Lately, I have had an urge to tell my brother about everything. Or at least about me being a depressive, my suicidal parts I have never wanted to share and probably never will. For some time now I have been swaying to and fro whether I should or not, mainly keeping my own feelings’ protection at interest. This summer I fucked up by being stupid and he saw my arms which are filled with scars. Over the Christmas break I am staying at my parents’ house meaning I have been spending a lot more time with him making me constantly think about it.
But tonight after having an argument with my father where he proclaimed that I am “A fat bitch and always will be!” I in my rage told my brother that if he ever wonders he can ask me but not now because I was too angry. He first said that it was very random and that if I want to tell him he will listen. I hesitated before saying that I wanted to tell but wasn’t quiet sure how. Rather insensitively he replied that it shouldn’t be that hard. It is an incredibly sensitive and taboo subject, of course it is difficult to talk about! Well, shortly I explained that I have been aware that I am depressed since I was 11 and that it has brought along a lot of difficulties such as a self harm behaviour. My body do not naturally produce all those ‘happy hormones’ meaning I have to eat a high dosage of medicine. This far he was rather quiet, until I brought up our father. I said little of what he has done towards me, partly because he does not need to know and partly because I do not want him to. I simply said that he has throughout the years said things that was not good and that it has affected me. Here he interrupted me and to not go into too much details he said that I had basically brought it on myself. As this inconsiderate comment hurt me I blurted out that he punched me as a child and my brother replied: “Then your memory must be deranged.”
If the tears wasn’t already pushing by my eyelids before they sure were now. I immediately knew that telling him had been a mistake. He did not understand like I had hoped. And he probably never will. I started walking towards my room mumbling that I did not want to talk anymore. Once I reached my door I turned and asked him not to tell our parents. Angrily he said he would not. But now I am sat here alone and he followed with them to take a walk. Initiated by them but still. I do not trust his promise. The only person in my family I trusted have now lost it as well. Never again will I feel even the slightest piece of safety in this house. All I want to do right now is die or cry until I fall asleep and never wake up. Please hide me away forever.
I’m not really sure what to say, for I am not really sure how I feel. About a month ago I was introduced once again to a new doctor who after our meeting put me on new kinds of medicine. New pills for my sleep and anxiety (relaxes me at night helping my insomnia but does little for the anxiety) and also new antidepressants. Last year I were given two different kinds which had no effect what so ever so this doctor wanted to try something else. Due to that I earlier have been nonrespondent he also asked if I wanted to take blood samples to see if we could find a reason why, to which I of course said yes. Because of my mentality I have found it tough keeping up with everything at uni. However during the last few days I have handed in 4 assignments. The weirdest thing about it was that I did not even complain about it being difficult. For the first time since I began university I felt inspired, I was enjoying writing it. Part of me wondered if it was the pills finally kicking in making me energized. But then why did I still feel so sad? I have started reading excessively only feeling calm finding my escape in other worlds. Though this also affects my perception of time. One hour and two days seeming at times to pass in the same speed without me noticing a difference. I want to cry but seem to find no tears.
Slowly they all keep flowing down the river.
Their appearance be nothing more than a ghost.
For eternity being watched by their host.
Making all the rest of the mortals shiver.
By the name, by his title, they all quiver.
The ferryman brings them all to coast.
Are they possibly wondering who misses them the most.
Now there is no escape from their caregiver.
A few lucky mortals though.
Are brought to the everlasting Fields.
Perhaps their linage protected by shields.
Those few ones be embraced by the glow.
The time is ticking, calling on all.
Soon it will also be our time to fall.
Lately I have been asking myself how I am feeling. But I don’t quiet know how to describe it. One moment everything feels as if it is crashing down on me, the pain, the frustration, the sorrow, the confusion. Some days I am so stressed because of it that I am shaking and can’t sit still, like I must keep myself busy so I don’t think about it. Another moment I feel numb and heavy as if I can not move. Those days I just lay in my bed and stare into nothingness. Constantly I avoid thinking too much since I am a afraid of what I feel when it happens. When my mind starts thinking about the future, especially about uni and my mental health care, a voice in my head is screaming “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” and if I do not distract myself my thoughts spiral down this black hole. What might have seen like minor things to others have been major to me when things have happened. I feel guilty and bad even when I haven’t done anything wrong. Suicidal thoughts keep creeping up on me. I don’t want to live like this, I don’t want to be like this, and there is nothing I can do about it.
Lately I have begun feeling worse again. Either I feel immense sadness or anger or like most times, nothing. During the summer I am living with my parents again and I hate it. Being close to my friends again would be great if we could actually see each other but when one is off the other one works and the other way around. So now I am stuck in this piss hole for another month and probably won’t be able to see anyone I actually care about. My parents have been on a vacation for a week meaning my brother and I have had the house to ourselves which has been great. Though they came back yesterday. Of course my father sees it necessary to push every button I’ve got. Earlier today I was too dead inside to be bothered but now the hell flames inside me have risen and I am enraged. What the fuck is his problem!? Oh, I’m sorry I never live up to your crazy demands of who I should be as no sane person would do that. I’m sorry I do not have the genes to look perfect so you can just keep calling names at me. I’m sorry I got bullied in middle school, yes I deserved it. I’m sorry I got depressed at the age of 11 and have suffered several mental illnesses since, yes I had it all coming. And above all I am sorry that I did not commit suicid when I was 13 as you told me to do.
I am so mad at every single bloody person who has talked down on me, every therapist who did not take me seriously and most of all my father. One second I am scared that he will hurt me and the next I am furious and want to kill him. ‘That’s normal’ some have told me but sorry I do not suffer from an Oedipus complex as there is no love from my mother’s side either. I am so sick of making excuses for people who do not deserve it especially my father. All my life I have put up with this crap and needed help and since I was 13 I have been seeking it. What have people done? For the most part nothing. Nothing! And I’m sick of it! When I say that I hate my life and people I have a bloody good reason to.
I never asked for this. Not for any of it. Never did I ask for all this pain. The trauma. The sadness. The madness. The anxiety. The delusion. The self-harm behavior. The suicid attempts. The hatred of this life. Some days I do not speak out of fear that someone will hear how broken I am inside. See through the facade I have built over the years. See through not only to the bad aspects but also the good. Because of the above I never dared asking for anything good to happen in my life. Therefor I never asked for a few close friends. The ability to dream. Creativity. Having a small light of hope. Having empathy. Losing myself whilst reading and writing. I did not ask for it, yet it was given to me anyway. And therefor I’m grateful. I am hurting right now, maybe I always will, maybe one day I will not. The bad has brought good with it and I often forget that, for these good things are what is dearest to me. Some day someone might see me, perhaps I will too.
If life is suppose to be so wonderful then why do I hate is so much? Why have I never felt happiness or love? Why do I cry myself to sleep at night, or more commonly why can I not sleep but is forced to lay awake wondering how I turned out this messed up? Each day I turn more in towards myself. I can feel myself disappearing. Every day I break down crying because I do not know how to do all these things I am expected to do. Each time I am handed an assignment I feel like I can do this, but as soon as I read the instructions I get an anxiety attack since I do not understand what I am supposed to do. Nothing makes sense anymore. I cannot even answer a stupid question anymore. I rarely speak anymore, as if I have forgotten how to. I can not remember the last time I had a sincere smile on my face. Not even things that usually make me laugh brings a laughter, only crying. Crying because I do not laugh, not even smile. The worst part is that I thought I was getting better. In hindsight it seems foolish, that I even for a moment dared believe that I could possibly be getting better. What am I even doing with my life? But then what life? How could this possibly be regarded as a life?