I seriously considered going to hospital this evening. I’ve been getting worse, and I really needed to be alone. But my aunt was coming up from London with her kids, and it was chaos. To top it off, Bree wouldn’t shut up either.
I had constant noise, be it from the voices, Bree or the kids, and my mum wasn’t even home. I was left with them all and my stepdad. The voices and Bree got so bad I ended up breaking down in the kitchen cooking my dinner.
I got myself ready to walk to the hospital (it’s a 15 minute walk, you can see the building from our house). I had my shoes on, my coat, I was still dressed from earlier. I got outside and to the end of our driveway when I stopped. My family would be utterly embarrassed if I went there for my mental health.
I know I’m going to get worse, it happened earlier this year. I also know it will be worse than last time. They’ve told me, and they’ll make sure of it. They’re trying to put me off the medication, too, now. I’m trying not to listen to them. I want them gone. They’ll hate me and punish me for saying it, but I hate them. And Bree.
I can’t cope with the anymore. I’m lashing out because of them. My mum told my psychiatrist that I get so aggressive lately, and I don’t even realise I am. I want to get rid of everything, I don’t want to hear anything anymore. I don’t want to see anyone. And I know I won’t get better while I’m at home with a family who doesn’t know how to support me.