Safety Net

It hurts. Everything hurts. My chest hurts when I think of how far away he is, how far my best friend is, how far everyone is. My eyes hurt from crying so hard every night, they sting for hours the next morning. My stomach hurts when I look at my self in the mirror, all spotty, chubby and brace-faced.
I am ashamed of myself and my label. Clinically depressed. Yet I am unwilling to let it go because the letter of diagnosis I have kept in my coat pocket for 18months validates me. I'm not a drama queen, I'm ill. I'm not lazy, I'm ill. I'm not crazy, I'm ill.
But I'm not getting better. I'm not in treatment anymore and I thought I was doing okay but then someone shook the snow globe that is my world and I am still waiting for it to settle. I'm waiting for it to settle but I know things will look different when it does, and I don't want different, I want familiarity and safety. I want home.

Perfection.

It's pathetic really. Being obsessed with your appearance, being insecure, constantly trying to achieve 'perfection'. If we're being honest, it's incredibly vain. 

I hate how my teeth look, they're wonky and gappy, they stick out and lord knows they aren't pearly white. I hate how big my nose is, it isn't cute or endearing, it is seriously obtrusive. I hate how my jaw is square and masculine but doesn't make my cheekbones appear defined. My lips are too thin and disappear when I smile, so I don't. I'm prone to blackheads and dry skin. 

And that's just my face.

I could spend days typing up what I hate about myself, but only a second saying what I like. How crap is that?

Why are so many millions of people desperately trying to achieve 'perfection' when it doesn't exist.

Stable

I am feeling more stable this week, maybe it's due to me putting time aside to confront my problems or maybe it is just a better week.

The self-inflicted marks on my body are healing up and I am winning the fight over the urge to reopen those wounds (both physical and mental). A lot has happened in the past weeks that I've decided to let go of because I shouldn't invest so much heartache in people who no longer want me in their life.

I am yet to get in contact with my psychiatrist, there are some communication issues so I haven't booked in my final evaluation but I feel like I will be sorting that out this week. 

Things aren't necessarily looking up this but I'm not in a position where I feel like everything is about to fall. I am hurt but I've been hurt before. I think can come back from this. I hope I can make it through this. I know I can make it through this.

Mental Health

Mental illness. It's a subject everyone seems to have an opinion on yet no one talks about it. Even the name, 'mental illness', is constantly being evaluated. That implies it can be cured, but can it? 

I have a lot of opinions about psychopathology and the stigmas attached, and I am hoping to address these in future posts. Perhaps I'll do a mental health series. So think of this as an introductory post, the beginning of a long journey..

I'm not really sure how or where to start but I guess I can begin by saying that I have recently been diagnosed with depression and an anxiety disorder. I could spend forever sharing my views on teenage mental health and how it isn't easy to tell people because of the stigma attached, particularly with depression and young people, but i think I'm just going to try my hardest to explain how the illness/disorder/*insert word of your preference here* feels to me. 

Depression is like a wall of gloom to me. Everyone has sunshine and rain because that's just life but I've built a wall of negative perceptions so high that I only see the sun through the cracks, which is what I call a good day. Other days I am stuck with a wall of sadness, anger and irritability in the rain. And it feels like I'll be stuck there forever, with no valid reason behind it all.

With my anxiety it is like everyone is waiting for me to embarrass myself and I can't escape their judging eyes whether I am in my own house or walking down the road or sitting around a table with my closest friends. I can't escape. When something goes wrong I feel my chest tighten and I start to lose control over my breathing. My palms sweat and my head is telling me run but my legs can't move. The worst part about this is that I took so long to get help because I felt guilty that I would be wasting everyone's time with my 'drama'.

I feel as if I am hardly myself anymore, there's always that nagging in the back of my mind even on the good days. I explained my illness to my friend like this:

There are three parts of my mind, the depression, anxiety and me. There are days I don't leave my house or speak to anyone or just cry for no reason, and these are the days I feel like the depression is the dominant thought in my mind. The other days when I do get out and get on with my responsibilities I find I am usually driven by the fear of falling behind and missing out and this is my anxiety controlling me. These days aren't what I'd call a 'lost day' though because they can end with a smile on my face, which is me.

I am fed up of my head being a battleground.

Something New, Something Good.

I tried. I tried so hard. I thought if I put on a smile and pretended to be happy then I would be happy in time, but time keeps on passing us all and not a thing has changed. I suppressed it all and created a nuclear weapon. When I breakdown I shatter, and the damage is always catastrophic.

The people closest to me are the ones that will get hit the hardest which is perhaps the reason the number of people close to me has always been minimal. The shrapnel that goes flying when I implode is devastating, I hate the pain I cause others.

I hate it when people I care about look at me with pain-filled eyes, with the pain I created, the pain I unleashed. I know they couldn't hate me quite as much as I hate myself but it still cuts deep to see that in the people I could never intentionally hurt.

But that's the problem, I don't intend to hurt anyone yet I do, time and time again. I'm the worst kind of pathetic. I am fed up of it. I am fed up of hurting and the heart-ache and the tears and the never-ending guilt.

I would do anything to fix the bullet holes I've left in the people around me but I think all I can do is fix myself. And I am trying, I really am. Please forgive me because I'm struggling to breath without you.