The demons won’t drown, but neither will I.

Things are tough again and I’m struggling really hard to make it through the days. Sometimes I think about letting myself sink into it again because I know that giving in to the disorders would be so much easier, but I can’t do that. There was a time in my life when I didn’t have anything left to lose and when it didn’t seem to matter anymore whether I’d keep going or just give up on everything, but things have changed and now I have a lot to lose and can’t risk it. I’ve fought for way too long to just surrender now and make everything I’ve been through completely useless, and I have my son I love so much that I’m willing to sacrifice everything to make sure he grows up with a mother who’s always there for him, no matter what happens. Besides, even though my future still scares the shit out of me, today I believe that there’s at least a chance of making my dreams come true even though they’re only dreams so far. I’ve seen how much I can do when I stay strong. There is so much more to accomplish in this life. I don’t want mental illnesses to take away my possibilities of going to college, graduating, getting a great job and building a life for me and my son. This shit in my head isn’t worth sacrificing everything for. Everything I’ve been through is getting me closer to where I want to be. Who I want to be.


Right now, I’m a total mess. My mood constantly goes up and down, I don’t think I’ve hated my body this much in years, eating is torture as well as the mirror in the bathroom, I keep losing my shit and my hope, get depressed and angry and doubt and criticize myself more than anyone I know. Right now, I feel awful, but there’s a difference between feeling awful now and before having a kid: Now I keep going regardless. I keep fighting. That’s the difference.


I’ve now learned that you can’t choose how you feel when suffering from depression, but how you handle the feelings: You can either let them take over and pull you down or you can force yourself to move on even though they make you feel like there’s nothing left to do that for. It doesn’t matter how often we fall. I feel like falling all the time. But I’m getting back up.

No, I can’t handle all of it. I can’t put on a bikini and it’s pathetic that I’m sitting in our apartment when there’s a great pool in the garden where my family spends their entire vacation without me. Am I a coward for not facing my fears and body image issues and wearing that bikini to defeat what I’m afraid of? Yes. But am I weak? No.

I’m just not ready for it yet. And that’s okay.


Maybe I won’t make it through this vacation. Maybe I’ll have to ask my mom to borrow me the money to get away from here sooner with Jamie and get home because I won’t be able to stand being here anymore. Maybe.

But no matter what, I know one thing for sure: Even if I can’t handle this, I won’t give up on recovery. Relapses hurt like hell and they occur all the time, but I carry on. 

This is not over yet. Dear mental illnesses, prepare yourselves for the fight that’s coming because I won’t go down without one. I’m not the little girl anymore I was when you came to me. I know you’re still able to pull me down every day a few times, but I’m getting stronger as I get back on my feet every time. 

Nobody ever said this was easy.

No one ever said it would be this hard.

I’ll break down, but will I give up? Hell no. Yeah, I’m depressed, but I can assure you of one thing: I’m not weak.

The hell called summer vacation

My mom, sister, son and I arrived in Italy on Saturday and will be here until the beginning of September. We’ve been to this country many times before because it’s one of the most beautiful ones in this world with its landscapes, language, architecture, history, people, food and culture, but there is this one little huge issue: It’s a summer vacation and summer vacations and I have had a little problem with each other in the last few years. Since my eating disorder started about six years ago, I’ve had huge body image issues and of course, they’re worst when you’re spending your summer vacation because that’s where you’re continuously confronted with bikinis, pools, beaches, heat, sunshine and short clothes which are all torturous things for people like me who can’t look at their bodies in a healthy way and have a rather disturbed image of them. For a long time, I struggled with choosing between staying at home with my son or going on this trip, but in the end I decided to come along because I thought I could handle it and really love Italy and my family. But I was wrong and overestimated myself. 

I can’t handle it.

At all.


I’m totally fine with our nice apartment and shopping trips and visiting cities and strolling around discovering new things in a foreign country, but this whole thing with the clothes and the sunbathing and swimming is killing me inside. I’m trying my hardest, but there’s no way I can do this. I went swimming once because I really love to swim, but wearing a bikini almost made me cry the whole time. It’s so pathetic, isn’t it? I don’t have the right to complain. I’m here at this beautiful place with my beautiful family on my son’s first vacation in his so far short life he seems to really enjoy and I’m constantly depressed. I smile and pretend I’m fine hiding in my room whenever my family goes to the beach or pool, but it’s all a big fat lie. I can’t stand it here.

I’m such an ungrateful weak little bitch. Others never get the chance to spend such a great vacation at a place like this and instead of enjoying it, I can’t handle my stupid sick thoughts that make me hate myself 24/7. The fact that I hate myself this much somehow makes me hate myself even more.

I hate myself because I thought I’d be strong, but I’m obviously not, and because I have a perfectly fine body and feel utterly disgusted by every single inch of it. 


And most of all, I hate myself because I’m ruining everything for everyone, again.

With my stupid sick thoughts caused by stupid disorders in my head I can’t get rid of.

Is this a part of recovery or a relapse? Because I can’t seem to see the difference anymore. All I want to do is leave right now, but there’s no way I can afford the flights for my son and me and my mom won’t leave with us until the scheduled departure in two weeks. And I definitely won’t ruin my family’s entire vacation by making them leave earlier.

So what will I do? Suck it up? I guess I don’t have another choice.

I’ll survive it, right? That’s all that matters. I can cry when nobody’s looking. 

I never thought this would be so unbearable, though. Hell, I’m so stupid. 

Glamorization of mental illnesses

Yeah, I’m fully aware that about a thousand people have already made their rants about this topic, but I really don’t care. It’s tragic that we spent years trying to raise awareness for these disorders and now we have the attention we needed and instead of realizing how serious this issue is, (especially young) people suddenly think it’s something you should be happy to suffer from. Isn’t the word ILLNESS enough to understand that it’s not something you should want? Obviously not. Somehow, stupid kids think that’s it’s cool, glamorous or special to suffer from disorders. How can you be SO blind?

A few examples…

anorexia, ana, and anorexic image

I really can’t believe my eyes when reading this. Whoever wrote this admitted that it’s a disease and explained that it can’t not be beautiful to suffer from it. Right. So just because someone suffers from cancer doesn’t mean they that tumors aren’t cool, right? Is it inappropriate to make this analogy? Probably. But is it appropriate to state that starving yourself to death for a distorted body image is beautiful? No. Anorexic people destroy their bodies systematically for an illusion in their heads that isn’t, has never been and will never be real and there is absolutely nothing beautiful about sacrificing your entire life to become a walking skeleton you won’t even see in the mirror. And believe me, they don’t think that’s beautiful either. And you know why? Because anorexia is a disorder.

But there’s another great thing: Merchandise.

Really, Urban Outfitters? Is suffering from an illness that makes people take their own lives so great that you need to print it on a shirt?

And another reason why I love this store… Isn’t it bad enough that this model looks like she’ll be admitted to the hospital tomorrow? Do you also need to make her wear the statement?

And how about this beautiful necklace that’s been tagged with being ‘pastel’ and ‘grunge’? Yeah, it’s so great to feel like hiding in your room for your entire life because even the smallest social interactions terrify you.

Mental Illness T-Shirt

Don’t we ALL love it when something invisible destroys our lives every day?

It might not be Christmas yet, but didn’t Target sell a nice holiday sweater last year? Why shouldn’t we joke about the constant checking, repeating, cleaning and obsessing? Cause, you know, it’s funny.

But unfortuely, this is not where the glamorization ends. The Internet is the best source for it:

skinny, thin, and fasting image

Maybe we’ll see how many hearts it takes to starve to death!

grunge

How much we all love insomnia. 

thinspo, text, and thin image

Never give up until you’re either dead or chained to the hospital bed!

skinny, thin, and thinspo image

(on the road to destruction)

acid

We’re SO cool.

girl, skinny, and thinspo image

Who cares you’re dying as long as your bones are showing?

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(yay, we’re sick!)

I can’t even put it into words what I think about such pictures. They make me speechless and that’s rather rare for me. It’s just… Why? Why is this considered desirable to be mentally sick? Why do they think sicknesses are worth striving for? What is wrong with this world and this generation?

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.

http://weheartit.com/Poizonbite/collections/9949126-cut

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It’s not beautiful

I’m struggling with my weight again. Well, ‘again’ is actually wrong because I’ve never stopped struggling with it. My pregnancy got me some more pounds and now I’m clearly not obese or something, but I’m just not skinny anymore. My stomach isn’t flat anymore, regardless of my position, and my thighs always touch, no matter how I stand or sit. And there’s fat where it’s not supposed to be. I actually wanted to lose the weight, but turns out I don’t have any time for sports (finishing school as a single mom is much more stressful than I expected it to be- not that I’m overchallenged or something, I’m doing a great job- but I just don’t have any time left for anything) and I can’t change my diet. Restricting or controlling how or what I eat (I mean, I already do that by living vegan, but that’s because of ethical reasons and has got nothing to do with any weight loss strategies) would bring the eating disorder back immediately and I cannot let that happen.
But the thing is: the thoughts are there. I would never admit it by speaking it out loud, but it’s true. The voice is back and forces me to consider my options, tries to convince me my current weight makes me a fat, lazy and worthless failure, tells me how useless I am. I ignore it, but it can’t ignore the pictures the voice brings back into my mind: the pictures of all those skinny girls and women.
bikini, fitness, and gif image
They’re thin as fuck, have those thigh gaps and visible rib cages and collar bones and hip bones and all that crap. And I hate myself for deep down, secretly wanting to be like them all over again. I mean, what’s the freaking point? They’re not even pretty! Thank god the healthy part is nowadays much bigger than the sick part in my head and makes me realize that. Bones are not beautiful. Walking skeletons are not beautiful. Girls that look like they’re about to fall apart, break down or collapse are not beautiful. Women whose bodies don’t have anything ladylike and feminine are not beautiful.
And you know what’s not beautiful either? Dying.
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Because that’s what eating disorders cause: sickness and death. Been there, done that. Those bodies look sick and desperate and not pretty at all. Those girls need a good therapy and not a freaking catwalk. What the hell is wrong with this society that it glorifies disorders? Even though everyone says showing starving girls is inappropriate, Size Zero is everywhere and the media keeps telling us we need to look like that to be beautiful. catwalk, gif, and Gisele Bundchen image
That’s the trick: They tell you to be yourself and that everyone is beautiful in their own unique way and then they judge you and tell you how you have to be and act and look to be pretty, famous, rich and successful because those are the most important things in life.
Be yourself- as long as you like what everyone else likes. And you’re beautiful the way you are- as long as your belly is flat and your legs thin. Girls are not supposed to be too girly because that would make them basic bitches or something, but they’re not supposed to be too boyish either because that makes them tomboys and unattractive. They gotta be chill, but not too chill, and look natural, but not show any flaws, and eat burgers and fries, but keep their small sizes. Of course girls are not the only ones forced to fit with that type, but I am a girl, so I know pretty much about girls. Why do we advertise sicknesses instead of helping people recover from those sicknesses? How twisted is that?
bikini, fitness, and gif image
And don’t tell me people get the help because outside hospitals and therapies, they don’t. Ever seen the movie (or read the book) ‘It’s Kind Of A Funny Story’? Emma Roberts totally proved how cool mental disorders are in that one. And damn, how cool teenage suicide and nuthouses are! But don’t you dare let that kind of stuff happen to you in real life. It’s cool and funny- as long as it doesn’t happen to you. Because if it does, they’ll run away. Because they can’t handle it. But it’s cool, right? Cancer also seems to be such a popular topic in teenage books and movies (and I’m not just talking about ‘The Fault In Our Stars’- which is great though, but I don’t read a lot of teen stuff) and everyone feels so sorry for those poor people- as long as those poor people don’t cross their ways in real life. We all feel so sorry for all the lost souls, but we don’t do anything to help them anyway. We say we don’t know what to do, but we actually don’t even wanna know.

Who am I?

Have you ever asked yourself that question? Because I have. Like, you know, multiple times. I can’t even count them anymore. I don’t even know if I’ve lost myself or just never knew who I was. I used to think I was special somehow (like a special kind of weirdo) because I really don’t know anyone who has as many sides and shades as I have.

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People don’t understand it’s possible to love darkness (the night, goth music, art and such), enjoy normal teenage stuff (drugs- yeah, I like them, but I don’t do them anymore, sex- but I don’t have sex anymore because of Jamie, parties- though I don’t attend any anymore, teen movies and books, Starbucks..), get obsessed with things (currently: the British show Skins), hate trends and society, but somehow be a part of it too, expect way too much from yourself (like getting all the A’s in school, study medicine or something and become someone people know and respect), be a good mom (and yes, I am despite my age and that stuff and I actually do and sacrifice everything and anything for him, do everything right and I’m ALWAYS there for him), be smart and well educated (like the fact that I actually like Dante and Shakespeare and don’t just fucking pretend), love nature and animals (yep, I’m that kind of girl that only eats vegan stuff and freaks out when someone throws his cig stub in the grass or treads on ants), have mental issues (because of my blog I don’t think I have to name an example), but I’m stronger than anyone I know and I definitely think and ask way too much about, like, everything. I’m curious and I’m not ashamed of it. Actually I’m usually not ashamed of anything. Everyone hates lies and hiding secrets and still everyone does these things. Well, I don’t.

So that’s me. Normal? I hardly think so. Special? I don’t know. I don’t think I know anything anymore at this point. This point. Where is this point? Where am I and how did I get here? When did I become this person and who is it? Have I lost control? Or did I let go? What the hell is happening here?! I honestly don’t know what to think, do or be anymore. I don’t feel bad, but I don’t feel good either. So what is it that I’m feeling? Shrinks always tell me confusion is a condition and not a feeling, but I don’t know another word to describe what’s inside of me. Whatever it is, it’s a huge mess and I don’t even know why. All I know is I can’t sleep and I’m feeling torn apart inside. Yeah, that’s a feeling! Right? Fuck it, I don’t know. I don’t even know what tears me apart inside. People ask how I feel and I don’t even know what to answer because I just don’t know. Am I okay? Am I crazy? Is this the life I wanted? And if it’s not, then what kind of life is it that I want? And will I ever get it? Will things change? Will I change myself? Change them? There are so many questions and no answers. I’m just sitting here confused AF and not being able to sleep though I’m really, really tired. Of everything and nothing and most of all, of myself. Because I’m just way too complicated. No wonder I’m single, right? Nobody can handle me anyway. Not even I can. I want to fit it- and somehow I don’t want to. Does that make sense? No. We’re told we can be anything, but I don’t even know what I wanna be. Just be yourself, right? Well, what is this ‘myself’? Who is it? Is it something narrowly and accurately defined? Am I supposed to figure it out? Will I ever?

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I know how people want me to be, how they want everyone to be (turn on the TV and you’ll know), but do I wanna be like that? I don’t hate myself, not anymore. But I don’t know myself either.

And I’ve lost who I am, and I can’t understand.
Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love, without, love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on.
But I know, all I know, is that the end’s beginning.
Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart.
Let me go and I will run, I will not be silent.
All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain.
All is lost, hope remains, and this war’s not over.
There’s a light, there’s the sun, taking all shattered ones.
To the place we belong, and his love will conquer all.

 

 

Staying strong

I’ve had a few tough days. We spent the weekend in a nice hotel up in the mountains and Jamie (my son) caught a bad cold he still hasn’t been able to get rid of. Which turns him into a daylong grumpy cat. So my nerves are quite frazzled. Also I’m still struggling with all my stupid anxieties even though I’ve already figured out most things about my near future. I’ll start finishing the school year at the end of the month, hopefully pass the final exams with good grades, drop out of school for a year and return in September 2017 to finally graduate the stupid high school. You know, if my life would be and would have always been normal, I’d be done with that crap next year. But because this is my life and it’s not that normal and easy, I’ll need three more school years after my one-year break. And I really need that break. Finishing school at home is too expensive and difficult and I can’t miss Jamie’s first year. The first crawling, words and steps are way too important. Every day, he makes another progress and continuously changes and I can’t miss half of it by spending half the day at school. Not as long as he’s a baby. When I’ll return, he’ll be 22 months old and already a toddler. It will still be terrible for me to be gone half the day from Monday to Friday, but I’ll make it. I just can’t do that as long as he’s so small. He needs me and I need him. Taking a break won’t take away my fears, but it will at least lower them a little bit.

evanescence, Lyrics, and lacrymosa image

Of course, my future is not the only thing that worries me. I’m still struggling with all that weight, mood and relapse stuff. I know I’m not relapsing, but I’m scared I will. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been in my entire life, but still I feel so fragile sometimes. I don’t say it out loud, but my body starts to terrify me. I’m not overweight, but because I was pregnant and gave birth, I’m definitely not skinny anymore. I wasn’t underweight (not since 2013), but the sex appeal my body used to have is gone. There is fat, stretch marks and everything is plumb, soft and flabby. I don’t tell anyone, but it scares me. I’ve stopped looking into the mirror expect for putting on makeup sometimes and I could cry when I look at my belly. Jamie was worth it, of course, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but this is horrible anyway. I’m a whole size bigger, because of my huge boobs sometimes even two sizes. And my weight is so terrible for me (even though I don’t know it because seeing the number on the scale would totally bring the eating disorder back I’ve fought so hard against for years) that I’m scared I might get depressed again. I’m sad sometimes (which I know is perfectly normal), but depression hasn’t hit me in months and the longer I’m able to resist, the more I’m scared it might return. Isn’t that ridiculous? Shouldn’t I get stronger and happier every month while staying away from the disorder? Nothing makes sense anymore when I think about my mental illnesses. I know I’m strong. Stronger than most of the people I’ve met in my life. But will I always be this strong? Will I stay away from the voices, be the mother my son deserves?

Wasted youth

Yeah, I wish I’d been a teen idle
Wish I’d been a prom queen fighting for the title
Instead of being sixteen and burning up a bible
Feeling super suicidal

– Teen Idle (Marina And The Diamonds)

Songs like this one make me think about my teenage years (though it’s actually not my genre because I don’t listen to pop music and such stuff).
If I’m being honest, I didn’t really have something you could call a youth.
I had a childhood, yes, but the way my life was ripped out of my arms afterwards can’t be called teenage years. My eating disorder came into my life when I was ten and I had chronic depression, insomnia and social anxiety by the time I was twelve. Shortly after my thirteenth birthday, I tried to kill myself- twice. My parents got divorced afterwards- and I was even happy about it. The same year, I was admitted to a psychiatry and it was not the last time. Today, I can count five times there and two in a psychosomatic hospital- not to forget the time I spent in the emergency room and the four months in some facility for incurable cases (which is what it was though they would have never called it such a name there) like I seemed to be back then.
Yes, today I am recovering, slowly, but such things take time and I already have progressed so much (no ED or suicidal thoughts or behaviors in 10 months and no self harm in about 16 months or something), but now I’m pregnant and will have a baby before Christmas. Of course I’m totally looking forward to it, my baby is the most important person in my life and I think it’s the best thing that could have ever happened to me, but nobody can doubt it’s too early. I haven’t even finished high school yet. Thanks to the hospitals, I won’t have before 2018.
My youth? About five parties when we had the evening off in the hospital or I was still friends with some junkies who called getting high till they couldn’t spell their names anymore a party.
I’ve accepted the way it is now and in some weird way, it’s never been better, but of course there is also a bitter pill to swallow. The bitter pill called a wasted youth.

The wasted years, the wasted youth
The pretty lies, the ugly truth

Though they’re shallow, unknowing, uneducated and stupid, I’m sort of jealous of the normal teens I see every day. The useless lives they lead give them one thing I’ve never had and will never have: they’re simple, normal, easy and happy.
They go to school from Monday to Friday thinking about their families, friends and exams, spend Friday night in bed with their boyfriends or girlfriends, go shopping or hang around with friends during Saturday, get drunk in the evening with alcoholic beverages they actually aren’t allowed to buy and spend half the Sunday being hungover and the other half studying a little for the upcoming new week.
So simple, so easy, so happy. They make mistakes, usually don’t learn from them either, party and study. That’s it. And this simple kind of happiness those teenage years bring has never been and will never be a part of my life.
What will I tell my unborn son about it one day?
‘Sorry, I was in a nuthouse back then when I should have been an adolescent and then you came’?
I wish Jamie (that’s the name I’ll give my baby) would have taken five more years and I would have had time to do all those average teen things. Away from the disorders right into motherhood- that’s too much in such a short period of time.
I know it’s nobody’s fault and believe me, I certainly do not want compassion or pity from anyone because that makes me feel like a stupid helpless toddler, but I have these regrets deep down anyway. (And the fears of failure and relapses are even worse, but that’s not the topic right now.)
I wish I could change something. But I can’t. The time I could have had is gone and I’ll never get it back, that’s just how it is.

gif, youth, and teen idle image

Temper tantrum + howling attack 

Had one of those again today. Again because I’ve already been through this crap yesterday. The problem is that there was not really a reason for it. Everything is overwhelming me these days. And by everything, I mean everything. I get mad and moody all the time and then suddenly, I totally freak out because of something totally ridiculous. Today, I cried for ten minutes because I’d ruined my laptop. Well, actually it wasn’t because of that, that was just the trigger, the final straw. The real problem is that I feel like everything has slipped out of my hands. My whole life and world. I need the control and right now I’ve definitely lost it completely. And that’s what drives me crazy and I don’t know what to do about it. I do everything to calm myself down and keep calm as well, but it doesn’t seem to help. After a few hours, I flip again. This is so fucking exhausting. A mix of BPD, depression and pregnancy and all those things I can’t handle at once. But I don’t have a choice; I gotta keep going and keep trying and all this shit because I need to make it through. I need to do this. For my family and my child and at some point, also for myself. I just wish it wasn’t this hard.

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How people with mental disorders are treated

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0B5nfkaeplc

By writing this, I really don’t intend to play the poor misunderstood victim. I hate it when people do that. My intention is firstly, to write down my feelings, secondly, make others feel understood and thirdly, make people without mental disorders understand.
Today I was able to really get into the feeling of being completely misunderstood again.
Did you ever notice that hardly anyone takes mental illnesses seriously?
You would never go to someone with cancer and say ‘come on, you got a great life, so get over it’. You can’t compare these two things? Oh yes, you can. Both are serious disorders and the person with the disorder NEVER chooses or wants it and neither, it can just be turned off. When you have a cold, you also can’t say ‘hey, this is ridiculous, I’ll just stop being sick’. It’s not how it works. Nobody would ever tell a cancer patient it’s not that bad and he should just stop thinking about it because life is actually so great. Nobody tells him he needs to get over it or he doesn’t have the time to be sick now because there are way more important things. Nobody does that.
Of course you have an influence on the disorder. It’s pretty much impossible to recover if you only focus on the sickness, but doesn’t mean it will fade away if you only focus on the positive things in life. It’s. Not. How. It. Works. You can start the recovery by never giving up and always keep going and all these things, but you can’t just flip the switch and be healthy. I was told once ‘you’re just sad. Get out of your room, do something cool and you’ll be okay’, but depression is not sadness. That’s why we say ‘depressed’ instead of ‘sad’. There’s a difference between being sad and depressed. Sadness is a feeling you can get rid of easily, but depression is a sickness that kills people. Why do you think people kill themselves? Because they’re sad? So when you’re sad, you think about throwing yourself in front of the train?
Why do we do anything to help the ALS patients, but tell girls with deadly eating disorders to ‘just eat normally’?
The brain is an organ too. You can die when it’s sick too, it just happens a different way.
Why I’m writing about this is because I had a conversation with my mom today that caused one of those ‘just keep going, don’t cry, don’t fall apart’ moments (guess you know what I mean). I used to think she was joking when she said ‘we won’t have time for any disorders anymore (once the baby will be born)’. Today I figured out: she wasn’t. I told her about my planned discharge from the hospital on July 8th and she said like it was something taken for granted that I wouldn’t be in ambulant therapy afterwards. I’d be healthy then, right? I was seriously shocked. I’ve been in therapies for four years now (three years mostly in hospitals, one only ambulant) and she still has no idea. I thought she got it after all this time. But she didn’t. Maybe I’m expecting too much from ‘normal’ (don’t know how else to say it) people, but can’t I expect people to understand me after a few years? I started to doubt that thought when she said that.
She told me after this therapy, I won’t have time for another one anymore.
Her real words were: you won’t have time to be sick anymore.
These words were like a dagger in my heart. Realizing that after years, my mom still doesn’t have a clue. There will be more important things, she said.
All I wanna do is cry right now because I just can’t take it.
I’m supposed to just get over it after this therapy because I won’t have time to be sick.
I’ll just have to tell myself ‘I’m healthy now. I’ve recovered. I’m okay’ and then I’ll be.
And everything will be fine because we all know I won’t have time to be sick anymore.
Like I chose to be like this. Like I chose to feel like dying every single day.
Like I wanna be sick. Because it’s just such a great feeling.
My mom said I need to focus on the good things and just stop all this sickness crap.
Like I’ll just flip the switch and be fine.
Damn, she has no idea how badly I want that. I told her, but I realized she doesn’t get anything I tell her about my sickness. When a loved person tells you something like this, it’s like a shot in the breast. And right now, the wound is bleeding like shit.