Singing in the shower has always been one of my favourite parts of the day. If I could, I’d spend my whole day singing along to cheesy songs and dancing about in my pyjamas. But last week I just stood in the shower, the music played but my lips didn’t even attempt to move. I knew I hadn’t been feeling the best, but then I realised things were about to get bad again.
When I say bad I mean my depression was getting worse. For me, depression is more than sadness. It’s smiling with your lips, but never with your eyes. It’s the darkness in the sky at night, when you realise how truly alone you are. It’s watching days pass, but nothing gets better or changes. It’s dragging your feet out of bed and feeling like there is not a drop of life in you or your body. It’s trying to convince yourself that there is a purpose and that things are going to get better, but not believing a single word of it. It’s your friends not knowing where you are for weeks, sometimes months at a time. But it happens so often that people have stopped looking or wondering about you. It’s looking at the hollow shell of the human you’ve become in disgust, realising no one could ever hate you more than you hate yourself. It’s fantasising about ending it all, thinking of the perfect way to do it. It’s writing letters to your family and friend, in case you actually find the courage to.
So I’ve come to realise perhaps I’m not as o.k as I convince myself I am. When my psychiatrist asks if I’m planning to end my life, I smile at her and reassure her that the idea hasn’t entered my brain. A part of me hopes she’ll see through my smile and tell me she know’s it’s a lie. But in reality I’m just another name and she’s so overworked that I don’t think the thought even enters her brain. Or is that I’m just so convincing? My whole family are convinced, heck so are my friends. They think I’m some thrill seeker who disappears on adventures, in reality I just lock myself up in my house and then reappear with perfectly applied makeup and an even faker smile. I’m becoming convinced people ask you if you’re o.k, but don’t really want to know if you’re not.
So then I ask myself, do I drop the act or keep pretending. How long can I keep this up and how long can I keep it together? I mean honestly, the reason I don’t ask for help is the fact that I’m scared. If I open up to someone and they don’t care anyway I think that would push me over the edge. Sounds stupid, but my friends and family are my only hope in my mind. A bit, like a secret weapon which I’ll only ever use out of sheer desperation.
But for now, goodbye until my next post. Thank you for reading, I enjoy writing out my feelings. It helps me put things into context better, I know I’m going to be o.k. It’s just sometimes I feel like I’m trying to climb a plastic rope that is covered in oil.
Until next time
Living at home as a child was always the wildest roller-coaster, the ups and downs always left me confused. How could it be that my parents would argue and scream at the top of their lungs and then 10 minutes later be laughing with each other as though nothing had ever happened. I completely understand that a lot of couples argue, but the way my parents argued made me think the world was ending. They would scream at the top of their lungs, hurling abuse at each one another and my mother would be hysterically sobbing. Seeing them interact with each other now, I can sense the same toxic patterns in them. It puzzles me that they’ve stayed together for long and not actually killed each other.
Don’t get me wrong I adore my mum and dad and appreciate all they’ve done for me, but their relationship is far from ideal. Some of my siblings act in a very similar way to my parents. My older sister would often physically assault me as a child and then pretend nothing had happened. If anything, she would then get angry at me for bleeding on the floor. She would then continue to run around and act as though she had done nothing, without an ounce of guilt. This would all be whilst I cried in pain. Unfortunately, she’s still stuck in the same mental state and still refuses to apologise to people when she verbally abuses them and expects things to go back to normal automatically. I’ve pondered on these thoughts for the longest time, am I the issue? Is it normal for people to treat each other like this and then suddenly act normal with no apology or remorse? Should I have just let my sister physically assault me and got over it? I refuse to believe that this is an actual ‘normal’ thing to happen.
I would love to hear some opinions, is this an actual thing that happens in healthy families? Am I being over dramatic or over sensitive?
Thank you for reading!
A love like ours is the kind of love people write stories about, but not the romantic kind that have a happy ending. It’s the kind of love that has you crying and screaming into your pillow. I’m still not sure if I wanted the pillow to suffocate my screams or me.
Before we met I was so used to not feeling anything, so feeling something with you was the first time I had felt alive in years. We were only 16, I can’t really blame you for not knowing how fragile I was. I thought you were so much more than I deserved, I guess that is telling of how much I thought of myself. You would leave me when times got tough and beg for you to return. This carried on for nearly 7 years, I honestly lost count of the times you left or cheated on me after it passed 10. I didn’t blame you for doing it, a part of me still doesn’t. We were the epitome of toxic. You would hurt me and leave, convincing me that I could make you stay if I did the things you wanted me to. You would say “a man has his needs” and remind me that you had so many other girls waiting to give you what I supposedly couldn’t. I despise myself for not realising sooner that I deserved so much than your second choice, heck I wasn’t even your second choice more of a last resort.
For some reason I still can’t seem to blame you completely. I think it’s because I see you for what you are now, a scared little boy. Like me, you were broken. Love wasn’t something you’d ever felt and the amount I had to give you frightened you. You weren’t willing to let me touch your heart so you’d push me away and break me so I would love you less. You came back into life my begging for another chance after I wrote a post about you, I’m sure it was the universe trying to teach me you don’t belong in my future. You sounded so sad for what you had done and how you had treated me. I found that strange, you never felt bad when you would scream abuse at me and call me fat and I would break down into tears begging for you to stop. How about the time you picked up a call from another girl whilst I sat in your car and listened to you tell her the same stupid lies I had fallen for over and over. You said you wanted another chance, I guess 7 years of them weren’t enough? I hate to hear you be sad, but honestly your feelings are no longer my responsibility like I had felt they were for so long. You’re no longer a little boy. You tell me you’re a man, so why is it after talking to me for a matter of 10 minutes you needed to brag about the girls who apparently pursue you?. HA. More fool me for believing you’d ever change. I hate myself for feeling sad and still missing you sometimes. I never trusted or had a relationship before you so I guess that’s why. Despite missing you I know I will never go back there. You’d call me mental and state that my mental illness caused me to be a paranoid freak because I’d accuse you of cheating on me. Then months later admit it and tell I was lucky you were so honest with me. I guess I felt like you were the only guy who would ever love me, but now I realise you never did love me. To me you are the finest drug an addict can ever get their hands on, but the highs could never make up for the crushing lows. Even though I lost you, I think I could finally be on the verge of finding myself