While one day falls into another, I only hope that this is a dream.
I’m too old for these feelings. I’m in university, doing an incredibly difficult course which I spent my whole schooling trying to get into. I chose this. I am crippled by social anxiety, so I chose to live alone. I am simultaneously envious of people who can be themselves, surrounded by friends. I chose to be like this, every decision pushing me further inside my head. I am painfully crammed inside my own skull.
Surely I’ll wake up, a happy, normal, real version of myself. Surely I’ll be able to think beyond myself.
I have seen two psychiatrists and have been prescribed antidepressants. These experiences have just been like facts to me, they have made me leap to conclusions – I have seen a psychiatrist, I am better now. I am taking medicine, I am better now. Yet, I am still unable to sleep. I wake up every morning, like a false awakening, a dream within a dream. Yet, I still can’t form the right sentences. I still can’t have the strength to accept my choices.
My dad found out about my antidepressants and that I want to change degrees. He calls me weak. He yells, disgusted. How could I be so weak? Why do I always take the easy way? Why did I even need medication? He tells me to harder up. He tells me I am a fuck up. He tells me I am weak. He tells me to harden up. Why don’t I just harden up? Weak. Weak. Weak. He tells me no. No, I should stop taking the pills, they make me even more boring. No, I cannot change degrees. I made those decisions, so therefore no. No. No.
This a dream, this is my own body. This is my own body? These are my own decisions?
I cut myself when I am 14. I have horrible dreams about scratching my skin until it breaks and I bleed. I drink and cry when I am 16. I shut off when I am 17. I don’t talk to anyone anymore when I am 18. I move when I am 19, and break down. I constantly think about how to end this spiralling dream. Jump off a cliff. Jump in front of a train. Jump off of my apartment building. Have the strength to push the blade down hard enough.
I have tried many times, but am never brave enough. Would if it doesn’t work? I’d be left to go to an institution. My whole family would know, they wouldn’t know what to say or what to do.
I have spent my whole life trying so hard for something. I don’t know what it is and am losing faith again. There isn’t anything left for me. I can’t contribute or give to anything. I am an enemy to myself, I can’t change myself.
The only thing that will have any effect on this never ending cycle is death. Death is the answer to waking up from this dream, this nightmare. As death won’t come to me, I’ll have to come to it.