We’ve been
here before. Just under half a year ago now.
When
writing about mental health, I always feel like I have to find a perfect
balance. Something too direct and concise will miss the emotional triggers of
my intentions. Something too detailed and vivid, although it creates the
perfect image of how I feel, may seem too over-the-top for those closest to me
to believe. Maybe I care too much about what other people think.
If you’re
reading this, I assume you know what happened to me around late April/early May
time. You’re a select few. Not even my family know about it, and that’s how I intend
it to remain.
It still
haunts me. The feeling sinking in, the realisation that life wasn’t worth
living, the resigned tears flowing as I penned last goodbyes to the select few
who really have had a huge and positive impact on my life. They were almost
apologies, and that made it harder.
Ten letters
atop the golden box. I was shaking. Not because of nerves, not because I was
cold, but because it had settled in once and for all – in that moment I was
ready to die.
My plans
were quickly intercepted. A couple of security guys managed to get into my flat
and… saw, what I was about to do. They sent in a ‘specialist’; I’ll come back
to this later.
When he
left, I saw my friends at the door, all panicked and frenzied, the first time I’d
ever seen them like that. They came over to hug me, and they were shaking as
well. I felt ashamed. I didn’t believe I was deserving of them, but it made me
feel warm in my coldest night.
My friends
back home scoff at the topic of mental health, and it’s made transitioning back
and forth between London and Portsmouth all the more difficult. I threw my
first punch this summer at one of them because of a comment that hit me hard.
It made me realise that it’s probably a good thing I’m small, otherwise I would
have been a far more violent person over the last few years.
I guess
that’s why I’m an angry person. Always feeling aggrieved, ‘shouting at the
world because no one’s listening’.
I never
really sought ‘help’ after that night. I hate counsellors. The idea of talking
to a stranger doesn’t strike a resonant chord with me. I’ve had three in my
life; one was a treasure, but the others have scarred me. I can’t open myself
up to someone totally new in the hope they’ll have all the answers. That ‘specialist’
falls under here.
What else
is there though?..
I’d be
lying if I said that I haven’t thought about ending my life since that night. I’d
be lying if I said that this wasn’t a recent occurrence.
Every day I
wake up, fatigued and flat, scared to shift myself for the day ahead. That was
fine in the summer; I rarely had somewhere to be. Now though, it’s simply an
anxious chore.
I’m meant
to be an adult right now, and it terrifies me that no part of my life fills me
with joy or optimism. On the face of things I’ve looked well for a while, but I’ve
been passively fighting this battle, going manic all day every day. Some of you
have still been talking to me, even today, and it appears everything is fine.
It’s easy
to mask how low you feel through texts.
I haven’t
locked myself away physically like I did in the Spring, but inside my head I’ve
been cowering, running away, trying my best to hide from the harsh reality of
my life.
At night,
that’s when everything is extreme. It’s taken over me. I realise I have no
direction, no hope, no happiness. My breathing fastens, and I cover my ears
with my pillow. The fear, the paralysing fear that your life is going to total
hell. Laying back in bed, tears rolling down your face, no one able to understand
your pain. It keeps me awake, and no matter what I do I can’t shake it off. It’s
a lonely horror.
That’s
really what I feel. Alone.
As I type
this a couple of nerve endings clicked in my head – there’s absolutely no way I
can portray my fear and despondency through words. Nothing I write and publish
will fully demonstrate the extent of what I feel. I’m trying my very best, but
that’s all I can ever give.
I just want
to be happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I’m still a long way off, not even
close.
