Feb 2016
I woke up today with the lingering thought that I wanted to **** myself.
It felt old, causing me to wonder if I had felt it in my sleep as well. It took me a short while to realize that I had no interest in doing this myself. I simply did not wish to exist.
The idea was not new to me, nor was it worrisome. I had felt like this for a long while. Rare though, were the days that it descended so immediately, giving me little time to breathe before blanketing me.
It felt unusually heavy. And yet it felt unusually light. Perhaps not light. Maybe... Thin. Wispy. Immaterial. I could not figure out the source of this deep dissatisfaction with life. It didnt seem to be academic issues. It didnt seem to be social issues. It didnt seem to be home issues. Perhaps it was all of them at once. Perhaps I was tired of working my *** off, tired of feeling so forcefully, tired of answering ridiculous questions. Perhaps I was just plain tired. I was a busy person, after all.
But I had slept well. And I had had 9 days off of school. There wasn't much to warrant feeling this way. But I felt it a lot. I was god awful tired of feeling it. And the feeling seemed to magnify itself. Wanting to die only made me want to die even more.
It was frustrating. Knowing that I couldn't help but feel this way. Knowing that most of my friends didn't handle their problems this way. It was hard. I wanted to be more positive. I wanted to be like everyone else.
But then I wouldn't feel this way. And if I didn't feel this way, I wouldn't talk about it, and if you feel this way, its important to talk about it. Because mental health is stigmatized today.
It's okay to feel like you can't get out, it's okay for your legs to struggle to walk, if you can't stop repeating repeating repeating words, can't control the compulsion to skip the step before the landing. I tell myself this. Its important to tell yourself that your "problems" are normal too. And of course maybe you don't skip the step before the landing, because you aren't, you aren't, you aren't me, but your hands might shake and you might jump at the sound of cabinets slamming, and you might not agree with the voices you hear.
And you might wish that you were dead.
But instead of keeping it a secret, talk about it.
Let someone know.
Let people know that mental health is not a curious oddity, or something that ought to be shunned.
It is something that should be treated just like any physical ailment.
Don't keep it a secret.
Talk about it.
Talk about it.
Talk about it.
It felt old, causing me to wonder if I had felt it in my sleep as well. It took me a short while to realize that I had no interest in doing this myself. I simply did not wish to exist.
The idea was not new to me, nor was it worrisome. I had felt like this for a long while. Rare though, were the days that it descended so immediately, giving me little time to breathe before blanketing me.
It felt unusually heavy. And yet it felt unusually light. Perhaps not light. Maybe... Thin. Wispy. Immaterial. I could not figure out the source of this deep dissatisfaction with life. It didnt seem to be academic issues. It didnt seem to be social issues. It didnt seem to be home issues. Perhaps it was all of them at once. Perhaps I was tired of working my *** off, tired of feeling so forcefully, tired of answering ridiculous questions. Perhaps I was just plain tired. I was a busy person, after all.
But I had slept well. And I had had 9 days off of school. There wasn't much to warrant feeling this way. But I felt it a lot. I was god awful tired of feeling it. And the feeling seemed to magnify itself. Wanting to die only made me want to die even more.
It was frustrating. Knowing that I couldn't help but feel this way. Knowing that most of my friends didn't handle their problems this way. It was hard. I wanted to be more positive. I wanted to be like everyone else.
But then I wouldn't feel this way. And if I didn't feel this way, I wouldn't talk about it, and if you feel this way, its important to talk about it. Because mental health is stigmatized today.
It's okay to feel like you can't get out, it's okay for your legs to struggle to walk, if you can't stop repeating repeating repeating words, can't control the compulsion to skip the step before the landing. I tell myself this. Its important to tell yourself that your "problems" are normal too. And of course maybe you don't skip the step before the landing, because you aren't, you aren't, you aren't me, but your hands might shake and you might jump at the sound of cabinets slamming, and you might not agree with the voices you hear.
And you might wish that you were dead.
But instead of keeping it a secret, talk about it.
Let someone know.
Let people know that mental health is not a curious oddity, or something that ought to be shunned.
It is something that should be treated just like any physical ailment.
Don't keep it a secret.
Talk about it.
Talk about it.
Talk about it.
