Tired

I have been battling depression since I was 12. In the beginning, people dismissed it easily. My parents thought I was just a “moody teenager”. I got used to simply distracting myself, locking myself in my room, listening to music, reading books and writing poetry as a release, almost like every other teenager it seemed, so I guess you could not really blame them for not noticing. The main difference between me and most of my peers from school was that I had self-harm thoughts at least since I was 14. When I was 13 I witnessed my cousin’s abuse (mainly emotional but some physical). He was 8 at the time. I have always had an empathetic heart and it pained me deeply to see him hurt, it was one major contributor to why I changed from a talkative child to a quiet, solitary teenager. Back in middle school I was known as “Lil Miss Councellor” because I was a good listener to other people’s problems. The thing that they didn’t know was that every sad story I’d hear would have a lasting effect on me. I’d literally feel the pain as if I was the one going through those problems. When I was 16, I spoke to my dad and told him that I thought I needed help. Dad just said that he doesn’t think so, all I need is to be positive. At 18 I went to college, determined to change my life around. So from a solitary person, I flipped a 180 and became the most talkative, most friendly person I could be. I got bit in the arse for that. Too friendly, I became. I would get hyper, then I would get depressed. Less then a year later, I reverted back to being depressed. In that same year I met the guy that was soon to become my boyfriend. He helped me out when we were friends. I was homeless at one point, and he would often help me out by driving me around to places and sometimes help me get settled somewhere for the night. I was 19. Despite being matured for my age in many matters,-I could have very grown up conversations at 12 and I helped raise young family members- I was very much inexperienced with guys that weren’t “just friends”. I was a tomboy as a child and when I was in school, even at 16, the idea of a boyfriend eeked me out a little, even though I had occasional crushes here and there.

I had my first boyfriend and first serious relationship at 19. The guy was 5 years older than me but was (and I believe still is) very immature for his age. Quite often I had to give in to him, quite the same way I would give in to my little 5 year old sister. I don’t know what it was, it must have been my lack of experience, my lack of social exposure, my feeling unsure about how a relationship should be like, that led to me becoming submissive, and eventually dependent on him. This was not at all who I was, I had grown up being independent, despite being depressed. I’m quite reserved when it comes to sexual matters, and he knew that I didn’t want to have sex. But he kept pushing his way. Eventually I’d succumb to it. Very often I’d tell him I don’t want to do any of that. But he’d still try, aggressively. He’d touch me without my permission, and when I say no, he’d try again after a few minutes or so. One day it got too far. I didn’t want to talk about it. Two days later, he tried to “jog my memory” by forcing himself on me. After that day I felt worthless. He knew I was trying to cope. It wasn’t even a week after the incident that he asked to have sex with me. Being in that state where I felt like I was even lower than being worthless, I didn’t stop him. I was too depressed to do anything about it, I let him have his way. It went on for months, eventually I made myself think of it as an enjoyable thing. (It may sound strange to most people, but I have never enjoyed sex. It’s meant to be enjoyable but for me it’s disgusting and painful and eeky. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.) So eventually there were times when it became consentual. Although most of the time I didn’t like it. But everytime I’d say no, it never got to his head. He’d blame me for little things, but he could never admit blame to big things. We got stopped by the cops, for something that we BOTH did. Until this day he blames me for it. He humiliated me in front of my family, he still doesn’t accept the blame. His girlfriend after me cut herself because of something he did. He managed to make a mutual friend of ours, the kindest most patient person I have ever known in my life, nearly slap him in public. I use to justify everything he did. I’d blame myself for how he made me feel because I enabled it. And I still blame myself. But not too deep down I am still filled with rage towards him. Don’t get me wrong, I am over him in that kind of way. I never really loved him anyway, although back then I thought I did. But I have trouble getting over what he did, and what I allowed him to do.

After we broke up, I did tremendously well. I became a positive thinker, inspiring other people. I learnt how to deal with my depression, although occasionally i would have my episodes. I had erased all the bad memories I had with my ex, at least on the conscious level. I met a new guy, and he treated me well. But one day, as I was working on set in my university, I received a text message from my ex. He was apologizing. When I asked what was happening, he said his girlfriend broke up with him. I didn’t want to think badly about him, even though my best guy friend warned me that he was probably trying to get back with me. A few weeks later he texted me again asking for advice on how to change. He admitted to being emotionally abusive and wanted to know what he needed to fix. Thinking that everything was behind us now, I tried to help him. Eventually we became friends again. But this time, he hurt me even worse. He’d bring up the past that I had blocked out and treated me worse than before, I had to cut ties with him for good. I thought that it was over. But I still struggle when I remember how he forced himself on me, how he took advantage of me when I was feeling vulnerable and useless, how I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.  At one point I picked up drugs to help me cope. I’ve stopped now, mostly. Although occasionally I still do it.

On top of everything else happening and happened within myself since childhood-being an outcast, treated like a freak, witnessing abuse, being too empathetic that I absorb people’s miseries, suspicions of me having a learning disability and a personality disorder- I had now this big part of my life to get over. It became too much. I seeked professional help. I’ve seen at least 5 professionals in this year itself. I have had suicidal thoughts. I hurt myself a number of times before. And now I am tired of everything. I am tired of my instability. I am tired of myself. I am tired of seeing professionals because a) I don’t have the patience to follow through or b) I don’t feel like they understand. I try to stay positive. And sometimes I am completely fine and happy, but a few minutes later I drift to depression. I have my good days where I laugh a lot and play a lot, and sometimes get a little too hyper. Then I’d have days of feeling low. Some nights I’d have trouble sleeping, I’d get irritable and feel suffocated like I’m choking and can’t breathe. The latest therapist I went to said that there was a possibility that I have bipolar 2. But I’ve stopped seeing her. Everytime I return from therapy, lately it seems, that I just get exhausted. I tell them almost eveything, except the problems that I had with my ex. In my mind, I know that I should talk about it, because it may be a good starting point, a major key to my downfall. The reason that even though I was recovering earlier, I have now gotten worse. But I suppose I don’t want to talk about it because it makes me feel like shit everytime I do. I get embarassed. I’d rather be in denial. And you can imagine I have major trust issues, so talking to someone about this without anonymity is a very difficult thing for me.

Yesterday I decided to stop trying. And just deal with my life on a day to day basis. Deep down, I know it’s a bad idea. But honestly I’m tired of the inner turmoil that happens within me every day. But I worry, because suicidal thoughts haven’t really left me. The main thing stoping me is the idea that death would bring no relief to me and would devastate my family. It doesn’t stop me from hurting myself. I’m afraid that I may one day impulsively end my life, just as how I sometimes impulsively hurt myself. I’m sorry that this post is extremely long, but I needed to get it all out. I felt like suicide an hour ago and started searching for websites and came across this one. The article I read earlier guided me here and I hope that I have done something good by sharing this here.

FiresOfVienna