I hate being ______, I hate myself, and finally I hate breathing oxygen

Last night I convinced myself I was going to kill myself for a short while. I was at my tipping point, but for no absolute reason, I just was. For those short minutes I was convinced that in the morning instead of getting a shower I was going to take a bath in my own blood. I didn’t care that not only would just anybody find me but if could have been my little brother or sister. They could need the toilet in the morning but instead they find my body in the bathtub with crimson stained water flooding the floor. Normally the idea of somebody finding me puts me off, and stirs a gut wrenching ache in my stomach, however this time it didn’t I was just empty!

I’ve created this false vision around me, even though I say I want to kill myself and drink bleach. Even though I say I hate life, I hate myself it’s fine because my attitude and body image suggests otherwise, and my facade sticks frozen in place. The icy mask never drops, and neither does the pain of life. It’s not even sadness now or revert, or even the heartbreaking feeling of rejection and lonliness, it’s not feeling it or not feeling happy. It’s feeling like you’re just floating 10 inch of the ground, carrying no body weight, emotions or even any sign you’re even there at that time, in that place. I get through the day pretending I’m fine because nobody notices the difference, in that short time because I feel the compulsion to keep up the brick wall separating fantasy from reality I’m fine. But on a night I’m not, there’s no one to pretend to, lie to, nobody to save me from myself. In that moment the world silently comes crashing down, there’s no tears to cry and no anger screaming at me from the walls. Just a vast desert of dry nothing. And that’s why it hurts; I’m used to feeling something, pure emotion either way but now I feel nothing. I haven’t cried Happy tears in a while now, and when I cry sad tears I have to force myself. 

I hate being gay. I hate it because I just do. I hate the fact that there are people around me who may one day be forced to hate me because of their religion, or because of society. I hate everything about being gay. There’s always that reminder it’s something else that makes me ‘unique’, and further away from the crowd I’m pushed. I hate how I fit every stereotype and have done since I was 5. I want to be hetrosexual so much, but it’s impossible. When around people I try to force myself to act like them, but they already assume I’m going to talk about gay things and it’s like a punch to the stomach. I need to do it! My voice, my hobbies, my friends – all just constant reminders. I hate it so much. Just another reason for me to kill myself, how do I go on with the rest of my life hating something that defines me so much? 

I hate every fibre of my being, on the inside and on the outside. I hate my brain for being ill,, my heart for giving me a blood system, my lungs for breathing, my digestive system for digesting food, I hate my face for being ugly, my eyes for needing glasses, my teeth for being crooked and fucked. My ears for being too big, my hair for being indecisive colour wise, and really curly. I hate my arms because even though they’re really skinny they could be skinnier, I hate my fingers because they’re supposedly pointy, and my finger nails because they aren’t resistant to my nail biting. My torso because it’s fat, my legs because they’re even worse and my arse because it’s completely​ just fat. I hate my walk because I walk with a wobble due to some imbalance in my posture. I hate my skin colour because it’s so pasty and my eyecolour because it’s bring. I hate that I could be so much smarter. I hate my family background. 

How do I make it work for another 50 years at least? 

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A little bit of nothing, oxymoronic?

I’m not sure how good tonight’s post shall turn out, only that I don’t have much energy to post. That’s probably where the problem lies, but to even attempt to fix a broken mirror we need all of its pieces, just like how when solving a problem you need all the present information and facts to create a solution. But not only do you need a solution, you also need the courage, and thirst to fix the problem.

I can think of many possibilities that are causing me to be tired and depression is only one of them. It could be the after effects of PE, or a caffeine addiction, it, however, cannot be because I’m tired due to me having 9 hours sleep last night and approximately the same the night before.

I haven’t posted in a while, and my idea of a post about symbolism flew out the window due to me forgetting my examples and initial ideas, not to mention I lacked the energy in the first place. This I did some browsing on YouTube to find a topic similar to the rest of my blog, and I found a video I’ve seen at least 10 times before but it’s relatable. The video showcases a girl reciting a poem, which explains what describing depression to your mother is actually like. So I thought why don’t I break it down and explain it in my own words and compare it to my own struggles.

https://youtu.be/aqu4ezLQEUA

Mom my depression is a shape shifter

Depression can be a huge weight tied to your leg which you had once been forced to drag with you everywhere, or it could be like a black rose in a field of yellow tulips, it’s there and you feel it but it certainly isn’t the end of the world.

Mom says I thought the problem was that you can’t get out bed.

Now, this is probably the most relevant part for me, because again it’s like a force summoning you, pulling at you throughout the day. At at the end of it, and you’re back in the comfort of your own home without the pressure telling you to continue and that forced support holding you up, you crumble like the cliffs at our coasts when they’ve been assaulted by a wave, one too many times. You collapse onto your safe haven and dream about the could be’s and maybe’s and you’re aspirations – that is if you’re feeling up to it, and truthfully you’re actually not half of the time. I just wanted to lighten the mood, or should I say soften the blow for my peers?

How beautiful? That reminds me, due to my struggles last year when myself harming was pretty bad and my mentality broken, I thought it would be appropriate to pin my struggles on one person and the blame the faults of the whole world on that one person, it was wrong and I regret every moment of it, because she was entirely the wrong person to be held accountable. So we had a meeting with our head of year, during that meeting I was put in my place, but I believe said thing was not entirely justified. Here’s the thing, in said meeting our HoY told me, my peers were only children and they don’t deserve any of this. But in actual fact wouldn’t it be justice, due to the fact my depression and anxiety, and suicidal feelings was mainly due to being bullied on and off for the 3 years I’d spent at that school. When I’d finally had time tom process what she had said, it felt like a punch to the stomach, I felt as though she was blaming me for everything, and telling me I had to suck it up or just move on. But let’s leave that little trip down memory lane at the next bus stop, shall we?

Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out of town that depression felt obligated to invite to the party

Now, this is a great point which I think I have probably mentioned on numerous occasions. Depression and anxiety are both mental illnesses that make everyday difficult, compared to most other peoples. But to have both at the same time is horrendous and most of the time unbearable. I’ve said before Depression causes you to care about nothing, but anxiety causes you to care about everything; together the two words are oxymoronic and your every day full of contradictions and hard to make decisions. You can spend 10 minutes debating one resolution.

You see Mom each night Insomnia sweeps me up in his arms dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light
Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company

Now I actually understand why I once upon a time and to this day I feel enthralled by the moon, and especially the full moon. The luminescent glow of the moon has me dreaming about how great life could be, the silence of the night comforts me to no end and my bed sheets and pillows can sometimes be drowning.

Mom says try counting sheep
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake

Again insomnia keeps awake most nights, has done in the past, still, does. but sometimes I can fall asleep in a matter of minutes due to either exhaustion or the constant reminder stirring, and flashes of past events in front of my eyes. Telling me the night is a dangerous place when I’m in that place, confronting me and persuading me to just go to sleep instead. To save me from me, and the pain – figuratively and literally.

Mom still doesn’t understand
Mom, can’t you see
That neither can I

And now you understand what explaining depression is like to somebody else, or get somewhat of an idea. Bear in mind that the poem in its entirety explains a lot more.

I’d like to talk about two things especially tonight. 1) A new discovery and my research and 2) how I am not my illness but instead my illness is an explanation. 

Due to browsing through YouTube I discovered a new possibility – but it’s a chance not a definitive option. Well anyway I came across a video on borderline personality disorders, and then across another video on bpd, and another. So I watched them. Then the gears started turning in my head, I want answers, I want to know why I experience all this in my head, so I can finally greet the roots of the problem. Due to my discovery I did my research, according to scientific studies and bpd tests it’s a major possibility. I have the symptoms and the cause is simple. But onnthe other hand it’s just another possibility and god is it difficult differentiating between them. Anxiety, is simple it’s easy to identify. It took me a few attacks to realise. But with depression it’s difficult because it’s usually a side effect of everything else, it could be full on depression or it could be BPD or even bipolar. I can hands down say I’ve felt it all, had all the symptoms and thought it was all of them. In year 8 I had ‘minor depression’ and anxiety, but in year 9, things got major. I still had the anxiety but the depression got worse. Now this year, during September I felt the symptoms of Bipolar, I had weeks of hating myself and everyone, and thinking I couldn’t do anything, with sleep 24/7, to no sleep and thinking I could take on the world. Believing I could get higher test results than even the smartest in my class. And recently I’ve received the symptoms of BPD, I hate everyone all of a sudden especially my parents, god knows why. My energy levels have been chaos, and I’ve felt soo void, so empty.  

Then thinking back, it’s exactly the same with 1 other person. In the past I’ve either hated them or them or loved them like they’re the best thing since sliced bread: when in reality I don’t even know them. As well in year 9 I continuously pushed everybody away to stop myself from getting left out and alone. Due to that fact I’ve caused vigorous arguments with people and stirred massive drama, I’ve pushed everyone away to give myself time,or to lessen the blow from the grenade I hold inside me. But then again isn’t that just a side effect of depression and suicidal thoughts? Let me tell you a secret – I’ve been suicidal since at least year 7, probably since year 6 tbh. 
I also want to talk about, or try to convince myself; that I’m not my illness and that I can allow myself to be better. I’ve recently just gave in to it. Let the monster inside take over, I haven’t tried to fight it. But I know I should. I honestly don’t remember the past weekend to it taking over. I’ve purchased a fidget cube from Amazon but I don’t know how long it will take to come, it should help me a lot. I wanted to start off this discussion differently, but I forgot. Like 20 minutes ago I was beaming with a smile but 19 minutes ago I felt sick, like I was going to collapse. I wanted to cry. Without a reason I just flipped emotions and I kinda gave in, even though I thought for 5 mins whilst singing Galway girl but it didn’t work. It are away so I got into bed and got under the covers. This is what it’s like almost everyday, I give in to it, and just wait for it to pass, I don’t fight it because I believe I’m my illness. But I shouldn’t and I don’t want to. 

Just going to clear a few things up. – Trigger Warning

First if you’re reading this then please watch the video. There’s no other way to put it other than that way. https://youtu.be/tKaQd6-tlUw

Contrary to popular belief, suicide is not a spur of the moment decision. The process of thought can take anytime between days and even years. For a person to suddenly decide to commit is the general image behind suicide that society has imposed on us, never once do we mention the hours of thought put behind the act, a person puts into it. Nor do we mention how said person usually comes up with alternative reliefs before the end game and the continuous balance of positives and negatives they weigh up. Suicide isn’t all hearts and roses, its bloodshed and tears. 

The truth is I have thoughts of killing myself at least 5 times a day – on a good one. And on a bad day, even more. I’m not scared of dying, I’m mostly bored if not tired of living a half life. I’m smarter than that however, and it’s just thoughts. But I know I’m strong enough to do so, and I lack no remorse for it, it’s too easy to be honest. There’s tutorials on nooses,I could hang myself from a tree, I could slit my wrists easiest of them all actually! There’s also bleach, I could jump from somewhere or drown. 

I’m bored of the life I live. People compare me to Hannah Baker and ask me if I did it, who would be my reasons. In actual fact I probably wouldn’t leave a note behind, because you can’t write a suicide note to yourself, or to life even. I don’t feel anything mostly, I can’t cry because I lack the feelings so I laugh instead and pretend I’m fine, I make jokes and every depressed word that comes out my mouth is a plea for help.

Last week I went missing, people only care when you could be dead. But no I say sorting things but it’s normal, I could kill myself tomorrow and everybody would love me for 3 days and then never mention my name again.

Before I finish I don’t want sympathy, none at all just recognition that I’m not okay. And I definitely don’t want any are you okay.