October 29th, 2012

I've been thinking a lot lately about my illness. These days it feels like it's taking over my life. There's this dark cloud always looming above my head. Even when I think I'm doing well, I feel it. It hovers over me, this constant fear that I may get sick again. Sometimes, that cloud sinks, and like smoke it burns my eyes and curls around my lungs. I feel it in my blood and in my bones. This sickness has become part of me; it has twisted itself around my heart and under my skin. I try and fight it, but it continues to grow.

I don't want to be this way any more. I feel exhausted. I feel pathetic. I feel horrible because the people that I love will always end up blaming themselves for this. It isn't them. It isn't their fault. I was just been fucked over royally biologically, genetically and environmentally from the beginning. A lot of this stems from how I was treated by other people, but it's the people I love the most that give me a reason to keep going.

I don't want to disappoint them. I know I will. I'll fall, I'll relapse, I'll hurt myself. I don't want that, but I know that it'll happen. He always tells me that I'm "strong". I really don't think that I am. Stubborn? Probably, but I'm not strong at all. I'm very weak. I give in to this illness, I let it consume me-- because I feel like it's completely hopeless to resist. Most days, I don't want to fight. There will be times when I just want to die. I will always need someone to pull me out of that place.

I hate myself for all of this. I hate that I'm this way, but I really don't know what it's like NOT to be sick. I'm tired of going to doctors and therapists. I'm sick of taking pills and being told to "lighten up". I'm done with people telling me "it's all in my head," because you know what? That is a very easy thing to tell someone, but it is a very hard thing to change when you've been this way for most of your life. Someone who has not suffered in this way can not understand how it feels to live nearly your whole life feeling like you're a worthless piece of shit. Do you know how that feels? To actually want to die? Do you know what it's like to give up on everything? If the answer is "no," please refrain from telling ANYONE who suffers from a mental illness to "get over it".  

October 18th, 2012

Over the past few weeks, I've come to realize a lot of things about myself. Before school started, I was so optimistic about everything. I thought for sure, that things were going to go smoothly. I see now how unrealistic that was, because the truth is, I'm still sick. I still haven't dealt with a lot of my inner demons. A part of me really wants to keep fighting. I think I have a lot to offer people that are suffering from mental illnesses. However, I also think there will always be a part of me that wants to give up. Even if it's only a very small part; no matter how insignificant it might seem, it will always be there. If I keep letting my depression grow, I'll never escape that feeling.

One of the worst parts about my depression is how much it has become part of me. For lack of a better term, I was fucked over before I even realized I was sick. Depression and mental illness runs in both sides of my family; many of my relatives-- including immediate family members, suffer from mental illnesses and/or have problems with addiction. Then there's the environment I grew up in; I've lived in a house where substance abuse (mainly alcohol) has always been an issue. On top of that I endured physical, emotional and verbal abuse throughout my childhood and adolescence by family members and classmates. So, at a very young age, I was taught that I was not good enough. I was told that I'm ugly, worthless, a freak, a failure-- I was taught that no matter what I did, or how hard I tried I was never going to be "perfect" or loved by anyone-- not even my own family.

No child deserves that. No child deserves to be beaten, or hurt, or told that they're not wanted. Sadly, as long as I can remember, this has been my life. I believed every single word. It started as this tiny seed, planted inside of my mind; and slowly, buried it's roots and began to grow. It twisted itself around my insides. I can try and separate it from the bits that I think might be the person I could have been. I'm so tangled up in this sickness, that I don't think I'll ever fully escape it. For now, the best that I can do is try and keep it from getting out of control by going to therapy and taking medication. My illness does not define who I am. I am not my depression, or panic disorder. But I can't deny I wouldn't be the same person if I hadn't gone through those things.