimes, it’s interpreted as sarcasm. I even try to modulate my voice to fit so that conclusion isn’t made. Changing your points of view and your vocabulary is always recommended to increase more positive thought patterns. But it’s not helping. And I’m not only using these phrases for show. It’s hard to show appreciation at times.

It’s again becoming impossible to be in public. I feel similar to how I felt when I intended to quit months ago. But that was before the physically crippling attacks and my incessant verbal responses to scenarios going on in my head. It’s like I’m talking to myself.
It’s suppressing. It’s humiliating, as I’m not able to control it in front of people anymore. It’s something I absolutely would wish on my worst enemy. With everything going on outside of just this, the stuff listed on this page, the fact that I’ll always have to come to work under the terms of living in this house, I don’t feel trapped. I am trapped. No amount of therapy or discussion is ever going to change this. I have the resources to at present, yet I still couldn’t move out if I wanted to. My family’s and my own living arrangement is the very thing that is keeping me from moving out, despite having the funds to do so.
If I do that, it would be seen as cruel to the people I live with.
If I continue to do what I’m doing, I’m going to break. That’s where I am right now. I’m already at the point of no return, yet I’m still making the attempt to climb up.
If I made the choice to catch the bus, it would be seen as selfish and cruel to the people I live with.

This is the earliest date available to get some physiological issues checked out. I’ve scheduled an appointment for multiple mental and neurological reasons in November, and I won’t be seen until January, essentially.
I can’t wait this long.
I say this, fully aware that I’ve gotten past a very limited amount of my shortcomings I’ve written in the past even after believing that “I can’t”.
I absolutely cannot wait this long if everything continues like it is now.
I’m desperate for something that I’ve sought in the past that had no effect. But my reasons for seeking out a neurologist and psychiatrist right now is mainly for medication, as I feel as if this is my final pillar. There are medications to help for physical issues such as the muscle spasms. There’s potentially medication to help out with the mental outbursts. Losing whatever I have left to lose is not going to hurt me.

It’s not about the inability of feeling a simple emotion such as being happy or sad. It’s not about any singular topic. It’s about how well I can cope with the hands that I’ve been dealt. It’s never going to be okay, and there is no pretending like it is. That sentence ends in a period. It’s not like I can’t smile any more or be friendly around people. I try my best to have a genuine one. But my smiling for all of five seconds doesn’t mean that I’m having a good time, it is me ensuring that everyone else can have a great time.

There is no person, or group of people, who know myself better than I. I’ve been diagnosed with many different disorders and it causes neurologists to doubt what I am saying and what my symptoms are. I intentionally make sure not to exaggerate or jump to conclusions. As these are permanent attachments to my medical and legal record, I’m never going to be able to remove it. I’m never going to be able to be taken seriously by non-friends. I’m not legally able or allowed to do many things that neurotypicals can.

As it stands, the effort all just to “survive” isn’t worth it and likely never will be. I’m pushing myself, almost shoving and forcing myself to get involved with my friends’ lives. Some people gain satisfaction or relief from discussing and venting to another human. No reason I can’t allow a person to get personal if they need it. While I’m still here, if I can’t help myself, I can at least try to help others. But of course, this loops back to this, like a cycle.