Another Year Gone
I lay listening to the rain splashing against the windows. I never thought things would get this bad. I never thought everything would hurt this much. I feel the sadness, the loneliness weighing me down. It makes it so hard to breathe. It feels like the days are endless and the nights are too short.
I think about suicide constantly. I mentioned this in an earlier blog, I know, it just feels like it's incomplete? Like, somehow I didn't get it all out. The thoughts feel like both the poison and the antidote. The idea that I will be free from this agony, but the knowledge that I'm sick, that that is the reason I feel these hopeless thoughts and am seeking that kind of escape. I've always been strong-willed, but now I'm feeling like it isn't enough. Maybe there is nothing enough.
When I was 15 and was caught self-harming, seriously self-harming, my parents were called. Upon returning home, I was met with ridicule and shaming. I started seeing the school psychiatrist. They suggested an extra therapist outside of school to help me. I went for a few months. I didn't think it was really working with her. I told my parents. After that, they didn't try to get me help. I never said anything more. They never asked. I think to some degree they were ashamed of me being mentally ill. It must be hard to admit that your child has a mental illness; mainly due to the stigma that surrounds it. Mental illness and mental health are complex topics. There is no easy answer. There is no easy solutions. As much as we want to just take a pill or wave a magic wand and instantly things are better, that will never happen.
Now here we are at 28. I'm worse than ever. I'm completely in shambles. I'm afraid to be wholly honest about how I feel and face involuntary hospitalisation. I'm so tired most days I don't want to do anything when I get out of work. I work so many hours and the people there, for the most part, aren't good. They make me question my self-worth. It's a constant reminder that I'm enslaved and devalued on a daily basis. My job is made harder by a complete moron, but of course I'M THE PROBLEM for bringing it up. This idea that everyone is equal is complete bullshit. She's a fuckwit and I'm supposed to respect her? Yeah, no. I've brought my concerns to management and they've been ignored. I'm not even bothering anymore. I'm not fixing anything anymore. I've tried and worked my ass off and for what? I don't make any more money. He won't give me her job; I think it's because he doesn't like me. This job is almost as soul-crushing as my previous job.
I sit there and laugh and joke with my co-workers, none of them aware of how badly I feel. They see me as intellectual, organised and driven. They see me joking about and making vulgar comments that make people laugh. They don't see the depression. They don't see the impulses to self-harm. They don't see the self-hatred. I've worked so hard to craft an identity and persona that hides the pain I'm in. Why? Because I know they don't care. My mates hardly care, so why should the people I just work with care?
Speaking of mates. I lost Rosie. I've known her 10 years and in 5 minutes everything was over. She was high and spending time with her boyfriend the night where I cut myself up and was upset. I didn't want to reach out. She knows how bad things have been for me. I didn't want her to worry like before when she didn't hear from me for a few days. I sent her the picture to show her how bad it was because I couldn't quite put it into words for her. Sometimes she doesn't understand how it feels, so I figured a picture that physically shows her the depths of my depression would help her. She felt horrible that she wasn't there to stop me. I don't blame her for that. I wasn't mad over that. She was having a good time the night I did it, and I wasn't really in a state to talk about it. I told her yeah, it was bad, but I met with one of my doctors and I'm doing okay for now. She was upset that she wasn't there and told her boyfriend who told me that I ruined the start to 2020, I'm a burden and I don't need to be sharing my "fucking mental issues" with her. He told me he doesn't give a fuck about me (after previously asking me to have a three-way with her) and that I need to sort my shit out on my own because it's MY mental issues, not hers.
It fucking destroyed me. It hit home that she didn't care like she said. Because if she had, she'd not have her new boyfriend treat me this way. Me, who's been there for 10 years, through her abusive relationship, her family issues and been there to try and help her when she's been ill. It wasn't just stupid, empty friendship. I cared deeply. She was like a little sister to me. She couldn't stand up for me, so I want nothing to do with her. I see now that I was nothing more than a joke. My friendship and love weren't valued at all.
Hearing that, just made everything worse. And she knew that I had just come from an emergency meeting with a new shrink. I broke down and opened the earlier wounds. I needed to express the hurt she made me feel. I needed to express the hatred that I felt for myself, for being sick. If I wasn't sick and twisted like this, I would still have my mate. I'd have more mates. I'd be in a better place in my life. I'm sick of struggling and trying when things barely change. My emptiness spread. I laid into the blade deeper than the first time. My blood coated everything. I wanted to die. I said goodbye to those who talk to me and just curled up, swallowed what I could to try and help me sleep. I didn't want to wake up. Sometimes I feel this is the only solution, judging how in all the years of therapy, medication, meditation and hospitalisations I've not gotten any better.
I told my friend and it scared her that I just wanted to die. She said she'd leave work to come to see me, as she was crying over me wanting to die like this. She didn't come over. She trusted that I'd be okay. Yes, because a suicidal person can be trusted to be okay, especially when they're actively bleeding and had attempted suicide the week before. Rather than come when she got out of work, she went to get dick and party on New Years. It really put into perspective that I'm not anything special. I'm not going to try with friendships anymore. It's not worth it.
Now here we are at 28. I'm worse than ever. I'm completely in shambles. I'm afraid to be wholly honest about how I feel and face involuntary hospitalisation. I'm so tired most days I don't want to do anything when I get out of work. I work so many hours and the people there, for the most part, aren't good. They make me question my self-worth. It's a constant reminder that I'm enslaved and devalued on a daily basis. My job is made harder by a complete moron, but of course I'M THE PROBLEM for bringing it up. This idea that everyone is equal is complete bullshit. She's a fuckwit and I'm supposed to respect her? Yeah, no. I've brought my concerns to management and they've been ignored. I'm not even bothering anymore. I'm not fixing anything anymore. I've tried and worked my ass off and for what? I don't make any more money. He won't give me her job; I think it's because he doesn't like me. This job is almost as soul-crushing as my previous job.
I sit there and laugh and joke with my co-workers, none of them aware of how badly I feel. They see me as intellectual, organised and driven. They see me joking about and making vulgar comments that make people laugh. They don't see the depression. They don't see the impulses to self-harm. They don't see the self-hatred. I've worked so hard to craft an identity and persona that hides the pain I'm in. Why? Because I know they don't care. My mates hardly care, so why should the people I just work with care?
Speaking of mates. I lost Rosie. I've known her 10 years and in 5 minutes everything was over. She was high and spending time with her boyfriend the night where I cut myself up and was upset. I didn't want to reach out. She knows how bad things have been for me. I didn't want her to worry like before when she didn't hear from me for a few days. I sent her the picture to show her how bad it was because I couldn't quite put it into words for her. Sometimes she doesn't understand how it feels, so I figured a picture that physically shows her the depths of my depression would help her. She felt horrible that she wasn't there to stop me. I don't blame her for that. I wasn't mad over that. She was having a good time the night I did it, and I wasn't really in a state to talk about it. I told her yeah, it was bad, but I met with one of my doctors and I'm doing okay for now. She was upset that she wasn't there and told her boyfriend who told me that I ruined the start to 2020, I'm a burden and I don't need to be sharing my "fucking mental issues" with her. He told me he doesn't give a fuck about me (after previously asking me to have a three-way with her) and that I need to sort my shit out on my own because it's MY mental issues, not hers.
It fucking destroyed me. It hit home that she didn't care like she said. Because if she had, she'd not have her new boyfriend treat me this way. Me, who's been there for 10 years, through her abusive relationship, her family issues and been there to try and help her when she's been ill. It wasn't just stupid, empty friendship. I cared deeply. She was like a little sister to me. She couldn't stand up for me, so I want nothing to do with her. I see now that I was nothing more than a joke. My friendship and love weren't valued at all.
Hearing that, just made everything worse. And she knew that I had just come from an emergency meeting with a new shrink. I broke down and opened the earlier wounds. I needed to express the hurt she made me feel. I needed to express the hatred that I felt for myself, for being sick. If I wasn't sick and twisted like this, I would still have my mate. I'd have more mates. I'd be in a better place in my life. I'm sick of struggling and trying when things barely change. My emptiness spread. I laid into the blade deeper than the first time. My blood coated everything. I wanted to die. I said goodbye to those who talk to me and just curled up, swallowed what I could to try and help me sleep. I didn't want to wake up. Sometimes I feel this is the only solution, judging how in all the years of therapy, medication, meditation and hospitalisations I've not gotten any better.
I told my friend and it scared her that I just wanted to die. She said she'd leave work to come to see me, as she was crying over me wanting to die like this. She didn't come over. She trusted that I'd be okay. Yes, because a suicidal person can be trusted to be okay, especially when they're actively bleeding and had attempted suicide the week before. Rather than come when she got out of work, she went to get dick and party on New Years. It really put into perspective that I'm not anything special. I'm not going to try with friendships anymore. It's not worth it.
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