When I was a kid, I used to dream of being an adult. I used to look forward to the days when I’d have freedom to come and go as I wished, when I could do whatever I wanted, when I could be my own person. When I was a teenager, I used to dream of being an adult, when I’d finally have my life figured out, when I’d have worked through my issues and I’d have a speck of happiness. Today, I’m an adult, and I no longer have dreams.
The freedom I always dreamed of was taken away from me by this illness that takes over me, that controls my every move and thought, even when I think the moves and thoughts are my own. Sometimes, I don’t even realize how I’m being moved by this, until I see how erratically I’m acting or how uncontrollably my thoughts are racing. It’s then that I realize that I can no longer make my own, free decisions. Everything I do, is, somehow, influenced by this thing that has become a huge part of me.
The life I wanted to have figured out never really happened. Of course, I can never get through with any plans, because I have become an insecure, weak person, with no will power to go on. Of course, I’ll never try hard enough for anything I really want, because I’m terrified of failing and just proving by actual facts how much of a worthless piece of shit I actually am. I’d rather fool myself by not trying and give up half way through so I don’t have to deal with failure and rejection.
And the speck of happiness I wished for? I don’t even remember what it is like, to be happy. Okay days are the best I hope for right now, and they’re mostly so rare. It’s been literally fifteen years I haven’t been happy, and I see no light ahead of me for that happening any time soon. All I feel is hopelessness, rage, resent.
I feel hopeless every time I feel like I do now, like my meds are stopping working. It’s what? The 8th time? The 10th? The 15th? I don’t even know anymore which time it is, but it doesn’t really matter. It happens over and over and over again. And all it does to me is prove that this will never end. The instability will never end, the pain will never end. I’ve tried DOZENS of meds that will eventually fail me. I’ve tried therapy, I’ve tried changing major, moving half a world away, I’ve tried EVERYTHING. Nothing. Ever. Works. This will never end. How can I feel anything but hopeless?
I feel rage and resent that no one notices. No one. Not my family, not my friends, not my boyfriend. I walk among them every day. To some of them, I talk about dying and suicide. Heck, last week, I wrote this long awareness post for Suicide Prevention Day and posted for everyone to see, talking about suicide and its facts and how you should pay attention to people around you. But no. They don’t see. They couldn’t see a cry for help if one bit them in the ass. Yet, when I kill myself, I bet I’l get a bunch of shocked Facebook posts on my Wall, “Why did you do this? You were always so happy and making people laugh.” I wish I would be around to see the repercussions of it.
I wish I knew what makes me so worthless and invisible to people, why is it that no one can spare some time, or no one can get into it deep enough to deal. I wish I knew why I’m not worth it, people’s time, people’s love, people’s care. I tried, you know? I’ve always been such a good friend. Everyone talks to me about everything, and everyone leans on me. But when I need someone, there is never anyone around. I just… I can’t.
I can’t do this anymore. I’m not strong enough. I’ve spent most of my life hurting. I’ve spent my childhood, my teenage years and half of my twenties. HASN’T IT BEEN ENOUGH? Can’t it just go away? Why do I need to keep struggling to go through every day? Why does this have to be my life?
I know, no one said it would be easy. But I didn’t sign up for this. I’m tired. I’m done.
Sad thing is, there’s so many things I want to do. So many things I want to say. So many things I want to be. But I can’t. I need to go.
It’s time to give up. It’s time to throw in the towel. I’ll see you next time.
Not that anyone cares anyway, no one reads this.