here I am, sitting alone, thinking. I recently red a book, which has given me a lot to think. It was a story about a girl with cancer. She fell in love with a boy who used to have cancer but was in long remission. To keep the story short he died and she didn’t.
It gave me a lot to think about. It reminded me of how short life really is. But more than that, everyone has, at some point in their lives struggled. Whether it be with a long standing illness, seeing someone go through an illness, family problems, money problems.. the list is endless. Needless to say I have had my fair (or unfair) share of experiences, heartaches and trouble, some of which I still struggling with to this day. I know many of us out there always hang on to the little bit of hope that we can. The hope that one day, this big scary world will give us some form of meaning. Some form of understanding. I am at the stage now however, where understanding is little. Meaning is just not there. I have fallen victim of what Londers call ‘The Rat Race’ every day seeming to be the same. Wake up, rush to get the bus, then the underground, when it is not striking, get into work and get changed.. then a good ten hours of work, followed by shower, train, bus and bed, just to awaken and have the same day again tomorrow. I am not someone who is scarred to admit that I suffer with mental health difficulties. Days for me at the moment are extremely hard. I struggle with what most people can manage without any hesitation. Facing another day for example. I fear mornings. Every morning a sense of doom lingers in my mind. I have to mantra every morning ‘Just another day, you can do it, just one day’ I count down the minutes until the next time I can go back to bed. Bed is where I feel safe. I can’t make any, or at least very few mistakes there.
Mistakes. This is a word that for me causes a lot of anxiety and stress. I have made a large amount of mistakes, which have caused, not only myself, but my whole family difficulties. I have done things which have effectively ended my relationship with my sibblings, and has changed the in entire dynamic of our family life. I know I can not undo the things that I have done, but boy if I could.. This, for me, makes any mistake that I make extremely difficult to deal with. Something so simple as dropping something like a cup of tea results in my mind playing havoc. ‘See, You can’t even do that right.. How are you going to do anything with your life..’. yes, most people would see this as a big overegageration, and maybe it is.. but I am not in control of what my mind comes up with. I am not afraid to admit that I make many mistakes throughout the day.. be it I forget my phone charger, I make a mistake at work, I forget to do something at work, I say something wrong to a friend.. Or worse of all, I realise that a friend is struggling and I can not do anything for them. Hearing the voice telling me that I am not good enough, that I will never be good enough, that I will always be a disappointment and that I might as well be dead is heart breaking.
Now, hearing it over and over every day is so soul destroying that it has caused me to act out in ways I m not proud of. I self harm, I stop eating, and when things get very bad I overdose. I feel like I do not deserve to be alive.
Reading books about people that suffer with physical problems brings up a lot of admiration to those people. Even if they are not based on a true story, I know that, somewhere out there, there is someone who is struggling with similar problems. In my experience, books on mental health are very few. People that have suffered in those ways are most likely just too afraid to write about it. I know, form experience the stigma that people face. ‘There are starving people in Africa and you are chosing not to eat.. There are people so much worse of than you.. Just get up and do some exercise, theres nothing like those endorphins.. have you looked into laughter classes..’ yes, all things that have been said to me, all as usless as telling a blind person to ‘just read’ or a wheelchair bound person to ‘Just get up’.. Telling someone with depression to ‘Just be happy..’ or something similar just DOESN’T WORK!! If you think waking up and wishing you were dead is nice or easy to get out of you are very much mistaken.
I am in any case struggling do not know where I am going with this piece of writing. People survive cancer, earthquakes, wars, and mental health difficulties. But why is it that people with cancer or diabetes or back problems or any other physical problem can speak openly about their difficulties and people with mental heal can’t…? you don’t look at a person with a broken leg and think ‘How did they do that.. Stupid person they should have known better and taken more care of themselves..’ So why should someone look at someone who has, like myself, scars on their arms, and think ‘that stupid person.. did they not know that it was wrong for them to do that.. they are so attention seeking.. they really should stop that..’ Another thing that puzzles me is the fact that people do not take mental health seriously in England. Whether that is because of the cuts across the NHS, or something I do not understand. I have been, on many an occasion sat in A&E waiting rooms after self harm, or feeling suicidal, made to wait for hours, to be seen and sent home, yet when someone does actually end their lives you hear things like ‘I wish they spoke more about their pain..’ Is a bit hypocritical.. when someone does speak and does not get heard.. Do you think they will continue o speak or, at some point, like I have give up on asking for help…
Isn’t it funny that you see so few adults with those kind of scares.. I wonder, is that because they were a happier generation, or did they just not make it to this day because their demons took over…? I am in fear of letting my demos take over.. I sit here and wonder.. ‘Is it all really worth it.. Will things ever get better..’ The thought that always haunts me is ‘When I die.. and everyone will eventually die.. will I be remembered…?’
The sun is setting, meaning another day over.. I wonder, do we waste our lives. Yes, famous people or royalty will always be remembered.. but the hom drum of other human lives that exist.. who will remember those..? I feel like I am a grenade, at some point I am going to explode and I want to minimize the causalities. I just want to stay away from people and read books and think and be by myself because I am just a grenade and I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.
If you have read all of this.. Well done.. Thank you for reading. x