mental health

Diary excerpts of the mentally ill

TRIGGER WARNING ~

These are a few diary excerpts of mine I found. Figured people should see the perspective of a mentally insufficient person, maybe some people identify with how I felt. They made me sad. This really is what you call “laying bare”.

3rd November 2016 –

Saw Sharon today, we discussed dissociating, not knowing which reality i’m present in, hearing background voices that get in the way when other people talk (no concentration), the sensation of having more than one version of me inside my head and sharing space with other people. People who aren’t quite me but don’t have different names etc  – weird extensions of my mind. Randomly, moving things of other people’s – not quite in control. I don’t want to be here or carry on anymore. I don’t find enjoyment in things that used to make me happy I’m just so fucking tired and done. I don’t want this, i don’t want to wake up everyday to the same pointless routine I’m trapped in. My friends don’t really care, at least not consistently. Only when it suits them. My family are fed up with me being depressed and unhappy, work think I’m a fucking joke and I probably seem like a fat, ugly mess to the outside world. No wonder no one sticks around for long – I wouldn’t either. I just can’t be bothered to keep pretending like I can cope and everything’s fine when it’s not. Life makes me so unhappy and I don’t know how to fix that. I was born to be miserable and pointless and incapable, probably as a lesson to those around me that I’m the worst you can be, you know it’s bad when you reach my level of scum. There’s something wrong with me and I wish someone saw it so I’m not the only one thinking it. I don’t deserve to be here. I can’t contain my emotions. This was supposed to be a factual account of my session with Sharon and it’s turned into a fucking pity party. I hope no one ever reads this I feel so pathetic, I wonder if people know I’m wrong when they look at me.

11th November 2016 –

I’m worried I’m getting worse. I’m an absolute wreck and people are starting to notice something’s not right. I can’t keep any friends because I’m so moody and depressing to be around and I just seem to exasperate and bring down everyone I’m in contact with. It’s like a worldwide disdain for me has suddenly sprung up. I don’t feel like anyone wants to know. I’m so alone. I’m spiralling so fast into this bottomless pit and I barely made it out last time, I don’t think I can do it again. I feel like I’m just passing time until I end my life and half the time I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I guess I don’t want to be that final disappointment – I don’t want to be shame them even in death. These voices close in on me so horribly sometimes that I just want to scratch my brain out so I don’t have to be taunted anymore. What’s a body without a brain? Maybe my only solution is bashing my brains out on the wall or slitting my throat. ~The rest of this paragraph is not being shared because it is too graphic~ A lot of strength must be needed to really slit a throat and not just make a gash – is it even possible to successfully cut your own throat? I suppose the deciding factor is the weapon of choice. Pills are a viable option but I don’t want to risk not taking enough and waking up alive and with liver damage to add to my list of problems. I could cut my forearm again but we all know how that one turned out. The problem also is where to do it? By some disgusting stroke of ill luck, if I did it at home then my little brother might find my corpse. I can’t allow that. Maybe if I do it soon enough he won’t even  remember I existed and will probably live the happy, healthy life he deserves. But either way he cannot find my body. Which begs the question where? Anywhere public runs the risk of someone finding me and “saving” my life. This just won’t do. I don’t intend to merely attempt suicide – I intend to commit the act fully. I can’t exactly stay at a friend’s house and do it – I’d never have enough time away from them to do so and they’d end up feeling responsible for my death. I could book a hotel room I suppose? But I wouldn’t want my death to make the news – “local girl found dead in Holiday Inn’s cheapest room”. The one thing that worries me is how mum will feel. Charlie will get over my passing in time and eventually probably be happier without me. Mum however, I couldn’t bear to put her through so much pain. But then I guess I’d just be gone anyway. I just don’t want to think of her hurting or suffering or blaming herself. I love her so much, in this muddled brain that’s one thing I do know. I wish she would just forget about me, I wish I could wipe her memory of me ever being born. Imagine having a child, placing all your hopes and dreams in them and them turning out like me. But. However appalling and disgusting I may be I know she’d never forget me. The thought of her living with the after effects of my suicide hurts so much. James would mourn but ultimately not be hugely bothered by my passing bar the obligatory sadness. Friends are in the same boat. It will pass. With any luck Seb will forget about me and lock me away like the bad memory I am. The world would carry on as normal for everybody but mum and my only mark on this earth would be as an extra gravestone, taking up valuable space. But then again who cares? I’ll be busy floating in the ether or not existing at all and the world would be none the wiser. People will move on and I will have my blessed silence. I just wish I could change how it’ll affect mum – she doesn’t deserve this and I’d only sink lower than I already have for making a mother outlive her child. Maybe she could adopt a child. Someone who needs a family and deserves love – there will be a vacancy in the family anyway when I’m gone. Maybe if she adopted a child I wouldn’t feel so guilty. At least it would keep her busy. Maybe with another child to love she would forget me. I think it would be easiest for everyone if we writ my birth off as a divine mistake and accept that I never should have happened. Someone more valuable and worthy should take my place. Which is just about anyone.

13th November 2016 –

I’m doing it tonight. Mum is finally leaving me unattended for the evening while she’s in London with Charlie, Seb is staying at his friend’s house and I have a stash of my Zopiclone that I found under mum’s mattress. James will be “watching” me but if I say I’ll just be upstairs reading or something he’ll probably believe it. Bless his heart I hate to do this to him. James, if you’re reading this, I’m so sorry and it wasn’t your fault brother. I love you and everyone so much and I hope everyone has the beautiful, long life you all deserve. It won’t take long with the amount of Zopiclone I have stashed. Within half an hour I should be going cold. This is what I wanted, everyone. Please don’t feel bad. I’m ready. I’ll just slip into bed and pretend to be asleep and with any luck I won’t be found out until mum is home. I’m so excited. Should I be excited? I feel like that’s the wrong emotion but I can’t change how I feel, I want this too much. I don’t want to do goodbyes. My friends won’t care anyway. So see you in the next life I guess. Signing out forever.

14th November 2016 –

Fuck everything. Still here. James the wily cunt, he found me about to pop my pills and tackled and restrained me til mum got home. They’ve phoned Sharon and it looks like I either go willingly to the Warneford day hospital or I get sectioned on the ward under section 22 of the mental health act. They told me I’d be on Wintle. If there were no spaces I’d be sent to the Priory until a bed became available. I can’t fucking believe this.

13th January 2017 –

Today is my 19th birthday. I was hoping things would be better by now. But they aren’t. I hoped this feeling of nothingness and self hatred would dissipate but it hasn’t. My care coordinator stopped seeing me weekly because she thinks I’m doing better for some reason. No one listens and I can tell I’m going to slip through her fingers into the sea of nobodys. The ones most needing help are always the ones who are missed by the system. No one cares unless you have a severed artery and even then it’s a false concern. Everyone is sick of me and my selfishness and the burden I put on everyone I come into contact with. That’s the issue – I don’t better anyone’s existence by being here – I burden it. Slowly everything becomes about me because I’m selfish and people can’t stand me and have to leave. Me just being me pushes people away. I’m literally so awful that my personality causes people to want nothing to do with me. Looking back at everyone from my past – they couldn’t wait to get away. They practically ran whilst I chased them and begged them to stay. That’s the kind of person I am – unlikeable. I’d hate me too if I were them. I’m repulsive. Fully repulsive. Why on earth did the universe let someone like me be here? I am the spawn of someone good and someone bad and I had a 50/50 chance and guess which one I am. Just like my dad. Wrong. I hurt people like it’s breathing and I don’t even realise i’m doing it.  I’m poison. I hurt everyone. I hurt everyone. I have bad blood. Tainted and dirty. I wish I could open a vein and drain all the bad blood away but what happens when I find it’s all bad blood? I should hang myself like a carcass and bleed myself dry like cattle at a slaughterhouse. Here’s to hoping there’s not another 19 years ahead of me.

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2 thoughts on “Diary excerpts of the mentally ill

  1. Keep writing. You are talented but broken. We all are in our own ways. I’ve fought addictive behaviour, OCD, depression and suicidal thoughts for years. Writing helps. Get the poison out of your soul and into your journal. There is hope. You are loved.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much. I made this blog to get my thoughts out and see if it helped me regarding therapy and techniques etc, but instead I’ve met so many lovely people who suffer the same ways I do and who offer kind well wishes and so on. It means a lot. Wishing you all the best.

      Liked by 1 person

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