You know that feeling when your thoughts are so heavy you can physically feel the pressure weighing on you? The feeling is almost like being crushed in a compactor. It’s coming from all sides, pressing into you until all that’s left for you to do is mold into whatever it mushes you to. You either mold or you die. Honestly. Can’t take the pressure? You let it eat you alive? The only outlet (your mind tells you) is suicide. I wish people who don’t believe in mental illness (yes, those people exist) just had a taste of what we go through. I mean, I wouldn’t curse them with it, but just a day of what I feel, maybe even a week. They couldn’t do it. The ups, the downs, the constant paranoia, the anxiety, the insecurities, the battles you face every day to not believe what your mind is telling you. It’s funny. Growing up you think it’s you against the world then as you grow older and the illness shows itself you realize the battle is you against you. That is, to me, the scariest part.
Rewind to Sunday. I wake up, I am tired, and I can feel the gray in the room seep into my skin. I can feel this pressure over my entire body, making it almost impossible to sit up and get out of bed. Jace comes into the bedroom attempting to peel me from the sheets. But he fails, I guess he couldn’t take the weight off me either. Finally I bring myself to the couch, where I lay again. I hear my thoughts say, “Jace doesn’t love you.” A tear falls from my eye and down my cheek. “No, no,” I think, “Don’t do this to me please.” But the voice persists, “You know it’s true. What’s to love about you? You’re fat. You’re ugly. He’s probably cheating on you. Scratch that. He is. Who wouldn’t though.” More tears begin to fall until it is a steady stream. Jace, frustrated comes into the living room, quickly reassuring me it isn’t true and to please help with the chores. But I can’t. “What’s the point Skyler? It’s just going to get dirty again.” So I stay lying. Half an hour passes, Jace walks by and I beg him to sit with me and listen to me. He holds me but is a little annoyed because there is so much to do. Feeling neglected- “act out. Throw a fit.” I tell myself “No, no, not now. He’s stressed, can’t you see that?” Jace gets up and walks away and the switch is flipped. “YOU DON’T LOVE ME! I KNEW IT! YOU ARE CHEATING ON ME. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU.” He knows the drill. “Skyler, that is not at all true.” He continued, giving me the spiel. But the voice in my head was louder than his words. I ran for my car keys and for the door. Jace faster than me, jumped in front of the door.
“Do you know what it feels like? Having 100 people inside you running all in different directions and the only thing keeping you together is your skin. All the me’s have different wants and needs, likes and sides, they are all unique and wanting to be heard and I am so tired. So tired of fighting this. I am tired. Please let me die.”
Hi guys, long time no blog!
I want to stress how important it is-that while I am writing to you all, whoever you all is, that I do not have my disorder in check, I am not “recovered” or in remission or anything like that. My struggles are current, they are real and it’s painful. But, I am here for you guys. If you know someone who is struggling, if you are struggling thatI am here. I know exactly what it is like not to feel heard or validated. I know what it’s like when your FP grows tired of you and your complaints. Please feel free to message me or e-mail me. Until next time!