The effects of suicide on family and friends.
I’m someone who likes to draw, to edit pictures (especially of games) and write my own stories. This year something happened and I lost all interest for my hobbies. I’ve recently just started to regain some interest but… It’s like nothing I do, seems great enough.
I’ve also noticed my friends, that I always share it with, being rather uninterested. I’m not sure whether my perception is just ‘wrong’ or it’s really because I’m shit. I keep thinking: What even is the point of doing this.? If I don’t think it’s good and people around me don’t really care, then why do I waste my time.? I could rather just sit on the couch and watch my favorite series a fifth time with a bag of chips.
I’ve had some dark days lately.. You know it’s bad, when you casually throw around that you want to kill yourself or even just put it into a joke. Even when I didn’t do anything important, I’ve always put a lot of meaning into my art. It was always like: Wow, I actually did something with my day. But now.? I just want to be dead. I don’t want to write about depression. I don’t want to draw faces, that aren’t recognizable as living creatures. And I don’t want to edit something not so beautiful, into something beautiful.
The sad part is, my best friend always makes it about her, whenever I feel bad about myself. It’s unbelievable. I can’t even have an argument with her, she keeps saying: “It’s a pity you think like that (about me)” I had to tell her three times in the span of 2 days: IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU.! My subtle hints of me being miserable, seem to go unnoticed. So I have to tell it, like it is.
Imagine building a minefield around a person and each time you add one more. And you see that person dancing around it. It’s infuriating, when no one gets my pain. I even told her very raw: “You may think, I’m being so dramatic lately and negative but truth is, even when I tell you so much, there’s just so many things I hold back. Things I do, to feel somewhat okay. And what I really fucking feel inside.”
You want the truth.? I live with myself every day and yet… I can’t even put what I go through into words. Maybe I feel like: Oh, yeah this is actually what everyone does. But it’s not.!!! I have a friend, who has about as much social anxiety as me and she explains her daily struggles and I’m baffled how much those sound like my own fears. Or even quirks, she does, whenever she’s scared or tired or stressed.
I can write complicated characters in my stories, but I’m not able to understand, what is actually wrong with myself. If I’ll ever write a book about my life, don’t buy it. It will suck. Truthfully spoken.
I never say this, but thanks for reading this pathetic post… (I did it again, telling myself, that I’m shit)