*Trigger Warning: Explicit mention of suicide/self-harm in this post. Be careful, here.*
I’m depressed. And by that, I mean I’m dealing with some depression.
I feel…exhausted. Like I don’t have the energy to do anything. Just thinking is burdensome. Writing feels plugged up, like I have cotton balls between my ears and eyes, blocking my view from what I want to write deep down. Plugging up the connection. I feel like I can’t even form sentences right. I hate how this is going, already.
I took a long nap today, probably about a three hour one. And still, I’m tired (or maybe more tired because of it).
I’m disappointed. I’m broken. I feel terrible and like utter shit.
And I wasn’t feeling like this for a while!
I was doing really well the last week, even a few days longer than that.
But now it’s back to hell. And it doesn’t feel like I’ll ever get out of it. My perception of reality is off. Go figure. It doesn’t feel like I’ll ever get out of this. I ponder whether extreme measures need to be taken.
There must be something better than this feeling.
I’ve been trying to find the right music to listen to for the last half hour to write ANYTHING up. The Postal Service is ebbing the flow a bit.
I feel no hope in getting my homework done, not this weekend and certainly not into the week.
Maybe I should explain…
…Although it would take a lot of energy.
I know what I should do…but it doesn’t feel worth it, it doesn’t feel like it requires that amount of intervention yet.
I’m such a sorry excuse for a human being. “It’s just a cruel existence. What is happening to me? I don’t want to live” (From Taylor Swift/Zayn “I don’t want to live forever”) Out of context, of course.
I feel this yearning within my throat, a presence, maybe words, ready to bust out. I feel my face will ever be frozen in a pout-like expression. I can manage only this micro smiles. That’s it. The smallest upturn of the corners of my lips. That’s all.
I’m hungry, but I don’t want to eat anything. Hunger strike, yeah.
I need to use the bathroom but I don’t feel like getting up.
My only salvation will be reading a book for fun. Maybe book reviewing, but I’m not sure. I should likely get some amount of homework done today.
I was super anxious (which rarely happens) yesterday before my first class started but it turns out the class was canceled. Anxiety rolled into some depressive symptoms, but I played with my slime to get through it. I took a nap. I hung out with Elicia which then I horribly fucked up when recounting a story to her and she asked about a particular suicide method which was not of the method of choice in my story and I asked her point blank if that’s what she used.
Mortifying, I swear.
I mean, it was pretty obvious and I shouldn’t have asked further, but I needed clarification. I’d been wanting to ask what she went for, which again, is SO inappropriate even for MY standards.
But the intrusive thoughts just kept coming. And I asked over and over for reassurance that I hadn’t upset her by asking about it further.
Then I was getting PISSED off at myself for trying to ask at all and for the OCD working in haywire force. At that point, because I was feeling so miserable, I just wanted everyone else around me to feel miserable. I wanted to tell people to KILL themselves. That’s FUCKED UP. Projection, I suppose. My brain was telling ME to kill myself and I wanted to spread the message to EVERYONE else around me. Which were only two people, by the way. I wanted something horrible to happen because of ME. I wanted to egg people on.. *closes eyes* That’s a new low.
I didn’t say it. Of course not.
But I wanted to. I imagined all the different ways I could say it. I imagined just saying that I was thinking about it, but I couldn’t even say that either.
I’ve been feeling this way more increasingly, not telling people to off themselves but to just crack and say, I really don’t give a flying fuck about your issues. However, here are mine! *plops them over*
I practically am becoming the equivalent of telling people to get over their stuff, which is largely mental health stuff, how shitty is that??
I just want to tell people who are reaching out to me that I don’t CARE.
But no. Can’t be an asshole, right?
So I don’t say that. I just say what I’m expected, what I’m SUPPOSED to say. What people come to me for. The caring. The empathy. The support.
But I don’t WANT to do it anymore!!!
Whoa, that’s a bit of a breakthrough right there.
Truthfully, I don’t KNOW what I want anymore. Maybe I’m just looking for a reason to kill myself, and telling someone else hurtful things that I KNOW will hurt them for the worst, is my way of trying to achieve that outcome.
That was part I. Part II came when the anger dissipated once Elicia left the area. Afterwards I was still feeling “off.” I was thinking about leaving school early but I wasn’t so sure since I was feeling off. So I decided to stay and take the 5p train. Which meant I needed to leave campus at about 4:30p.
This is where things took a turn for the worst, later.
It was SO petty. SO insignificant. SO stupid.
But someone else came by Craig’s office and needed to talk to him so I shuffled my way out of there.
Except it felt like I’d been KICKED out. Which, I mean, I kinda was, but at the same time, he had to talk to the dude, so it made sense.
Like, it shouldn’t have been so (A)FFECTIVE but it was. It’s so stupid and it was the straw that snapped my back like a twig.
It felt like a true…excuse my language here…”borderline” moment. I guess I felt abandoned. And, what I haven’t been able to write up in an article lately just from lack of time and interest to write for the paper, is that my last hospitalization they suggested I may be living with some (under five) borderline personality traits. Mainly the suicidal gestures one, some potential abandonment/stinging jellyfish attachments, mood swings and the chronic self-image issues. I really related to the whole X thing stresses the person out and they go on to try and kill themselves. Makes sense and sounds like me! Or at least the error-me (the not me, essentially).
Like, really, why become suicidal after that? FROM that? WHY?!
But I did.
And more of it was the depressive hellhole opening up below me, and the OCD RAGING like a monster with all sorts of intrusive thoughts about death and harm.
I then realized I couldn’t move. Or, more precisely I could have moved but I felt unsafe if I did so. So I tried to keep myself safe by just sitting there, on the desk of Photo Club, crying to myself and being aggravated that I was thrust into this type of situation and unable to get myself out of it, waiting endlessly for it to pass and for that other person to leave.
I felt so pathetic.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone because I didn’t feel justified in being so upset by the moment. I thought about calling a hotline but ruled it out. I didn’t want help, yet I wanted help.
There were just so many thoughts and images and intrusive video plays of me hurting myself. I was frozen in time. Just trying to wait it out. Couldn’t move, couldn’t trust my movements if I DID move. Locked up. Insignificant.
Eventually, the person did move on. And I scooted over to see if Craig was inside, but he had briefly poofed.
So I went back uneasily to the desk of Photo Club and tried sticking a tack into the nearest electrical outlet. It was too short.
That’s all that saved me. Seriously. I picked the super short metal tack. I don’t even know why I picked the small one. I think it was nearest to me. And I did it impulsively. I just pulled it out, stuck it in the right socket, and was immediately disappointed.
I could have HURT myself, and I was disappointed? Oh the judgment of myself is HIGH in this post. That’s NOT even me, either. That’s all this BRAIN GOOK.
This is why I said I couldn’t move before. Because literally I would have been trying to hurt myself in any way.
I begrudgingly went and listened to Craig in his office after that. I didn’t really talk, not even able to have processed what just happened, the suicidal crisis I was just landed in, so I didn’t say too much about what happened. Just that I couldn’t move, but not WHY I couldn’t move. *closes eyes*
And the crisis came and went and came and went thereafter. I had to catch a different train. I met a new person at the station though, and she was nice, I spoke to her about my bad day. It helped, a little.
And then I read on the train home. That helped a lot.
But when I put the book down, I still felt down myself.
And that brings us to now.
My parents tried helping me but I wasn’t appreciative of that help. I just want to be left alone. I have to figure this out on my own. I don’t want yet want external help. That help isn’t always going to be there, so I have to work through it on my own. Apparently, now is the time for me to test that out… probably not a good idea.
*sigh*. That’s pretty much all I got.
I did go and pet a neighbor’s dog today and that helped a little. Maybe I’ll try another neighbor soon.
At the same time, it reminded me why I’m really not a good fit for getting a dog. That’s a whole other problem area though.
I should probably stop feeling sorry for myself.
Thanks for reading. ❤