Today's my 21st Birthday. I've never felt that strongly either way about my own birthday, but at a certain point it became just an annual reminder of how nothing changes, of how stuck I feel. As a child you can't wait to grow up. But then you get there and suddenly you wish the clock would stop ticking because you're frozen. You're so eager to keep up when you're younger, but then you realise you've been left behind. Left behind, or fallen behind. The former suggests everyone has done it to you. The latter implies some responsibility on your part for not keeping up. I'd say it's a mixture of both.
I know my parents love me. I haven't always been sure. But now their love just hurts because it feels wasted on me. You can't say any of this stuff to people in person without sounding self pitying or somewhat depressed. I'm not depressed though. I'm just having a rude awakening, where I realise that after the innocence of childhood has worn off, the world no longer even pretends to care about you. I wish I cared enough for myself, but I just don't. People think getting dressed and washing yourself corresponds to caring for yourself, but that's not true. You do it because for as long as you're part of this society, you have to keep up appearances. And anyway, I realised a long time ago that it doesn't matter what I do. There's not enough space in the world for everyone to matter, so whether I get dressed or not, shower or not, cry or not, scream or not, it makes no difference to the world at all.
I thought about explaining my background, but what does it matter? I've spent too much time going round explaining myself to various people - family, friends, healthcare professionals, God (I don't know if I'm a believer but it feels wrong not to capitalise his/her name). I'm tired now. I feel as though all the answers I've been chasing are attempts to get away from the fact that this is just the way I am, and I'm not made for the world . Everything hurts so much. But it's not as if people don't know that. They do know, but I feel as though, unless you're outwardly suffering and obviously distressed, people don't believe you. People underestimate the human capacity not only to endure, but to suppress. When I so clearly said I wanted to die, a professional told me I was using the 'issue' of suicide in an 'aggressive' way. They joked about me 'screaming' about suicide. So then I just quietly thought about it, because I realised, people don't need to know how you feel for it to be real. I know it's a real. And maybe I wanted them to know because I wanted help. I wanted to stop feeling this way. Their reaction made it clear that everything I think is true. There can be no doubt now. I've done everything you're told to. I reached out, I was open, I really tried. I just want people to know that last bit in particular. I really did try. But if you had been by my side through everything that's happened in these 21 years, you too would be resolute in the belief that you don't belong here. Others don't want you hear.
And it's not as if I'm not upset about it because of course I am. I'm sad for my family more than anything, that over two decades were spent expending time, love (at times hate), and resources on someone who, at their very core, is broken. Someone who is a monster through and through, whose tears move nobody. they deserved better than that. And I tried so hard to give them the life they deserved, to make them happy, to give them peace, to make them proud. But I failed on counts. Sometimes I blame them. A lot of the time I blame them, but more than anything I blame this world, that sucks the life out of you, causes so much pain and suffering. You're trapped, not having asked to be there in the first place, and then it slowly chips away at you. You try to ask for help but you end up screaming into the abyss. Your screams aren't desperation. They're 'hostile', 'aggressive' and insincere. Everyone just sees anger, but nobody's curious. Yes I'm full of rage, but ask me why. I'm angry because I hurt so much. They act as if they'd respond differently if I cried rather than swore. Maybe people don't hate me, but they're indifferent to me. And being invisible hurts in a different kind of way.
People are so clumsy with their words. Or are they actually very careful with them? And they've calculated it just right to cause maximum impact. It's like, even though I jump, everyone paved the way right to the edge. You may as well have pushed me. But if you dare suggest that, you're the evil one. I'm pointing out that you hurt me when you should have helped. Even if you didn't help, did you have to be so nasty?
Sometimes I think saying it plainly and clearly is no use, and that you have to be creative when expressing your pain, but I'm all out of words. I just really hate being alive. I want to be dead more than anything. There's nothing left for me here. My heart aches for my family but when I weigh it up, I cause them more pain then my absence might. Perhaps with me gone they would be somewhat vindicated. They wouldn't just be seen as pushy parents. Although they didn't understand me, they still fought to try and help me.
I'm so tired of people saying how much they 'admire' me for pushing through, or how they're 'surprised how stable' I am. All that says to me is that I'm an idiot. The world is laughing at me:
Why are you still here? Have you not got the message yet?
I have, but I kept holding out hope that I was wrong. Nobody has said that I'm wrong. These mind games are confusing now. I don't know what's real and what's not. I don't know what I can trust what I can't. It's no way to live. It's impossible to live. What's the point of even getting up in the morning if the whole world hates you? Up until now it's been spite and spite alone that's got me up. But I want to let go of it. It's draining.
I know my parents love me. I haven't always been sure. But now their love just hurts because it feels wasted on me. You can't say any of this stuff to people in person without sounding self pitying or somewhat depressed. I'm not depressed though. I'm just having a rude awakening, where I realise that after the innocence of childhood has worn off, the world no longer even pretends to care about you. I wish I cared enough for myself, but I just don't. People think getting dressed and washing yourself corresponds to caring for yourself, but that's not true. You do it because for as long as you're part of this society, you have to keep up appearances. And anyway, I realised a long time ago that it doesn't matter what I do. There's not enough space in the world for everyone to matter, so whether I get dressed or not, shower or not, cry or not, scream or not, it makes no difference to the world at all.
I thought about explaining my background, but what does it matter? I've spent too much time going round explaining myself to various people - family, friends, healthcare professionals, God (I don't know if I'm a believer but it feels wrong not to capitalise his/her name). I'm tired now. I feel as though all the answers I've been chasing are attempts to get away from the fact that this is just the way I am, and I'm not made for the world . Everything hurts so much. But it's not as if people don't know that. They do know, but I feel as though, unless you're outwardly suffering and obviously distressed, people don't believe you. People underestimate the human capacity not only to endure, but to suppress. When I so clearly said I wanted to die, a professional told me I was using the 'issue' of suicide in an 'aggressive' way. They joked about me 'screaming' about suicide. So then I just quietly thought about it, because I realised, people don't need to know how you feel for it to be real. I know it's a real. And maybe I wanted them to know because I wanted help. I wanted to stop feeling this way. Their reaction made it clear that everything I think is true. There can be no doubt now. I've done everything you're told to. I reached out, I was open, I really tried. I just want people to know that last bit in particular. I really did try. But if you had been by my side through everything that's happened in these 21 years, you too would be resolute in the belief that you don't belong here. Others don't want you hear.
And it's not as if I'm not upset about it because of course I am. I'm sad for my family more than anything, that over two decades were spent expending time, love (at times hate), and resources on someone who, at their very core, is broken. Someone who is a monster through and through, whose tears move nobody. they deserved better than that. And I tried so hard to give them the life they deserved, to make them happy, to give them peace, to make them proud. But I failed on counts. Sometimes I blame them. A lot of the time I blame them, but more than anything I blame this world, that sucks the life out of you, causes so much pain and suffering. You're trapped, not having asked to be there in the first place, and then it slowly chips away at you. You try to ask for help but you end up screaming into the abyss. Your screams aren't desperation. They're 'hostile', 'aggressive' and insincere. Everyone just sees anger, but nobody's curious. Yes I'm full of rage, but ask me why. I'm angry because I hurt so much. They act as if they'd respond differently if I cried rather than swore. Maybe people don't hate me, but they're indifferent to me. And being invisible hurts in a different kind of way.
People are so clumsy with their words. Or are they actually very careful with them? And they've calculated it just right to cause maximum impact. It's like, even though I jump, everyone paved the way right to the edge. You may as well have pushed me. But if you dare suggest that, you're the evil one. I'm pointing out that you hurt me when you should have helped. Even if you didn't help, did you have to be so nasty?
Sometimes I think saying it plainly and clearly is no use, and that you have to be creative when expressing your pain, but I'm all out of words. I just really hate being alive. I want to be dead more than anything. There's nothing left for me here. My heart aches for my family but when I weigh it up, I cause them more pain then my absence might. Perhaps with me gone they would be somewhat vindicated. They wouldn't just be seen as pushy parents. Although they didn't understand me, they still fought to try and help me.
I'm so tired of people saying how much they 'admire' me for pushing through, or how they're 'surprised how stable' I am. All that says to me is that I'm an idiot. The world is laughing at me:
Why are you still here? Have you not got the message yet?
I have, but I kept holding out hope that I was wrong. Nobody has said that I'm wrong. These mind games are confusing now. I don't know what's real and what's not. I don't know what I can trust what I can't. It's no way to live. It's impossible to live. What's the point of even getting up in the morning if the whole world hates you? Up until now it's been spite and spite alone that's got me up. But I want to let go of it. It's draining.
