I have been quite restless recently. I can’t seem to sit still without having my anxiety and agitation sky rocketing beyond. I sit, I stand, I move around and my next solution is always to have a smoke. Not my best moments for sure but I feel cornered to a wall without a much way out. I have thought that maybe the agitation is as a result of smoking while on the antidepressants I am on but there has been no solid evidence on goggle that that might be the case. I restarted smoking right after I went on medication because previously I couldn’t handle how much the nerves at night were heavy on my shoulders. Now truly, I wish I could get back those nerves over the agitated feeling that befalls me every evening as I so not look forward to night.
I recently made a decision to quit smoking three nights ago and I can sadly and ashamedly say that I have failed on each night. I even downloaded an app to help track how many days I could keep clean off smoking but it hasn’t been put to good use yet. I realise how reliant I am on smoking because I can’t seem to quit as easily as I thought it would take me to. Now here I am looking for nickles in all sorts of crevices just so I can have a cigarette before and after dinner. I truly need to find something to distract from smoking because I genuinely blame my idleness on how much I smoke in a day.
‘’How do I begin to set out to the world this painful reality that even I aren’t sure I have fully acknowledged? Most nights, I am uncertain of whether I have the reality of a tomorrow. I can’t seem to decide if seeing the night through is my main goal or whether I am just being dramatic over my emotions. There is this unbearable need inside my head that tells me that nothing is right, that nothing I feel or do can or will make anything right.
For the past two weeks or so I have been fighting the reality of the fact that I have been feeling suicidal. It has no longer just been fleeting thoughts anymore but solid assurances that I no longer can decide on whether life is bearable enough to be lived. I have thought through it so many times, I have questioned myself on whether it is real in both my heart and my head. It physically aches inside me whenever I think that I could finally be ready to let everything go. It is a very unbearable burden to carry because I have found no means or way to tell this to anyone. I am convinced that either no one will believe me or they probably won’t know what to do.
How do I begin to explain this to anyone when I myself haven’t entirely come to terms with this frightening realization? How do I put this into words to anyone else when all I truly feel is shame over even feeling like this? I say this with absolute resolute, the only thing that I am certain about in the midst of all the turmoil going on inside my head is that I have absolutely no idea what to do or where to start dealing with these feelings or these thoughts of suicide. It scares me not knowing how or where to start. So yeah, that is right where I am.’’
The above text was written by a very desperate, sad, despaired and most especially depressed girl. I can’t say with certainty that any of those damning feelings are gone yet, or better yet, I do know where they are. They are retreating to the back parts of my mind now that it feels a lot like I have a bit of amour against them. When I read those words above, I remotely can’t entirely recognize the girl who wrote them. She looks and feels a lot like a hollow shell and it is terrifying to think that at any one point I was this girl, I am this girl. The emotions feel like a vague memory, it has the vagueness of a sketchy dream that only holds bits and pieces of what is to be recalled of it. I wish all the memories of that pain could be erased but some of it is marred on my arms as-a-result of trying to drain it out. The pain is stuck deep inside, deeper inside than the mere blood in my veins. The scars in my hand are just a reminder of a very short-lived relief that didn’t ever quite feel like relief at all.
There is a very stark difference between being alone and being lonely. My depression is always certain to make sure I feel the best of both worlds, at least in regard to those two aspects of isolation. The most singular of the two feelings is when your entire being is encased in a fog of loneliness. No sense of reassurance would convince you otherwise of the fact that you are absolutely alone and beyond lonely. This time around, it dawned on me that I wasn’t intentionally choosing to be lonely apart from the intentional choice I made to be alone. It took all the energy I had in me to have any conversation I might have kept up with during this time. I can say with certainty that I have not spoken to the few people in my life to whom on occasion have seemed to retain some parts of me as their friend. The looming darkness is all that encases you, it is all I could think about. I was entirely convinced that nobody in my world would find a solution enough to save me from the dark pit I was in. I felt nothing beyond the scariest darkness known to my mind.
I feel like it’s important I make this fact clearer, depression is not just a bit of sadness. It is a lot more than even I can express. It is for sure something I still don’t think I have the full grasp over in regard to how vast of a feeling, an emotion, a concept, a thought, a sensation, an enlightening and a whole lot more. Depression is also quite invisible. It never is something graspable to the naked eye. For me, it is very suffocating. My mind never feels like it has any space to breathe, it feels like the only space I can afford to think is in remote gasps of air. It feels like it would resemble a lot of what I think it feels like to drown. The panic, anguish, despair and the complete lack of hope for rescue sounds a lot like how my mind is right now. Sally Brampton, the author of the memoir Shoot the damn Dog wrote in a very precise manner what it is like to experience the depravities of the mental fuck that is depression. She describes its most corrosive aspect as despair and catastrophic. She continues to elaborate on how impenetrable and unendurable it is.
I have experienced suicidal ideation before but never to its full potential as it was this time around. I knew I was deep in the gutter, submerged under when I couldn’t quit thinking of just how peaceful and pain numbing dying would feel like. When the thought became a permanent fixture in my mind, I knew there was no way around this. I didn’t want to be alive anymore. That awareness became the dawn of a new twisted kind of sorrow. I recall on some nights crying so deeply and feeling the pain and anguish so physically from knowing that I was lost in myself. I was lost in my hopelessness and my mind had resided itself to no longer living but to completely quit existing. To a degree, I thought if I hurt myself enough, it would ease that ache even just a little bit, enough to satiate it. Dull it down. It didn’t quite do it. It led me to commit my first suicide attempt. I remember the night vaguely but I recall the intent behind the pain I felt that night. I recall the finality to my thoughts when I placed the razor to my vein. I remember the soaked tears in my sheets from my wet face. It was a pain I can only describe as purely indescribable. 23rd of October,2021 I decided I didn’t want to live anymore, at least not in the state of mind that I was in.
I can’t say with absolute resolute that I don’t want to not live anymore. Am alive now, still in despair but alive. I’m on antidepressants currently so it is all I can hope that along the way, I find it easier to want to stay alive. A lot is still yet to be done and I can’t say for certain when any of it will be done. I still have struggles that play a major role in making it harder for me to fully get the help I need so it is all I can do but trying live a minute at a time. It has taken me nearly a month to write this and I’m okay with that. Writing and reading for me take quite the hit in periods of my depression so to an extent, I am proud I got to be candid about what it has and is still like for me to live with this unbearable monster that lives inside of my head.
Surprise surprise!!.. I haven’t rested yet. I haven’t closed my eyes completely without waking up. At least not yet though. The pain hasn’t gone away. It’s still lurking around my brain and filling my mind with ways to give in to its naughty whispers.I don’t know if I completely feel worse but I can definitely ascertain that I ain’t feeling any better. I am trying to set it aside because on the current I have exams going on. Maybe it’s secretly a good thing that I psychologically don’t want to flunk my exams because it means my fear of the consequences of me failing means I want to go that far enough to go through this. I want to be there at that time, means I want to live long enough to survive till then. Congratulations to me 🎉🎉…i haven’t exactly lost all hope .Please don’t mind my sarcasm, i think it’s how am coping knowing I am having mental breakdowns left right and centre 😏.I am over feeling sorry for myself, I am over struggling to try and be positive. I am over just trying to be better. I know this is quitter talk but what’s left to fight for. I secretly know I should fight this for those I love but knowing I don’t even probably love myself makes it feel like a waste of time. It’s sad enough that I want to stop this by putting in place those naughty thoughts that keeping creeping up on my mind.
I keep having this thought in my head, if I happened to have the biggest fall out of my depression and for some reason it landed me in the hospital, would people care then? No think about it, I post every time I write about how fucking messed up I am and nobody has asked me about it not even once. I don’t know what they think of it or even whether they care but one thing is for certain ,If I hurt myself and landed myself in a hospital bed ,people would care then. Maybe it’s what I should do so people can quit stereotyping my depression. I think I have such a good front that I mask it so good they probably think I am handling it like a champ. Well news flash, I am a fucking wreck waiting to blow up sooner than later. I too might actually just be stereotyping my depression. Maybe for those who might probably think I am only in search of attention might not be so far from the truth. I don’t know the truth myself anymore. Maybe I might just be making a fuss over nothing whenever I feel emotionally,mentally and physically exhausted. Maybe I am just fussing over nothing when I keep thinking of buying a razor blade and despite the fear of the pain it will inflict on me physically, I might just get the little tiny bit of relief I am looking for. Maybe I am just fussing over nothing feeling like I am going batshit crazy 🙄.
I know somewhere in the back of my fucked up mind I want to get better. I don’t want to give up just yet.Call it whatever you want, seeking attention,sympathy or empathy, it doesn’t matter if I will be dead. So yeah, I do need help because I can’t fucking do this on my own anymore. Nothing feels safe enough for me at the moment, not being numb, stereotyping myself or even wanting to hurt myself. I just want to get better and go on with my life. Who would have guessed it would so much to ask? I will let you in a secret, I need to finish my exams first before I land in the hospital.When I have everyones attention and they won’t take this as lightly as they are, you can bet on it you’ll be the first to know… ✌
I thought I understood why people harm themselves before but I guess I was wrong. I want to hurt myself to take this ache away, to distract me from myself and the throbbing in my chest. I don’t want to hurt myself but I can’t seem to keep the thought out of my mind.. I am no longer happy with myself and I feel broken. I want someone to help me before I loose myself.
To say I don’t know if I am capable of being helped is an understatement. I am disappointed in myself for wanting to hurt myself and having the thought in the first place. It’s been six years since I cried as hard as I did yesterday and I still feel the need to. I don’t want to hurt myself just as much as I don’t want to hurt those who love me… I keep wringing my hands because of the anxiety I feel. I don’t want to look at knives because I am scared I might just do something stupid. I feel like I no longer have control of my own mind and it’s scary for me .I am so so afraid of even being alone. I thought I was okay and now I feel like I just want to keep crying.
Peace feels so farfetched right now. It’s hard. It’s hard to carry all my emotions right now. I want, no I need help. I need to get better.