I’m Not Always Funny

I’m not always funny. I want to be, but the reality of me is that i am more often than not sinking, so if you are looking for something entertaining to read then go to an older post, or somewhere else. I can’t provide you with that today.

I can’t sleep well. I’ve been tossing and turning all week, feeling like something is watching me and being too afraid to open my eyes and check. When I do open them I see people. They aren’t nice, or ambivalent anymore, like they used to be. Sometimes it’s at the foot of the bed, and I can feel it’s hands pressing into the blankets when it leans in and realizes I’m awake. A few times I’ve awoken and it’s beside the bed, where John normally sleeps. It doesn’t hurt me or try to, but somethings just not right.

I guess I know it’s not real…Most of the time I can keep myself from screaming or making a run for the door. Too many times have I caught myself halfway across the room sobbing before I make myself look back to notice it’s already gone. Too many times this week I’ve made it to the light and switched it on. It’s not a relief to see that nothings there once the lights are shining. It’s humiliating.

Most days I joke about being crazy. I do my best to accept some of the issues I have and move on. Sort of adapt to it, I guess, but I feel like it’s getting worse. What I see scares me more than it used to.

I am a cutter. It’s sort of like being an alcoholic…and just because you haven’t in a long time doesn’t take the label away. The impulse is still there. You’re not cured…you’re just fighting harder against it.

When I first started cutting in high school I was severly depressed. I’d always had some trouble with emotional mood swings, but as I got older they got more intense. I don’t know why I decided to try it…I think it’s honestly just that…if it works you’re so grateful. If it doesn’t it won’t matter because it can’t hurt as bad as what’s pent up in your chest.

I thought I’d have support. I had a couple friends who did it…and while I worried about them I always supported them. Even before I started, i understood the impulse behind it. That’s not what happened. It’s pretty common for people to say someone only developes that kind of a behavior for attention, so i shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. I didn’t want attention. I just wanted help an at the time that helped. The backlash didn’t.

I lost pretty much every friend I had in highschool my senior year. There are too many details in the situation to list here, but what it came down to, at least from what I could get out of the last one to leave  was that I was simply too much drama. She said that there was just always something wrong.

She wasn’t lying. God, it hurt so bad to hear her say it though, because it wasn’t something I could fix. At least not then. I showed up at her house, and pretty much lost it once we were alone. It probably just cemented the idea that I wasn’t worth it, but at the time I felt so betrayed and like I was losing the last friend I had. I was right.

I’d just taken an overdose…and I’d ran into people who implied she had told them about it. Maybe it wasn’t her and they were just being vindictive, but something tells me she did. I felt I could tell her…that considering things which had happened in her life that she would be a safe person to talk about it with.

Suicide is scary, and I know it. No one wants to be around someone whose taken such a drastic step in the wrong direction. It leaves a bad taste…and a constant fear for anyone crazy enough to love you.

I don’t think I wanted to actually die that night. I know I didn’t. I was overwhelmed, and scared, and just wanted a break. I didn’t care how I got it. I was at the point that if dying was a consequence then it would be worth it. It’s hard to describe how it feels to not have the strength to get out of bed for days, or eat; to describe how weak and pathetic you feel when you’ve been crying for an hour and you can’t stop.

Well, I didn’t get a break from it. I just got guilt, and shame, that I’d laid such a heavy burden on those that love me. I have no way to take that fear away from them. I have no way to erase the way my mother looked at me in the hospital. She seemed so angry and it made me feel disgusted with myself for being so selfish.

My actions left those around me scrambling to find ways to help me, when there wasn’t really any way for them to do it. It was unfair to them.

I do better now for the most part, and I’m struggling right now to stay better, but I feel like I’m losing my grip on things. I’m failing. It’s a slow process, but I feel it.

I don’t think it’s fair to say that the stigma of mental illness is the worst.  I’m not sure that’s accurate. If you are outwardly crazy enough to convince someone you are really depressed, that you’re really broken, then sure there are some stereotypes, and it’s a pain that no one can understand…but there’s a unique pain to being in the middle.

If for the most part you can hide it, and you can maintain a relatively normal lifestyle then there’s, for one, always the assumption that when the depression seeps out into the public eye that it’s for attention. It isn’t real. Suddenly instead of a girl whose drowning and scared  the girl is just dramatic, or…my favorite, playing a martyr. Instead of someone looking at the person and offering a helping hand, or sympathy, they are greated with annoyed disgust. You’re just a burden, unwilling to help yourself. Or, it’s greeted with shock. People who have never seen you crash before are bewildered to see it happen. And this either makes you unpredictable and scary, or they assume you’re just being overly emotional because if the depression was really so bad, then they’d see it all the time.

I’m just crazy enough to make working difficult, but not crazy enough for disability to be an option. I’m not saying I’d want to take that route, but explain to me what I’m supposed to do, to say, to my employers on days when I feel like I might kill myself? When i know getting out of bed will be very dangerous for me….what reason exactly do I give them for not coming in?

I’m drowning right now and no one sees it. Even the ones who are paying attention.

Why can’t I pull out of this? Someone tell me what I’m doing wrong.

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