The Beginning of the End (hopefully)
So I’m deciding to start using this blog again in hopes of making myself feel better. I can say that I’ve been inspired and I truly hope this helps me. Thus, this blog is taking a completely different turn and I will start using it to outwardly express my feelings. I learned the other day that I do that best with strangers.
I have been in a depressing state lately (if that even makes sense). It’s something I can’t really control. At times it can be triggered by anything, everything, or nothing at all. At the beginning, I get this feeling like there’s something on my chest. It gradually gets heavier and heavier until it physically feels like there’s something or someone constantly pushing my chest. It gets so heavy that it’s very hard to ignore and I start to deteriorate and I’m unable to concentrate on anything.
I should probably start from the beginning. Back in middle/high school, I was known as the smart one. I got all A’s, played sports, etc. I never went through the “emo” phase. In fact I vowed to my parents that I would never do that to myself, even if it was for fun, which was what my friends were doing it for. I think my emotions really took a toll on me when I moved to the States. I had no one here. It was also a very unsettling change as the culture was different. People weren’t as nice. I can’t really say I was bullied, but I was alone. I had friends, but I didn’t have friends if you catch my drift. It has been like that for the majority of the time. I didn’t really fit in in the two schools I went to, with the exception of one. I was glad to leave high school here behind.
Going to uni. I thought would be a good change, but I was wrong. I had never felt more alone. I yearned for companionship. Couple this feeling with issues going on at home and you get a downward spiral. One fateful autumn day, after a heated argument with my parents, I left home and slept in my car for the night. I reached out to people I could in hopes that they would understand. No success. I woke up early in the morning, freezing in my car with a bad headache. I decided to get some medicine. With my luck, leaving a manual car running without moving for long periods of time, or constantly turning the engine on and off busts the alternator (of course). Now I had no friends and no car and a pounding head. I had no choice so I walked to the nearest grocery store. This part is funny. I remember distinctly standing in the medication aisle, standing in front of a bunch of bottles of different brands of pain relievers. I don’t know why, but I started to think about committing suicide then and I wanted to know the least painful way in doing so, so I read all of the side effects of overdosing on every single bottle. I wanted a quick and easy way out from my problems. I can’t believe I actually took the time to plan my suicide. So I bought the bottle of Acetaminophen and walked back to my nonfunctioning car. I was terrified to do it. Not because I was scared of what others might think because I knew at that point that they wouldn’t care. They would only start caring after I died. I was terrified to do it because of the pain I was gonna feel and for the person that might find me there. But nothing would ever compare to the pain I was already feeling inside. So I downed the whole bottle.
A lot happened in between, but I was too groggy to remember. I was found by my mom and I can’t say I was pleased. She was the last person I wanted to see. My parents took me home and I stayed in my room for two days. I didn’t eat or go to the bathroom or look at my phone. All I did was sleep. I skipped class and work during those times, but I didn’t care. At that point I didn’t feel well emotionally as well as physically. My solution? Take another bottle. My mom, again, found out. She called me downstairs and, get this, instead of comforting or taking me to the hospital, they decide to tell me that they were no longer paying for my school and I would have to start paying rent every month. How nice of them. I passed out right after and they took me to the emergency room.
I had an idea that I was depressed leading up to this, but I didn’t realize it completely until the nurse asked me all of these questions and I kept saying yes to them. “Do you have crying spells?” “Have you ever self-harmed?” “Are you happy?” She later broke the news to my mom that I was suffering from clinical depression. But, even though I was there, clearly crying for help, she didn’t wanna believe it. So I gave up and said that I wasn’t in the right state of mind when answering those questions and that I was fine. By that time, it was too late and I either had to stay in their psychiatric ward voluntarily for a couple of days, or be forced to stayed in involuntarily for a month. So basically I was screwed either way. I just wanted to get out at that point because no amount of help can fix my relationship with my mom or myself. So I did the fourth worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, which was deny treatment. I lied my way the next day with the doctors and told them I was a completely fine person who made a lapse judgement out of stress. And it worked unfortunately. I was released the next day and sent back to my oh so loving home. Naturally, I had to pay the hospital bills for causing all the trouble.
Here I am. A year and a couple months later, going through a somewhat similar situation. It terrifies me that I’ll never be Ok. No one will ever understand what I’m going through. I’ll never find that one person that makes this all go away. I’ll never mend this relationship with my parents. I’m never gonna get over my low self esteem. Life terrifies me. And I’m not gonna sit here and say it’s great and it’s all a lesson. I know it’s gonna be ok someday, but it’s also not gonna be ok right after that. I don’t know what’s gonna push me over the edge next. All I could hope for is that someone’s gonna be there to catch me this time. And hope that they’re gonna be there for all of the next 100 times that this will happen.
All I have is hope. If I don’t have hope, I have nothing.
