3 attempts by the time I was 19.
2 hospital admissions.
Countless visits to EPS.
5 weeks of daily therapy.
4 months of weekly psychotherapy.
1 year of taking antidepressants.
I can’t even paint my fucking nails I have such shaky hands. But if I stop taking the pills that make me shake, then who knows what might happen. This doesn’t feel like life. Having appointments every week with various doctors and therapists. Having to go to the pharmacy all the time and ask for anti-depressants. Having such a volatile and unstable mood that I can only focus on the next 10 minutes ahead of me. This isn’t life. This is premeditated and scheduled being. And it makes me angry. I’m so angry that I have to worry about what tomorrow is going to bring. I’m so so so tired of keeping my head above the water, even when there are tidal waves crashing down over me. It is exhausting. I am tired of having to make excuses for other people. I am tired of the way people look at me, and speak to me, like if they say something other than hello I might go and jump off a bridge. I am tired of hurting. Whole body hurting. My head hurting, feeling like it is about to explode. How emotional pain quickly manifests into physical pain. This isn’t life. I am sick of people telling me that disorder doesn’t exist. I am sick of trying to justify myself for their naive and happy minds. I am sad, because to many people, what I am going through is not real to them. I am sad when people tell me to ‘snap out of it’ or ‘go for a walk’. I am sad when people project their judgement onto me. When they say that I am not trying hard enough. When they say I have no reason to be sad. I can tell you how hard it is to wake up each day, but I won’t, because you won’t understand. Can you not see my shame?
If I could, I would click a button in my head and live a normal life. I would laugh every single day, and smile at stupid things. I would be able to say that I’ve had a good day and actually mean it. I would eat my favourite foods and not want to cry afterwards or be sick. I would feel alive.
This is a broken record spinning around in my ears, but I won’t say anything to you.