Welcome back, depression

 

I went through a few really great weeks concerning my depression when I was able to feel really normal with only a few hints of sadness and nothing else that resembles what my depression stands for, so I nourished the hope of actually getting rid of this disease after half a decade, but as usual, I was wrong.
Since my previous panic attack (another thing I’d hoped be able to defeat this year) and my two relapses concerning my bulimia after three weeks of being clean, depression has gotten ahold of me again. I’ve spent my forenoons sleeping instead of studying, stayed up even longer than usually, my insomnia has gotten worse, I constantly want to cry, my energy is being drained by this invisible force that makes me feel hopeless, sad, numb or just like shit, my smiles are lies and I find myself feeling the urge to just cuddle up in a blanket and never return to the outside world again. Doing nothing is no longer boredom, but everything I want and I keep picking my depressed Spotify playlists over my happy ones.


The pain has returned and I don’t know how to fight it.
I just don’t know.
Why does this crap always have to return?
Why can’t it just leave me the hell alone?
God, I wish all of this was easier. I wish something- anything could be easy at least once in my life.
I just want to run away, but I can’t. I need to keep going and pretend everything is right to make it better because I have a son whose future I’m responsible for, and to provide for that, I need to get my shit together and recover. Or at least stop the relapses. And most importantly: Stop getting worse.
I wish I didn’t always have to be brave and strong and all that shit and could just let go of everything for once and stop fighting it so hard. It hurts so much and I hate myself for feeling like this.
And even worse: Whenever I feel as crappy as I do right now, the goddamn grief returns as well and I miss my best friend so much because everything resembles me of her again and moving on from losing her seems impossible again.

If I could be with you tonight
I would sing you to sleep
Never let them take the light behind your eyes
One day I’ll lose this fight
As we fade in the dark
Just remember you will always burn as bright

The first relapses of 2017

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Yes, they happened. And yes, I knew that they would. But still, it really, really sucks. I’m not entirely sure why it happened. Maybe I had just been keeping my shit together for too long and had to break down for once. Maybe.
Anyways, it started at the end of last week when the familiar feeling of longing overcame me and I began to miss my best friend again whom I lost in late summer 2012. I don’t know if it’s possible to completely get over the loss of someone close to you, but I know that I never did, so occasionally the pain of losing her hits me really hard and that’s what happened that evening. And when the grief returns, it doesn’t knock at the door and asks if it can come on- it crashes down on me like a wave and takes away my breath. That night, I spent hours on the tiled floor with my hands on my mouth, trying so hard to cry to be able to feel some relief, but all I got was a pain in my chest so intense that it felt like a heart attack. These panic attacks my grief causes have been haunting me for years and I often thought about talking about them to my counselor, but never did and when they stopped at the end of last year, I figured they might be over, but I was obviously wrong and now I’m guessing I really will have to finally talk about them because I can’t take them anymore.

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But, of course, that panic attack wasn’t the end of it, because when I relapse, it’s usually more intense than that.
My best male friend spent a night at my place, we watched AHS when my son was asleep in his bed and drank wine and vodka together. I felt the need to relax for once which is why I drank. And I knew about the consequences. When I drink, I never get sick, slur my words or stumble around like an idiot as long as I’m not extremely intoxicated, but what I do is get really touchy feely.
A while ago, I read that drunk people do things they want to do, but would never dare to actually do sober. And that’s me AF.
I’m a lonely person. I want to be closer to people, open up, talk, share, hug, cuddle, kiss, make out and have sex, but I don’t do any of these things because shutting others out is safer when you’re afraid of getting hurt, trusting too much or have body image issues, and I have all of the above.
But as expected, I threw those morals out the window with the vodka in my veins and my friend and I made out heavily and almost had sex. Almost.
And as expected, I regret it. We’re still friends and at least I don’t think this has damaged our relationship since we’re not into each other and were simply drunk (this happened before a few years ago and didn’t affect our friendship), but it still sucks that I can’t keep my damn hands and vagina to myself when I have guys around that I like and a few too many drinks in my stomach.
Anyways… That whole incident fueled my body image issues and discomfort with myself, so when my team lost the Sunday night football game, I needed some form of outlet for all those unpleasant feelings stored up inside of me to make myself feel better and finally relax.
The problem is: I know what I should have done. I know exactly how to behave in certain situations and how to be safe and protect myself from distorted behaviors, and yet I purposely decided not to do these things and repeat the old sick patterns by binging and purging for the first time after three weeks.
Afterwards, I was definitely able to feel extremely calm and no longer stressed at all because that’s unfortunately the positive effect the ED behaviors have on me (they make me feel safe, calm and secure), but I also felt horribly guilty towards my body and my recovery, and furthermore, the urge to repeat the whole thing has been getting stronger again since that happened.
My body and I are getting along worse every day and the struggle is getting harder, but I can’t slip again. Both last night and today, I’ve been feeling really down, depressed and hopeless again, but I need to keep going to pull through. It’s the only choice I have if I want this year to finally be different than the previous ones. I can’t let all of this shit repeat itself all over again.
Right now, I hate everything around me and myself and the need to get on a plane and never return is stronger than it’s ever been, but that ain’t gonna happen.
I’ll keep going. No matter what. Even though it really fucking sucks right now.

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Now the rain is just
You’re driving me crazy
I’m washing you out of my hair and out of my mind
Keeping an eye on the world
From so many thousands of feet off the ground
I’m over you now
I’m at home in the clouds and towering over your head

The sick pressure in the sick mind

Okay, so I gotta write down my thoughts right now cause I’m driving crazy.

I have this extremely strong urge to freaking purge everything out of my stomach right now, and it makes me so stressed and anxious because it doesn’t make any damn sense. I mean, yeah, I ate a hell lot. And yeah, I feel really full and bloated and fat and stretched and whatever right now. And yeah, my body is digesting. And yeah, I hate myself for it because it terrifies me. But the thing is: Despite having had a small binge, everything I ate were safe foods. Unsweetened soy yogurt, 1/2 avocado with chili, a banana, 2 clementines, some zucchini and tomatoes with pure herbs and some nuts. Oh, and a bite from smoked tofu and some wheat free pizza crust.
It was a hell lot and I regret that I was so weak, but it was all ALLOWED.
No forbidden foods. At all.
Yet all I feel is this strong sense of hatred, guilt and the unstoppable wanting to puke my god damn guts out until I see blood, my tummy hurts, my hands are bruised, nose running, eyes red and I can finally feel the wonderful relief of the emptiness inside. But I can’t do it even though I want to. Even though the eating disorder makes me believe I should and that it would be the right thing.
Even though I feel fat, disgusting and weak. I need to stay strong because I can’t lose this fight again. I don’t want anything more than to raid all the cupboards, eat all the candy, drink some soda and spend half an hour bending in front of the toilet. It’s pathetic, stupid, sick and useless, and yet I want it more than anything and feel awful for not doing it. It’s like I can feel my stomach expanding and my body getting fatter, and only writing this already makes me feel more repulsed by myself than words could describe. I’m such a stupid, fat, disgusting loser. No strength, no discipline, no success.
It’s wrong to think like this.
But I can’t stop it.
I don’t want to stop it.
It’s the only safety I have in my mind.
If the self-hatred is gone, I don’t know what’s left.
It’s all I remember feeling in terms of myself.

I hate all of this so much.

But I can’t lose. I can’t. I was there before. It could kill me this time and I can’t risk that.

Isn’t it sad that women have fought so long and hard for our rights and equality, and now all our attention is put on being a size zero?

Control

So… My eating disorder has kind of taken over again. I wish I could say I stopped it before it happened, but I obviously didn’t. Food possesses my almost every waking thought and I’ve gone back to getting tensed and nervous around it. Everything consumed makes me feel guilty, I need to write down everything except water and despite my attempts to simply live healthy, it’s getting harder to draw the line between that and my disordered behavior every day. All I can think about is the sick wanting to lose weight and be thinner than I’ve ever been, but I don’t want to devote my life to and sacrifice my health for it either. I’ve been there and it almost got me killed.
So what am I gonna do?

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I try my best to stay on track, but I think I’m starting to lose control again.
Starvation is fortunately not an option, but claiming that my behavior around food is normal would be a lie as well.
Food is my one and only thing that makes me feel in control and not completely lost, so it gives me a sick form of safety I need to not feel completely lost. And, most importantly, the eating disorder is the only thing that makes me hate my body at least a little less and deal with my distorted body image a little better because I know that I’ll lose weight by listening to its words.
I need something to focus on when everything else slips out of my hands.
This shit has been on my mind for more than half a decade now, and the only time I could let go was when my body kept my son alive during the pregnancy and breastfeeding, but now that it belongs to me again, I feel the mad need to destroy it all over again.
I have dreams, plans and reasons to stay alive today (unlike a few years ago), but the problem is that being skinny is a part of every single one of them.
The healthy part of my brain has grown big enough to be able to convince be that these thoughts are nothing but invalid ridiculous crap, but it’s absolutely impossible to let go of them regardless.

I want to go out and attend concerts or parties again, but I need to be thin to wear a sexy outfit.
I want to graduate, but I need to be thin to wear a robe when I receive my certification.
I want my own apartment, but I need to be thin to allow myself to have food there.
I want to go to college, but I need to be thin to find friends there.
I want to get a good job, but I need to be thin to succeed there.
I want to be in a relationship again, but I need to be thin to be able to show my naked body to another person again.
I want to be a good mom for my child, but I need to be thin to be a good role model.

Isn’t that pathetic?
My weight doesn’t have anything to do with these goals.
I’m driving myself crazy and can’t really focus on anything anymore for absolutely stupid reasons. My eating disorder is maddening and deranging me so bad that I’ve been neglecting my friends, family and duties again because I frantically run around wondering whether I’ll eat or skip the next meal.
Control.
That’s all it’s about when I feel lost inside myself.
I just wish there was a normal way for me to achieve it because I don’t want to live like this again.
But I don’t have a choice anymore because I’ve already made one and it will make me go down again.
Strength, willpower and determination- those once were the things I was proudest of in terms of my personality, and now I’m throwing it all away to feed a disease. The probably saddest thing is that I now even realize what I’m doing to myself and no longer deny anything when I look into the mirror, but somehow this realization can’t stop me from my road to a huge relapse.

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Pretending everything is right
To make it better
I’ll hide my makeup smeared eyes
To show that I try

When memories burn like acid

I recently re-discovered some old tracks I used to listen to years ago. The type of music no longer appeals to me at all, but music always has a very deep and personal meaning to me, so as soon as those songs started, I couldn’t help but break down. I wanted to cry harder than I have in years because I haven’t been able to cry and felt like I needed this relief because there was so much pain inside of me again as I listened to this music, but I couldn’t. I wanted the tears to take this heavy weight off my chest, but even though I started crying, no tears fell.

There was a time (2 1/2 ago, to be exact) when I cried really, really much because I finally faced losing my friend in 2012 after swallowing the grief for such a long time. So for a while, I cried constantly when I was alone, but before and afterwards… No matter how sad or depressed I was or am, there are no tears. Sometimes I manage to cry at least for a few seconds or minutes (if I’m lucky), but my eyes stay dry and it drives me crazy. When my depression started at the age of twelve, it made me cry so much and I considered all the crying a burden, but now I wish I could cry when I feel bad. It’s like crying so much back then used up all of the tears I had available and now my storage is just empty. I feel tears stinging on all kinds of occasions revolving around memories, sadness or anger, but they are always too stubborn to fall. Today I realize that having those drops roll down your cheeks isn’t annoying or unnecessary- it’s actually relieving and might make you look horrible, but also feel better afterwards.

And now that I’m no longer able to do it regardless of how hard I try by triggering myself with the things that really make me break down and feel like crap, all I get is deep and heavy sadness I’ve hidden for a really long time that makes it all even worse. Maybe the problem is that I never truly dealt with the pain inside of me. It’s all hidden under the surface inside of me and I always carefully cover it with other emotions, but I never figure out a way to handle it because I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that. It’s so much and I can’t just take out one piece at a time. If I let it in, I let it all in and then I can’t stand it anymore and it all gets too much again and I turn it off to turn it into emptiness and numbness again.

But the numbness is the worst part. The numbness is why I harmed and almost killed myself. The pain is horrible, but there is nothing worse than being alive and breathing, but feeling like you’ve already died a long time ago, like you need to see your skin bleed and your body cringe in pain to make sure you’re still capable of feeling something- anything. Is there even a way to deal with the pain once and for all without letting it take over or destroy myself? Is there a way to take it away without replacing it with something else? Is there a way of letting go of it without feeling like there’s a hole inside of me, like I’m incomplete? They say the past is only there to fuck you up, but is there a way to move on from the past when I’m forced to face it every day? Is there a way to live with the memories when they hurt so much that you feel like you don’t have any air left to breathe in your lungs? Is the happiness we all want really existent and, most importantly, will it ever be able to become a part of my life? Because right now, whenever I feel happy, something (usually me, my past or my disorders) is right around the corner to beat me up again. And yes, I’m fighting it every day, but I don’t remember what I’m fighting for. I do have goals and dreams, but it’s starting to feel like I’ll never have a chance when I can’t even overcome the stuff in my own head.

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I’m screaming internally, hoping for a break, for tears to fall, for my being to rupture so I can collapse, but there is nothing.
Sometimes I feel like all of this stuff in my mind has turned me into a ghost of who I pretend to be, a faded memory of what I could have been if I’d been stronger. Weakness. Emptiness. Pain. But a smile on my lips.

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I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar’s chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

Saviour- a song that’s probably saved my life a dozen times since 2012

I never meant to be the one
Who kept you from the dark
But now I know my wounds are sewn
Because of who you are
I will take this burden on
And become the holy one
But remember I am human
And I’m bound to sing this song

So hear my voice remind you not to bleed
I’m here,

Saviour will be there
When you are feeling alone, oh
A saviour for all that you do
So you live freely without their harm

So here I write my lullaby
To all the lonely ones
Remember as you learn to try
To be the one you love
So I can take this pen
And teach you how to live
What is left unsaid
The greatest gift I give

So hear my voice remind you not to bleed
I’m here,

Saviour will be there
When you are feeling alone, oh
A saviour for all that you do
So you live freely without their harm

When I hear your cries
Praying for light
I will be there

When I hear your cries
Praying for life
I will be there

I will fight
I will always be there

On the edge

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m always one step from crumbling and it only takes one tiny thing to push me that last bit off the edge. One moment I’m fine, the next one I’m losing my mind. And the worst part is that nobody knows or will know about it. I’m tired of always needing to be fine, but I can’t change anything about it. I love my son more than words could describe it, but there are certain awful things about motherhood nobody ever tells you about and the worst one is that you always need to function. And when I say always, I mean it. When you have a baby, you can’t even take a minute off because as soon as you sit down, there’s the possibility that your child might start crying. You always need to be in control, calm, smiling, careful. Everyone believes I’m doing great, and on the outside, I really am, taking care of everything, getting all of my work done, never forgetting anything- but on the inside, things are different.

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I’m constantly torn apart between happiness and desperation- literally. It’s like there are those two sides in my head and I never know which one will win because while one tells me how great I’m doing and sees everything positive, the other one finds a thousand reasons to break down the next second. My mood is really fragile and even though I manage to cover it up with my typical slightly bitchy attitude mixed with casual kindness (yes, it works) and keeping myself busy all day, I’m praying in my head to be able to keep my goddamn shit together and not lose it again. It’s incredibly exhausting and making me feel really anxious. There’s nothing I can do about it, though. I need to figure out a way a deal with it despite how much it pisses me off on a regular basis. Sometimes I think I’ve got a pro’s and con’s list in my head that refreshes every minute to keep me up to date. Right now it looks like this:

+ I: managed an entire week with my son and my dogs in the house without my mom or sis around really well; work out every morning; am an awesome mom to my son; will put him in daycare the upcoming week to start studying again; am really strong and apparently not heartbroken and make my way through everything without falling apart; am holding on and have great plans for my future

– I: am fragile; am having flashbacks from the past; had to cancel my vacation because I couldn’t take it; still need to face the walking problem named my ex because he’s my son’s dad and I can’t just cut him out of my life like I’d love to; still suffer from relapses; don’t eat like normal people do anymore again; can’t talk to anyone about everything; usually don’t know what’s going on with me and whether I’ll go to bed happy or crying tonight; struggle with my self-identify* and body image very hard again

*About the self-identity-problem: Well, when my son was born a little more than nine months ago, I decided to start to dress like a mom (you know, the whole thing with blue jeans, decent jewelry, heels and blouses like classy moms do it) and strongly distanced myself from the stuff I used to like (smoking, drinking, partying, concerts) and instead act like a role model. Also, I stopped admitting when I feel bad because that’s something parents unfortunately are not supposed to do. Parents need to function and not feel, unfortunately. I still listen to the same kind of music with my earbuds and still like the same things, but I don’t really show it anymore. I only wear my band shirts and batman stuff when I’m home or walking my dogs, wear normal makeup and have a bright room with blue and photos and stuff now.

And I’m not sure if that was the right choice. Sure, if I made the choice again, I’d still never actually smoke or drink as a mom during the day and still only attend parties or concerts on special occasions with a babysitter at home, but the whole appearance thing seems to not be a smart thing now that I live with it. To be honest, wearing that stuff makes me feel really uncomfortable. Sure, it’s all really pretty (I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise), but it’s not me, you know? It doesn’t feel right.

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Okay, so I feel like I kind of lost my train of thought. Where I was actually going is that I’m sure if this is who I really am and want to be anymore. Do I want to be this perfect inspirational ideal showpiece teen mom? Yes, I want to keep being respected and admired for how well I’m handling everything because I am, but do I want to be this perfect fake? Do I want to pretend that I’m always fine and never struggling, always wearing that smile and confidence I’ve never truly had? Do I want to wear nude lipstick and red blouses and hide my studded leather jackets? Do I want to keep all of my feelings and fears to myself and my counselor?

I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here anymore. I don’t feel real anymore, you know? It’s like I’m fine and horrible at the exact same time, all the time.

Who the hell is this person in the mirror? When did I become her? Is this how it’s supposed to be? Am I happy this way? Because, honestly, I don’t know. I don’t even know if this is a dream or a nightmare. I don’t fucking know.

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“I’m okay” That’s what you need to hear, isn’t it?

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I never thought it would be so easy to slip back into an eating disorder. Everything was fine during the whole pregnancy and while I was breastfeeding and then… Then they came back, all those thoughts about my body. Small and quiet at first, but then louder and more painful with every single day until I couldn’t resist it anymore. And now, well, I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m bulimic again. Not nearly as bad as it used to be, actually ridiculous compared to what I went through before my son, but still I binge and purge between five and ten times per week. Like I said, nothing compared to the fifty to hundred times per week I was used to two or three years ago, but yeah, it sucks. And it scares the shit out of me. I know what it did to me once and what it might do to me again and even more important, that it could get worse again.
And the scariest part is telling someone because that would mean admitting that I’m not as strong as I am on the outside and I don’t want anyone to see my weaknesses. It would mean admitting that I have a problem again.
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I don’t know what to do. Whenever I eat, my thoughts start racing and I feel worthless and guilty. After everything I’ve gone through, this is where I end up.
Ah, and I keep thinking about starvation again. Not that I’ll do it, I can’t because I know people will notice. They will because I won’t just stop ‘there’. That’s not how it works. Sure, you think you know how far you can go, where your limit is, where you reach the point when you’ll be like ‘now I’m skinny enough’, but that won’t happen. You’ll never realize it. You’ll set your goal, reach it, tear it down and build it again five pounds lower on the scale, over and over again, without even realizing you’re killing yourself. An eating disorder is basically slow suicide without noticing it.
You believe the lies that one day, you’ll be enough, but that won’t happen. It won’t be enough for the eating disorder until you’re six feet under. So why am I doing this? I know where it gets people and where it got me once, but I do it anyway.
Maybe the idea of accepting my body the way it is now (which is normal and healthy, but not skinny anymore) is even more frightening than the idea of destroying my body all over again. I actually want to accept and love myself the way I am because I know that there’s nothing wrong with me and that self hate is wrong and useless, but I just can’t. Deep down, I’m afraid that accepting things as they are will make me weak, lazy and incapable, so no matter what I do, I can’t get the idea of never being good enough out of my head. I spend the late evenings binging and purging until I’ve got red eyes and a runny nose, hoping that, at some point, I’ll be able to accept things I can’t or I’m not supposed to change.
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But I’ll probably never reach this point. There’s this barrier in my head my dad built the foundations for and I built the rest of it brick by brick over the years and this barrier makes it impossible for me to settle down and just be satisfied. It’s this thing in there that tells me that nothing is ever enough and even if I was able to tear it down, I’d be to scared to do it.
Two days ago, I was told that I’ve passed all of my finals and will graduate at the end of the month (but that’ll be only for 10th grade because I’ve missed a whole school year a couple years ago and because Germany’s school system is far more complicated than the American and to get a real high school diploma I’ll need to apply for college, I’ll have to continue studying from home for four more years – which means I won’t be able to attend college till I’m 21 – in September while my son will be in daycare until noon on weekdays).

Anyway, I’ve taken a huge step and reached a huge goal by graduating from this school already and I actually did a really good job and everyone is proud of me and I was looking forward to being too… But I’m not. I don’t know how much time I’ve spent trying to convince myself that I have every reason to be proud of myself and that I’ve accomplished more than half the people I know who have half the problems I have, but the barrier won’t ever let me be proud of myself because it tells me there’s still something missing. And I keep telling myself I’ll feel this pride after the actual high school diploma and college and stuff, but who am I trying to convince here? It doesn’t matter what I do. I won’t love myself.
So I keep fighting and hoping and until then, I’ll have to deal with feeling worthless. But I’m okay, right? “We’ll just have to act like everything’s fine.” That’s all that matters. I focuse on the positive things and swallow the emptiness that makes me feel like dying inside. Smile, stay strong and don’t give up. There’s no other way.
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In the hardest times we grow the most

>>Nothing’s ever perfect, you know?<<

I’m making it through my finals. I honestly don’t know how because I don’t study at all (tried it a couple times, but I can’t focus) and feel rather shit 24/7 with a smile on my face while I’m getting all of my tasks done. My son is the only reason why I’m even doing this. He’s the good in my life and I need a little good because without it, there’s an awful lot of darkness. But God, I’ve got so much rage inside of me that I don’t have an outlet for. I’d never be violent because that’s strictly against my morals, but something makes me hate everything. Everything. But because I need to find something positive to not lose my mind completely: At least the numbness is not showing at the moment. That’s probably the worst part because it makes me feel so empty, so dead, so hollow, like I’ve lost myself completely. Not that I’d show it, though. Maybe I should become an actress. Hell, I’m good at pretending. I act like I’m just relapsing a little (and even that only in front of the few people I feel kind of close to) even though I’m falling to pieces. And the worst part? Even if there was a way to stop it, I couldn’t.

I’m hurting, hating myself, constantly relapsing, in need of vodka to fall asleep sometimes, sometimes back to the eating disorder I thought I’d defeated a long time ago, and even if someone knew, nobody would bother to do something about it.
You know what the weirdest part is? I have everything you could wish for- my family is whole now (I could still kill my father, but he gladly isn’t a family member anymore), I’m making my way through the final exams, I live at home again, I smile, I have a son whom I love more than anything in the world and still I feel more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. That’s probably the strangest part of all this crap inside of me. One piece of me died and has been replaced by the pain. Nothing but pain. And it makes me so angry. But hey, smile, right? Like nothing ever happened. Sometimes I want to scream that no, I’m not okay, but why bother? What would change?

Such a beautiful masquerade. They say secrets hurt, but it’s the truth what hurts sometimes.
Sure, I keep fighting every day. But I gotta stop lying to myself about things getting better cause they’re not. I’m not a pessimist, I’m just being realistic after spending almost half of my life with mental disorders. Yes, I’ve been fighting like hell every single day to survive and there have been better and worse times, but whenever I felt like I was finally recovering, the next relapse was right around the next corner, waiting to crush me down like a wave all over again. I have lists of things that make me happy, people I love, memories I hold on to, a box filled with positivity (a blue one from IKEA with scented candles, magazines, photos and lots of other great things), but they all just light up single moments. I’m aware that life is made of many moments, one after another, but I can’t spend my energy on making every single one a good one. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been even though I don’t feel like that at all most of the time, but I’m not strong enough for this. I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn’t even matter.
I had to fall to lose it all, but in the end it doesn’t even matter.

Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide

 

You wouldn’t understand, so what’s the use?

Depression sucks. Yeah, I know that’s nothing new. But the worst thing about depression is not the disease itself but that it always comes back. I felt so good for so many months. For the first time, I could honestly answer “I’m fine” when people asked me how I was feeling. But then it happened. I went back to school and fell apart all over again. I don’t want any fucking pity, but it’s just not fair, you know? You fight for years and then you think it’s finally over and you finally get to be happy and then… it’s all gone. And you feel like dying again. There’s this pain inside of me and it won’t go away, regardless of what I do. I try so hard, but it won’t change anything.

I had everything. And lost it all.

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I wish I could just give up. Stop trying. Stop fighting. I feel like shit and all I can do is feel it. I wake up every morning and I get up and get through the day and I’m scared I might collapse the next second because I don’t think I can make it through. And somehow I do because I keep my shit together and don’t show how I feel. Sure, I could tell about my feelings. But nobody would understand, so what’s the use? Depression is so hard to understand because it’s invisible. The other people around you don’t have any proof that you’re actually sick even though you are. And you could tell them about it. I did. But the only reactions I got were pity, dumb questions or how I could even be depressed because my life is s great now. Yeah, thanks, I’m aware of that. I know my life is great. I have almost everything I wanted and I love my family and especially my son more than anything, but I’m still not happy.

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People tell me we just need to BE happy because we’re the ones to choose how we want to feel, but they seem to forget that we’re not happy because we didn’t choose to be but because we’re sick. We all want to be happy, but we somehow can’t. It’s all in my head, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less real. God, I want to be happy more than anything (I mean, who likes feeling like shit?), but all I feel is this hopelessness. I still keep going because of my son, but if he wasn’t here, I’d give up and let the shit in my head take over. I’d let myself drown in it because it’s so much easier and fighting obviously won’t get me anywhere either. I’m not doing this for myself anymore because it looks like I can’t be saved. I know that the only one who can save me is me, but I do everything I can and I still don’t feel better. I use skills, do things that make me happy, try to focus on better stuff, distract myself, spend all of my time with my son , mom and sister and I don’t feel any better. I’m not suicidal or feel like harming myself anymore (the last time was almost two years ago), but I feel like drowning and there’s no way to learn how to swim. Why is there such a thing called depression? Why am I suffering from this disorder? I know it all started with my eating disorder which I developed because my dad has always made me feel like I’ll never be good enough (and even though he’s gone, I still can’t get that pattern out of my head), but WHY? I know people who had to go through much worse stuff and they don’t have any disorders. Why do I have it? And why can’t I recover? My counselor keeps telling me these things take time, but it’s been more than half a decade and I’m tired and sick of it. There is nothing more exhausting, nothing harder than fighting your thoughts. Since the relapse started, I’ve been so extremely tired that I could basically sleep anywhere if I let myself. ‘Normal’ people don’t know what it’s like to fight your own mind 24/7. To feel like you’re losing yourself, to feel trapped in your emptiness.

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To stand in front of the mirror and hate every single inch of yourself and you want to fall on your knees and cry until your throat is sore, but you know that would only make things worse, so you don’t. Instead, you breathe deeply and tell yourself not to let it take over. To stay strong. You’re still alive, right? But can you stay strong? Is it even possible? Just smile, you think. Smile and they’ll think you’re alright. Don’t tell them the truth because they wouldn’t understand. They’d think you’re mad, ungrateful, a bad mom or overreacting, right? So just keep your mouth shut and act like everything is fine. Because it has to be. There’s no other way. Life isn’t fair.

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