I’m writing this in a moment where I am not crying and shaking and battling with thoughts and ideas swirling round my head.
I’ll admit the last few years since my father died have been the hardest I’ve ever had to deal with. If that loss was not enough, I lost a lot of people I thought were friends who turned out to be people I just got drunk with. I almost lost my mother, who has changed because of brain surgery, but it’s brought us closer together, which is one saving grace. I’ve come through a degree, not doing as well as I’d hoped, but in context I should think about the trauma I experienced whilst I studied for it.
I gave up drinking and it opened my eyes to myself. There have been moments that life has been exceptionally good. I’ve met new friends. I’ve done some pretty fantastic things, finding my true calling as someone who works to support others, those who are vulnerable, and giving my time as best I can.
But I’ve also suffered living with an abusive housemate. Not someone who hurts me physically, but someone has drained me, knocked me back to a self doubt, feeling intimidated and scared in my own home. A person who shows no remorse and empathy for others. Who can manipulate those weaker than him. I’d chosen to ignore him, it’s easier than fighting. But I’m tired now. I’m battered by his negative onslaught.
I’ve never had chance to fully recover from one episode to the next. And the build up to the last few days has seen me reach my breaking point. There have been moments I’ve thought suicide was an option. To just get out of this difficult situation. I can’t talk to people about this. I never did before. It’s something I don’t understand or comprehend in myself, but never waking up again sounds like a blissful idea at times.
When anybody says good things about me I can feel emotion rising in me and tears welling in the corner of my eyes. But then I don’t believe it. I have this filter that only sees the negative. I’d love to turn that off. I’d love to have more confidence in myself as a person. I know I can do, I just don’t believe it.
I’m struggling with feeling more unattractive as I age. I keep reminding myself how lithe and energetic I used to be. I’m not anymore. I don’t compare myself to others, but when I’m comparing myself to myself, I find it hard to believe in myself.
I’m not willing to fall any further into this abyss. I can’t take anymore bad things happening. I have the benefit of having really good friends now, those who stand by me no matter how low I seem to be getting, and that and my relationship with my mother, keeps me from never waking up again.
I understand now, that in being strong and trying to fight this, push it aside and ignore it has only resulted in breaking me. I’m worn out. I’ve been taking antidepressants for the last 3 years. I had a course of therapy. I think it’s time to openly say I need more help, and I’m going to get it.
You know why we should speak up about our own mental health? Because hiding away pretending everything’s ok eats away at you. Speaking up sooner can stop it taking your spirit completely. Writing this now has cleared some mist in my mind. I can see where I need to be, but I now need to build myself back up so I can get there. I know now, that never waking up is not an option. But admitting I need help is.