Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
Doesn’t matter because in my head I’m always damned.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
Doesn’t matter because in my head I’m always damned.
As low as I can get, I still think I should be treated as a human being.
I always think that I’m undeserving, sometimes of any basic needs but I do still have an inch of respect for myself.
Unless I’m being threatened or blackmailed, it’s out of the question to let people treat me like gum under their shoes.
Being bullied to the point where I’d even try to jump under a bus or to attack an officer just to get killed and so be free of my misery is a burden I could never lift.
Yes, it happens of me to think low of myself but it’s a luxury I couldn’t possibly let others enjoy. If I did, I’d probably be already dead by now.
I used to think that whatever people did to me, I could pick up the pieces and move forward if I want to.
I was wrong.
I forgot about myself.
People think that if you aren’t faking it, you should never laugh, smile or even normally live. You should be lifeless, staring at a wall, trying everyday to find a way to kill yourself or fighting dark thoughts every minute.
I don’t know if it’s a real thing and if it’s actually happening to people out there but it ain’t my case. When I’m depressed, I can still have a genuine smile or laugh, I can still have an interest in something but it’s really unlikely for them to happen often. Even in my darkest hours, I can still accomplish my daily tasks. It’s no big deal really. Interacting with people sure is a pain, having to actually do everything properly as required might get difficult and just going to places when you don’t even feel like getting out of bed might be unbearable but it’s still doable and worst is that I can even do it all with a big smile on my face.
Some people like to cry out for help, others don’t and I’m most likely in the second category. Whenever I talk about it, I’m whether recovering from one crisis or just about to hit another. I read that somewhere people actually got cured or maybe did it mean that they found a way to greatly increase the period between two crisis. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, it’s just something I noticed.
I feel like people don’t understand me
They talk to me, they see me, they read me but they don’t feel me.
I feel like, in my head, I’m always complaining.
I feel like nothing is how is supposed to be
Like everything is rightly wrong
Too much perfection, too much ordinary, too much normal and too much stability.
I’m the only weird one in the picture but it’s unnoticeable.
I’m the only thing shadowy, I’m the only dark thing, I’m the only problem, I’m the only one unsatisfied.
I look at my surroundings and life is perfect. I have a family, I have friends, I have a love interest, the weather is superb, I’m working, I’m getting a good education, people are nice to me, I’m not being bullied, I’m not being blackmailed, I’m not being followed, I’m not being raped, I’m healthy, I don’t have scars, I’m not crazy, my family loves me, my friends like me, college is going smoothly, I’m not rejected, I’m not pointed at, I’m not someone’s punching bag, I’m not locked up somewhere, I’m not forced to do dangerous things, I’m not captive, I’m not addicted to anything, I am normal.
Except that every morning, when I wake up, I feel less and less enthusiastic, less and less grateful. And every night, before I go to sleep, I’m looking less and less forward to the following morning.
My mind is racing and my head is hurting
My heart is aching and soul is tearing.
Somewhere, along the way,
I’ve hidden myself from me
Is it normal to always have something on your back
That, day by day, only wants to bring you down?
I don’t want to search for me anymore
Because, I like the empathy and anesthesia that I left behind.
I don’t feel, I don’t care, I don’t judge, I move on, I walk forward, I live.
And this invisible black ball of energy behind my back doesn’t seem so heavy anymore.
It whimpers things and I listen but it doesn’t affect me the same way.
And it noticed it, it’s searching for me so it can hurt me again, so it can see me cry, so it can see me wounding myself.
But I’ve hidden me so far away, so deep. Hours and hours of demagnetising our connection so I can’t feel where my being is anymore.
And I know, I’m just an automated body, carrying on tasks everyday. I know my smile is fake, my gaze is empty and my warmth is cold.
But I also that none of you see past this trick so I can live on like that eternally.
I probably have some of the worst sicknesses of all, the invisible, most stigmatized, most misunderstood illnesses and the most easy to brush off. I’m not saying they’re all at the top of the list, they sure are somewhere in it.
I suffer from :
The reason why I’m being partially naked for you to see, it’s because of the stigma and misunderstanding attached to these illnesses. Beside my constipation and panic attacks, I’ve never received proper treatment for any of those; now that I think of it, I don’t know if breathing exercises count as treatment unless it is the actual treatment for panic attacks. Nobody thought it was necessary, just man up and cope with them or just snap out of it.
I’m shamelessly showing to all of you some of my weaknesses, not to brag or to attract pity and sympathy. It’s awful that you can’t be accepted for who you are just because your surroundings fail to understand what you’re going through. It’s the way we are, whether we were born like this or have been affected by it through our life journey. It would be nice once a while to be truly supported by people that aren’t the same as you.
Worse than my depression is my migraine.
I’ve never been suicidal, I always thought how life, how the world would be better without me. How my death wouldn’t have any meaning, how my disappearance might relieve those around me. How people have been impatiently waiting for me to kick the bucket and mostly how my mind is dragging me in a whirlpool of darkness, trying to make me get rid of myself.
But I’ve always hung on because of my faith. I know that I’m troubled and I know that God won’t judge me for that. But I’ll still be accountable for my actions and killing is a big sin, whether it’s me or anyone else. That’s where I draw my limits. That’s why I’ve never sunk deeper before.
But being depressed and having a migraine, that’s a bad combo. It’s as dangerous as mixing pills and alcohol, it’s not going to end well. I’ve been suffering from migraines since childhood, the same goes for depression; who was there before the other, I can’t tell.
Migraines are horrible head pains that affect all my body. It hurts so badly that sometimes I just can’t take it anymore. If I let the migraine kicks in before taking the pills, it’s hard to stop it since I’ll be vomiting like crazy. Between the symptoms and the aura, every time my head throbs, which is like every micro second, I just want to end it all.
Recently, I had one of the rare moments when I thought that I was “used” to the drug. A few hours before, the aura manifest itself : I was dizzy, confused, my vision was blurry, my head was a bit heavy, I was getting weak and my body was becoming a bit numb. I didn’t pay much attention to it, whatever it is, I’ll deal with it when it greets me directly.
When it did, I felt so much pain, I thought all the veins in my head would blow. I could feel every heart pulse. I even thought of stopping my heart and I stopped breathing numerous times just to slow my heartbeat. I couldn’t hold my head, I couldn’t lay down because I always ended up vomiting, I couldn’t possibly see because opening my eyes was too much of a burden, it felt like they were about to pop out of their socket. I couldn’t speak, it only hurt me more.
At some point, I wasn’t even praying God for relief anymore, I was praying for Him to take me. I took the Advil Migraine as always and it didn’t work, I took a second one and it ended up on the floor with my puke. So I took a 1000mg powerful analgesic and, surprise, didn’t work either. At this point, I had already taken 5 different drugs and finally felt a bit sleepy. I could feel myself relaxing enough to be able to sleep when suddenly someone made a loud noise and my slight relief flew away.
I fell on the ground, through the pain, I could hear what my mind was telling me. “You’re paying for everything you’ve done. You should embrace it, it’s your punishment and if you really feel that bad, just take the other 1000mg pill, it will end it all.”
I cried and my mom was worried. She thought it was about the pain but more than that, it was about the struggle. The struggle to not listen to what seems like the voice of reason at the time. And sometimes, I regret it. It would have looked like an accidental overdose. But I didn’t have the courage to do it
And I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.
I don’t feel good and I don’t feel bad.
I’m not totally empty, I feel like a needle is stinging my heart.
It’s much more irritating and uncomfortable than it’s painful.
It bothers me, it makes my mind obsessed with it.
It never goes away. It’s exactly the same feeling as the pea under the mountain of mattresses.
I don’t care about what’s is related to my persona. I’m much more concerned on how to stop the stinging.
I don’t hope, I don’t wish, I don’t expect, I don’t pray for the best anymore. I’m just interested in getting rid of that feeling.
The days pass, the weeks are over and I realize that I’m still stuck in the past like I haven’t changed at all.
I do all my daily duties, I am automated.
I don’t think that I can rise from this. I’m not sure that I’ll recover. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be okay after this again.
I felt under the weather. I pretty much shut down. I haven’t been that isolated in a long time. And this is one of the times, I was a socialite bee, I haven’t socialize that much in a while too. Smiling, laughing, pretending to be okay, to the point of actually not caring about my situation.
I’ve been staring into space like air was a study subject. I didn’t have the energy, the motivation to talk at all about it, to write about the struggle that just seems to have become part of me now. It’s like I’m myself when I’m depressed now.
I don’t think I deserve happiness, I don’t think I can find happiness, I think that the me that’s faking joy and normal it’s the me that’s here to stay. And I’ve just lost all the confidence and courage to bring this up again. Every time I talk about it, the person doesn’t ever understand what I’m going through, what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking. The more light or longer it is, the more intolerant they get. “You aren’t done with that already? Seriously? How big of a pity party can you throw for yourself? “.
I’m not normal I know. But nobody noticed. Nobody acknowledges my depressing words and I don’t blame me because in my head, they’re throwing rocks at me until I die, so this is a much better situation.
I don’t sleep much because I dream of my downfall, when I close my eyes, I’m seeing my horrifying death. When I talk to people, I get tired so quickly and then I get some time alone, but instead of relaxing I’m feeling abandoned and unwanted and rejected. It doesn’t even make sense anymore.
I’ve been having anxiety and I’m stressed to the point my heart is basically jumping in my chest on a daily basis. I’m trying to postpone everything and that caused so many fails, falls and expulsions.
Am I being full of myself? Am I just pretending to feel like shit just because I’ve doing everything wrong and failing lately? Am I just looking for getaways? Am I a miserable pitiful young woman? Am I even really depressed? Aren’t I just making all of this up?
I can’t even think anymore.