Life seems to have caught up on me again, I’ve spent the past few weeks drowning in what seems to be nothing. I have no reason or explanation for it, I suppose I’m just meant to accept that this is the way I am. I guess this is how my body copes with life and without it, perhaps it wouldn’t be able to. Being sad is something I grew fond of, now I don’t even have that. I’m just an empty shell of a human, I can barely smile anymore or perhaps I don’t care to fake anymore smiles. I’ve spent a long time pretending to be someone I wasn’t to the people closest to me. Letting them believe I’m doing great and for a while I actually was. But now, I’m not so sure. I don’t really have anyone to talk to, no friends or people I can trust to speak to without the feeling that I’m being judged or burdening them with my stupidity. It’s moments like these that I miss him most, when my world used to fall apart around me I could always count on him to hold me up and never let me get to this dark place that was my home before I met him.
I know I’ll get through this, but I just need time to not be OK. I just need space from the people around me, because around them I feel even lonelier.
This week has been hectic, but it started off with my attending an appointment with a clinical psychiatrist. When talking to her I found myself letting go of a lot of information that I would have once held back when speaking to a mental health professional. To my surprise she was more than willing to listen, making feel like more of a person than a patient. Whilst speaking to her I mentioned my Mother and Father. I spoke about all the times that they had been verbally abusive and I had witnessed them viciously arguing for years as a child. I spoke about how my mother would sob and cry about the fact that I was born and how my birth had ruined everything. As a young child (probably around 6 ), I was unsure of how to react when these things happened. Admitting that my childhood has shaped how I am as a person was hard. I spoke the words and as I watched the psychiatrist writing on her paper pad, I instantly regretted it. I was sure to mention I love my parents and I know they’ve done a lot for me. I’m sure she also wrote all of those things. But seeing the shock on her face when I mentioned what my parents were like, made me take a step back and realise that I did the right thing in mentioning it. Despite this, I can’t shake the feeling of guilt that I feel for speaking about my parents in such a way. All of the things I spoke about were factual, I didn’t make anything up or say how I felt about what they did, just said what happened. I know it was all true, but saying the words out loud was painful for me. I felt as though I had betrayed my parents, who despite everything I love dearly. All week I’ve been trying to shake this feeling, but can’t seem to stop feeling awful . Listening to the sound of my own voice speaking in such a normal way was also shocking to me. I just spoke about it as though it was completely normal, which I suppose it is for me. If I had a child come into my care I would have been concerned for their well-being had they mentioned the things I did. I know my parents aren’t going to get into trouble because I’m an adult so there’s no safeguarding concern. So I don’t know why I can’t shake the feeling of guilt. I guess I’ve just got to keep reminding myself that I did what was best for my mental health care and no matter what I still love them.
Thank you for reading
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
Being an Asian female, I’m constant bombarded with questions about when I’m going to get married. Honestly I don’t think I ever will. As much as I hate myself feeling like this, I feel as though I would be betraying you for even entertaining the thought. It’s stupid because you cheated on me so many times when you had me. I still miss you, all the time. Not that I would ever admit it to you. When an Asian aunt mentions how their son and me would make a great match I can just feel my face freeze and I immediately try not to cry. It’s stupid because that’s all I seem to do. It’s like I couldn’t live with you, but living with out you is proving equally impossible. You were my first love, my only love. I don’t think I can give my heart away to anyone else. No one even knows I’m sad, I’ve become too good at faking a smile for anyone to ever question it. I feel like I’m mourning your death, but I’m the one it’s killing. The thought of moving on without you is killing me, but I guess it’s what I have to do. I pray that I find the strength to move on or at least to stop being such a damn mess. Until then, my smudged mascara can become a smoky eye instead.
This week has been pretty awful. Nothing particularly bad has happened but within myself, I’ve been struggling deeply. When my mood dips I’ve been trying to find a reason. To this date, I’ve not found one. This in itself is deeply irritating, I find myself staying up at night filled with anger and frustration. Surely I should know my body and why it’s unable to manage perfectly normal situations without having a meltdown and trapping me into the confines of my own home. Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m like this. I feel like I’m running out of avenues to explore and hope is in short supply. None the less, it’s there. Things can’t be bad forever, it can’t always rain. Maybe all of this is in preparation for a burst of sunshine to appear in my life or maybe I’ll wake up one day and become that giant burst of sunshine.
..Or so I keep telling myself. But the truth of it is, things can’t get much worse, so giving up now would be giving up on myself and not sticking around to see the change I’m so desperate for.
Thank you for reading, I hope you’re all having a great weekend and are feeling a lot better than I currently am. If you’re also struggling feel free to contact me, I’m always more than happy to listen and help if I can