Let’s talk mental health. Let’s talk about the reality. Let’s skip over the romanticism that has risen.
Let’s talk about how on a Saturday night I am sitting in my bed, feeling the strongest suicidal thoughts I have ever experienced. Yet here I am, keeping it silent because I don’t wish for the blue lights to come pick me up and dump me into a psych ward. To some, this may seem strange and attention seeking. To me, I am looking out for the rest of my family, who are so blissfully unaware of the cravings to numb everything. I am hoping to pass out from pure exhaustion for sleep tonight. Unfortunately, I have no alcohol so I cannot drink until I pass out. That is always the easiest way to go.
Let’s talk about how in six months I have developed a numbing method that involves alcohol. Let’s talk about how this method is choking out my relationships one by one, as people become overwhelmed and in truth, just over it and bored.
The thoughts fade for a bit on a temporary basis before the distraction of typing wears off and my brain focuses straight back on what I am trying to get rid of.
This has been the pattern for around two weeks now. And I am exhausted with fighting. I am craving the blackness and nothingness. No more pain. No more tears. Just pure bliss and calm.
There has been no period in my life in which I could classify myself as being ‘normal’. The constant uphill battle it creates for me is draining. how lovely my brain is, making a personalised war that only I can see.
Ironically, as you start getting help, you become worst. All the memories that were suppressed and neatly packed away are now floating around at free will, and with these memories, the pain comes with them. I thought I finally found a support system that I would be able to fall back on. It was the only reason to why I started opening up, finally telling the professionals what had happened to me. Yet, mental health invades and destroys healthy relationships. And it did. With guns blazing. You could say that the time period in which it all went wrong could set a record. From the feeling of motivation that maybe this time I’d be able to get better – fast forward 14 hours and it was all over. I thought I had the safety net that I so needed to be able to jump. Now I am falling at a rapid rate, straight to the earth’s surface with nothing to catch me.
So here I am, left with the pain that is now free flowing, and with no antidote or morphine to get me through it. The only person to place the blame on is me. It was me that created the accounts on the chatrooms, I put myself into that situation, and now I am a shell and writing this aimlessly. Writing as I try to not succumb to the voice telling me that death is here with open arms.
There is the cliche that you have to sort yourself out by yourself. But how can one help themselves when there is no outside support? This philosophy has never worked for me, I am honestly intrigued if it has worked for anyone else. Solely doing it by themselves, with absolutely nobody by their side.