Here's a post I put on my Tumblr account today. This is how I feel. . Please guide. I don't want to become an unfeeling sociopath or do anything impulsive..

I can’t understand myself.

I feel guilty for being an attention-seeker.

I’m convinced that my feelings don’t exist.

I numb myself to prove to myself that whatever I feel isn’t real and that I’m a whiner.

I cannot accept that I am in any sort of pain.

I’m stronger then that, says my thoughts.

I’m stronger than nails, says my conscience.

And most of all, I intellectualize myself every single moment of every single day. My thoughts NEVER stop. How on earth can I feel being like that?

And when I see the picture of my therapist, I close up. I numb. I’ll feel guilty if I feel anything because I’m not sure what I was feeling was really real anyway. So if it was real what I was feeling then I hope not…I can't look at her picture. It intimidates me.

But I want to feel. I want to sort out all this. I don’t have any concept of emotional reality. I’m confused.

I’m a compulsive worrier.

Not knowing makes me want to give up.

Worrying about becoming an unfeeling psychopath makes me want to feel.

So I try to MAKE myself feel something in attempt to prove to myself that I’m not an attention-seeker and that this is all real.

And then when my thoughts do wind up and I do ‘feel’ something, I worry that the reason why I was feeling was because I purposely wound myself up and made myself feel these fake emotions.

Then I feel guilty for doing that.

And I only dream about attempted suicide because then that means that everyone will come to my side and say ‘Gosh! Poor girl. She almost made it out but she didn’t. What were we thinking. We were so careless. We need to be with her forever for as much as she wants us to be’.

And then…when it comes to the crux of it and a relation on Facebook inboxed me a message and asked me what was going on and explained her side of things, I felt silly to tell her that this is all the stuff my parents did to me and how angry I am at her for not understanding me…

But I can’t. I feel silly to put my fingers on the keyboard and start typing about how and what my parents did to me. I feel like an attention-seeker.

I feel that I should not say anything.

I feel that I should be okay.

…and that there is nothing wrong with me and that I’m whining for nothing. And I cannot believe that I have real pain in me. I can’t believe that I suffer. I can’t believe that I hate myself.

I pin it all down by thinking and thinking and thinking. I don’t stop thinking. It can’t stop.

And so I worry that all this thinking will stop me from getting anywhere in therapy and that I will let my therapist down.

I feel guilty for letting her down and for not meeting her expectations. I feel that I should be crying every session to make her happy and that if I don’t cry, she will let me go and say ‘You are fine. Go’ and I don’t want her to go. I don’t want to let her go.

And after all that, I numb. I numb because I don’t know how I feel, I don’t know what to do with how I should or should not feel and I’m in a constant stale mate situation and I feel guilty.

I feel guilty for it all.

I feel that I am an attention-seeker and I am angry at myself for being one.

But I’m mainly scared that I’ll let my therapist down because I will. I’ll numb off and she’ll say ‘this isn’t working. We need to get you another therapist who can help you more often’. And I’ll numb even more.

I just DON’T KNOW how I can release my feelings at all.

I just don’t know anymore.

I’m sick to death of intellectualizing every single fucking feelings. I’ve rationalized everything SO MUCH that the idea that I hate myself isn’t true anymore. I feel like I’m neutral to myself. I used to hate myself. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything at all.

I’m sick to death of uncertainty.

I’m sick to death of feeling that there is another person inside of me that wants to get but can’t.

And anger?? Everyone talks about anger! I have no anger. I don't feel anger. I don't feel anything. Nothing. Nill. And if I do happen to feel anger, I'm uncertain as to if its real because of my obsessive thinking.

I think I'm doomed.

And when I read over what I wrote..which is what I do all the time, I'm uncertain as to what I was writing was really real. Sometimes I laugh, other times I make sure that I wrote things right, other times I make sure that what I wrote out is what other people won't mind seeing.

I'm going to end up going insane.