******TRIGGER WARNING******
I was free from The Monster for
8 days. They were long days and I heard him tapping away in my head but I
ignored him. Sometimes, it was really difficult. I thought that having a friend
to stay would make it easier but it turns out that it was much harder than I
thought. I’ve waited to write this because I wasn’t sure of the words to say
about it. I loved having the company. I loved that there was somebody there
worrying about me and that I was accountable to another human being so I couldn’t
just cave in to The Monster or go for a walk to shut him up. Much as I loved
it, I was always anxious. When you’re depressed, a whole day can seem like a
lifetime sometimes and a week can feel like an eternity. I don’t know how to
express how grateful I am that I had one of my best friends here for that long;
Lord knows she got the raw end of the deal with the things she had to listen to
and we know it’s never fun hanging out with somebody who is depressed. I am
truly grateful; I am. But The Monster in my head is pissed off. I couldn’t find
the words before to say how difficult it is to hold it together for somebody else.
During those 8 days, I had
laughs and food and I made it to all of my appointments. I spent time doing
things with another living person instead of sitting alone in my room. I barely
slept though and if I did sleep; it was at the wrong times and for the wrong
reasons. I remember not wanting to wake her up because she needed to sleep. I
remember staring at my anti-depressants and just wishing for a quick end and
for my head to stop causing so much torment when I had exactly what I wanted; a
friend and to not be alone. It just wouldn’t stop. Bang, bang, bang. Over and
over again with no reprieve. I stared at the spot where I knew my razor blade
was. I longingly looked at it. I couldn’t touch it. It wouldn’t be very fair to
let her wake up the next day and find me in a worse mess than before she went
to sleep. So I sat in my tent. I rocked backwards and forwards. I cried as
silently as I could. I tried not to let on how tired I was or how scared I was
that the minute she left I would cave.
One day, she went to see a
friend in London. That was a difficult day for me because I knew even before
she left what I wanted to do and what I thought I deserved to do. I didn’t do
it. The guilt that I thought I would feel to see her face if she came back and
I’d cut myself was worse than the guilt I was feeling. I hate myself but it’s
not fair to make other people see the pain you’re in. I want to, all of the
time I want to prove just how much it hurts and that’s why it’s a compulsion to
cut or to be sick but it isn’t fair on other people. Being selfish, yes – there’s
no way to avoid that but it can’t be seen and when it can be seen, it can’t be
believed. For me; to commit suicide is to be selfless. My depression tells me
that I am a burden on society. It tells me that I shouldn’t ask for help every
week from a counsellor because maybe an 11 year old deserves the help more than
I do. Maybe they’re not as messed up as me or maybe they didn’t do as many bad
things as my depression tells me I did. So, for me, if I committed suicide, I
would be saving a lot of people from a lot of bother. I already know I’ve had
people walk out of my life because it was too difficult to be there. I don’t
hold it against them. It’s hard to be a friend to somebody who is depressed
because it’s relentless and it’s so damn repetitive and honestly, if I didn’t
know what it was like to be this way and live like this, I probably wouldn’t
want to try as hard as my friends do to be a friend to me. Depression is
draining on everybody. It drains NHS money. It drains friendships and
relationships. It drains the people that it affects. Mental Health issues are
draining on our society and we’re told so many times to just, “get on with it”,
“be happy”, “try harder”, “just stop being sad” and so we take the problem
away. We kill ourselves to save you from being drained. Jesus died to forgive
us our sins. We die so you don’t have to moan about money being spent on us
instead of Cancer Care. We kill ourselves because life is miserable for us but
we don’t want it to be miserable for you.
My friend went a few days ago. Predictably,
she had been gone a few hours and I’d already cut myself. It was a release for
me. Now, it is three days later and I can proudly say that I am self-harm free
for my third day. This is an achievement for me at this present time. I do not
care about the past right now and I do not care about the possible screw ups of
the future. I am here and I am fighting; for my life, for the chance to have a
future and to become a person who changes the lives of young people who think
they are a drain on society (because they’re told they are). I don’t know if
writing this here is the cowardly way of telling my best friend how difficult
it was but keeping things bottled up never helps; something she tells me a lot
and so here I am, baring the truth to her eternally in my writing.
The funny thing is, I know that
she’s reading this and maybe she’s crying, maybe she’s not but I know for sure
that she’s saying, “Why didn’t you just wake me up?” I couldn’t. It’s easier to
share how bad things are and how I’ve done silly things when I’m typing it. It
takes more courage to tell somebody in person and I’m still fresh off my
breaking down in front of the counsellor suicidal night and the memories of
being so pathetic that don’t fill me with pride.
I’m lucky, really. I have
friends who will stand by me no matter what. They may not always understand but
they stick by my side and do what they can to make me see the good in the
world; the good in myself. Thank You, All <3.
This is the end of my third
self-harm free day. I am free right now. I am alive.
