i turned fourteen ten days ago.
sometimes, i feel like i’m dead already.
life, is dead already.
i don’t feel fully alive, sometimes.
my two favourite youtubers are on tour together. yeah, so…
last night, i went to one of their shows.
it was so fun and so incredible.
it might’ve been one of the best nights of my life, if not the best.
each and everyday is a part of my history, a history that will be with me forever. unfortunately, i know that forever, i am going to look back on these years of my life and all i’m going to see will be an ugly kid with mental illnesses and no friends, just, wasting her life away. i want my history, i want my past, present, and future, to be happy, i want to do something worthwhile rather than just doing this wasting. uhm, yeah… this is not really what i imagined my life would be like.
hm. i love when my kitten lays and cuddles with me. i love my kitten and i love cuddles with him.
the sky looked nice tonight. i saw the moon for the first time in a while. there were a few stars. the shade of blue was difficult to describe, it was deep, but, not black. like… navy, maybe. it made me feel some type of way.
well, unfortunately, not a single soul truly cares about me. i need to understand that. that the only one who cares about me, is me.
This was originally a much longer post.
Until I saw other people getting responses whilst you cunts ignored ME.
Thanks for proving me right. There’s no one who gives a fucking shit about me here, either.
Yesterday I attended the funeral of a young woman from work who committed suicide. She was 24, exceptionally talented, well-travelled, enthusiastic, professional and extremely insightful with a social conscience and maturity years beyond her age. Was this womanâ€™s experience similar to mine? I am in my late twenties. When I was 21 I attempted suicide. To others, I had everything to live for. I was healthy and athletic, Iâ€™d been accepted into a highly competitive course at a prestigious university, and my family was loving and supportive. Those around me did not understand the course of my depression and anxiety, and despite my efforts to make sense of my condition, there was no way to explain my troubles in a way that people could understand. I appreciate there are many reasons people choose to take their own lives, however I write this note suspicious others may be troubled by similar thoughts and experiences as those that troubled me. After years of depression and anxiety, and exhausting self-examination, the idea to kill myself occurred to me quite suddenly. It terrified me, because it seemed so right. For three days I kept this thought to one side, hoping it might go away. But it didnâ€™t go away, and it became like a compulsion. Thereâ€™s no other way to describe it, other than it felt â€˜so rightâ€™, as though it were the only option for me. I decided to kill myself. As I prepared, my heart ached for my loved ones. I felt very little sadness for myself and I did not feel any guilt â€“ I was utterly convinced that this was not so much my choice, but rather, the only choice and the right choice. But that doesnâ€™t mean I felt no love and sadness for my family members who I knew loved me and would grieve for me. My chest ached for my brother and sister. My attempt at suicide failed, and I was admitted to a psychiatric ward where I spent the next three months receiving treatment, including anti-depressant, anti-psychotics, sedatives and electro-convulsive shock therapy. My compulsive to kill myself had not gone away but I was tired and distracted. My thoughts continued to traumatise me, but I felt a sense of relief to be in hospital. I tried to rationalise my compulsion to kill myself to my psychiatrist. â€œItâ€™s as though if I donâ€™t kill myself, I will only continue to deteriorate emotionally and mentally, and this will hurt my loved ones even more. So I have to take control of this situation and do the only thing that can be done.â€ He said I had an â€˜over valued ideaâ€™, which I suspect is a nice way of saying I had an obsession. Before I went into hospital I was very healthy â€“ I didnâ€™t smoke or eat much junk food and I rarely drank alcohol. Upon discharge I started smoking, drinking cheap wine (five glasses per night) and abusing my medication (Stilnox/ambien). I did this to numb my suicidal compulsion, and also the profound sense of guilt I had developed for not acting on what my conscience was telling me was the right thing to do. Six months after my first suicide attempt, I had a conversation with a woman who had also suffered depression and suicidal thoughts. This conversation brought me peace and lessened the burden on my soul. I explained to her the thoughts I was having, as I had tried to explain to my psychiatrist. She said something to the effect that my thoughts had started rationalising the depression that my body was experiencing. For so many years I had felt empty and joyless from depression. I had felt lost and lonely, awkward and scared. For many years I felt guilty for no reason I could identify. My mind had absorbed all these feelings and reacted to them in a way that seemed logical â€“ â€œwhy go on if this is what living means?â€ Her analysis resounded true to me, and from that moment forth I felt a gradual shift, and a lessening of the guilt. I concluded from this new insight that it was possible my rationalisation of my own existence was indeed inaccurate. I had based my understanding of my purpose and future on many years of depression, rather than on the experiences of a person free from mental illness. In medical terms, I had developed a psychosis, but Iâ€™ve chosen not to use this word up until now because I feel it detracts from the realness of my experience. I knew from the moment of my admission to hospital that I had a psychosis, but it wasnâ€™t until I unpackaged my experience in a way that made sense to me that I could start to heal. My healing continued with regular visits to my psychiatrist, the ongoing support of my family and friends, and the gradual refinement of my medication regime. Itâ€™s now seven years since that harrowing ordeal. I have not had a suicidal thought since. I feel strong and focused. I thoroughly enjoy life. This message may not mean anything to you, but I canâ€™t help wondering if the young woman buried yesterday experienced something similar to me.
I have a compulsion to hobble myself. I don’t know if I’ll take a mallet to my kneecap and cripple myself or jump out of the third story window. I just want my outward appearance to match my inward pain. I’m crippled on the inside, so why not cripple my body?
IÂ dont need someone to feel sorry for me, i just need someone to listen. From what i remember, its as if ive felt depressed every single day since i was a young teenaged boy. Its becomeÂ my consistentÂ personality that i dont know what its like to be confident, self driven or what it feels likeÂ to make someone else happy anymore.Â i used to just deal with my depressionÂ just like it was a part of me, but it was only last year that i startedÂ experiencing depression that made me anxious and taht i couldnt control.Â My mental state was very severe, and i had a strong compulsion to dash my head out on something hard, i felt i had to release something, or to become part of a drifting unconsciousnessÂ that i felt would relese me from the tense darkness that consumed my mind.Â I made it aÂ habit ofÂ cutting myself withÂ a scalpel because it made me feel better. I gave it some thought to hanging myself with a belt and rope noose that i contrived but i thought better of it, i just couldnt bring myself to do it because of my family.Â Sometimes i felt so overcome that once or twiceÂ iÂ had aÂ lone drinking session, put a plastic bag over my head and fell asleep, but i didnt think i was that far in to my depression to tie the ends of the bags.
I think that year had a real negative impact on me because lately ive been feeling so braindead and detached that i dont enjoy or immerse myself into the things i usually do, and i just cant get ahead. I dont dream anymore, and i find im very insomniatic that i just get up and drink. I get episodes that frighten me so much taht i dont want to go back to sleep. Just as i lapse into sleep i feel my chest tighten and i dont think im breathing anymore, and there is a loud ringing, like a bell in my ears that just keeps getting louder. I struggle with this until i wake up gasping and im afraid that if i sleep again with this happening i will not wake again, so i get up stay awake the wholeÂ night. I start getting chills and thing im seeing things that I think later on down the track i will start seeing things that i cant separate from reality.
Sometimes i try to remember what it was like the year before, and try to recall the feelings i had because i feel i keep getting worse each year. I compare myself with myself the year before. I dont know. I try not to think about the stuff that made me this way, its hard to tell whatÂ were lies and what was genuine, so i just push it all away and focus on the empty canvas that seems to be all it is now. If anyone reads this i hope i you dont get the impression that im trying to make you depressed, i just need to get it out in the open because i never talk to anyone about this stuff.