I haven’t written much lately, and I’d like to think it’s not gone unnoticed, but I’m not so narcissistic as to believe that I have even a modicum of popularity. The few things I have written lately haven’t exactly been uplifting or light-hearted, and that’s because my mood has been about as animated a cold lasagna. I’m sure people would rather nonchalantly screw shelves onto a wall while discussing the weather than read my depressing dribble. The truth is self-reflection isn’t something I’m particularly fond of right now and it’s hard to write warmly about yourself when you can barely stand your own company.
Since I tried to commit suicide my mood has been wavering. There will be hours, sometimes days, when I think ‘yeah, I’m beginning to feel better’ but then one comment, one remark, one minute later and depression descends upon me like a cabal of vampires. It’s like being witness to a slow-motion car crash, but you can’t escape it. So, because of this I’ve avoided writing anything other than fiction – at least that way I can create a world that isn’t constantly threatening to plunge into despair.
Medication has delivered a good gut punch of chemicals lately, there is no denying that. It’s been enough to keep my head up, to get me out of bed (most days, anyway) but I’m still not me. My life right now seems to be slow episodes of nothingness. I keep waking up and waiting for it to improve exponentially somewhere around episode 5 or 6; but now I’m four seasons in and it’s still the same tedium of low moods, suicidal thoughts and an unshakable sense of disappointment with myself. I feel like I’m fighting an invisible presence, an enemy that stalks around every corner and has spies camped out in my mind. And every time I try to make a positive step, try to inch myself forward, I’m confronted by this enemy and forced to retreat to my bed.
There was a turning point this week though. Tuesday was Halloween and even though the night concluded in feckless drama, I gained some traction into an area of my life I know needs demolished and rebuilt. If you’re like me you’ll always be too nervous to speak up for yourself. You’d rather sit and stew and let your mood fester than confront the cause of the problem, because your so anxious that saying what you think, or calling someone out, feels wrong.
On Tuesday night I was once again reminded of how the majority of humans are an underwhelming bio-blob of zero integrity. I was accused of flirting with someone’s boyfriend, someone I thought to be a friend but now realise that he’s as unhinged as everyone told me he was. And because of his blatant unaddressed issues, my night ended in needless drama. A long, boring story made dramatically shorter, someone hung their insecurities up on me. After putting up with a whirlwind of dirty looks and nasty remarks, I decided to tell him that he is, quote, ‘an insecure manipulating abusive bastard’ and you know what, I stand by that statement. I stand by that statement as I will stand by every other statement I make about anyone that comes for me or tries to make me feel or look bad because they have the emotional maturity of a blueberry scone. If anyone, friends, family, randoms, so much as talks about me behind my back, or launches an unprovoked attack, I will descend upon them like a biblical plague because quite frankly I have nothing to lose anymore.
I am so, so done censoring myself for the benefit of others. And truly, what’s the worst that can happen? People will fall out with me? That’s fine, I only have three real friends and to be perfectly honest that’s enough. I’d rather have three solid people that I can depend on than a cast of characters I don’t even recognise anymore. People that imbue your life with nothing but drama or misery or whose ‘issues with you’ make as much sense as a milk hammock, aren’t needed. Get them out. Evict them. I’d be more interested in learning about the tortured background of a piece of IKEA furniture than what causes your insecurities, thanks. If someone is toxic then they can leave because I do not have time for that bullshit anymore.
I’d like to say that this recent revelation has been a healing process, but it hasn’t. What it has done though is show me that I need to level it up; that I am better the melodramatic little queens who have an irritating need to infuse their life with drama because it is so void of anything else. You are nothing. I may hate myself 5 sometimes 6 days a week, I may wrestle with mental illness. I might be mediocre and average looking, but you know what? I may not be better than you, but I am above you. Beauty fades, being a twat is forever.
The same is applicable to family and friends that seem to be putting a deadline on me getting better. I’m being made to feel as though the end date is looming and I need to get well by then. I need to get back to work now. I need to stop doing this or that. When really all I need to do is get better, in my own time, at my own speed and in my own way.
I don’t want to be the kind of person this world looks down on because I’m unfit to go into work, or for not wanting to go outside. But what happened this week feels like the first real corner I’ve turned since I tried to take my life and now that I’ve turned that corner I see how far I still have to go. I am not rushing myself for the sake of others, if I do I’ll wind up lying in a hospital bed because I took on too much too soon – it’s not fair for people to pressure me, so don’t fucking do it. There is nothing wrong with knowing you’re not able to do something, morally, psychically or legally.
I’m exhausted with people saying ‘you look better, you sound better’ at the same rate as others say that I look depressed, or when I have a mood swing that I’m ‘bi-polar’ or that I need to stop being ‘anxious’ or make remarks about my ‘OCD coming out.’ MENTAL DISORDERS ARE NOT ADJECTIVES.
I want to get better and I want to be the best version of myself possible. Every time I’ve had a breakdown in the past I’ve rushed back to work and normality, acted like I was simply getting over a cold because that’s all the sympathy I was ever awarded. Look what happened though; I kept having breakdowns. I wasn’t healing. I’m not recovered. I’m still feeling suicidal at least once a day, I still want to hurt myself. So I’ll be damned if I’m going to throw myself back into a busy office environment and be yelled at my customers because people think I need to get on with it.
Sometimes it’s fine if the only thing you did today was breathe. It’s fine if you don’t feel ready – if your mind is telling you it isn’t able to handle something, trust it. I meant it when I said I want to get well, but I’ll do it at my pace.