I think I need help.
I know I need help.
I can’t help myself.
I’m trying so hard but I can’t.
And I don’t know when this all happened.
I don’t want to self-diagnose myself and I know I should be properly diagnosed.
But I’m scared.
I know there’s nothing wrong with needing help, we all need help sometimes.
I think it started in gr. 12. Sometime during the colder months.
I became a homebody.
I just thought I was tired.
I convinced that I enjoyed better at home.
I liked staying home, and it’s true.
I started falling out with friends because I didn’t say anything and no one understood.
In university I promised myself that I would be different.
I promised myself that I would be more outgoing.
I promised myself that I would make more friends.
I promised myself that I would help me enjoy life again and enjoy the good things in life again.
I promised myself that I would try again.
And I did.
I signed up to volunteer for FROSH week.
I met some incredible friends.
Good people, but not all good influences.
My grades headed downhill.
I became focused on the way I looked.
I started shopping, spending over $200 on clothes and shoes almost every month.
I stayed out late. I went home in the AMs.
I started drinking. More.
By the end of first year, I snapped out of it and realized that I needed to better.
First year grades were a wake up call.
I also got into a relationship.
I still stayed out late, not as often.
My grades inclined.
I studies more.
I read more.
I focused more.
I become engrossed in work. Obsessed.
As I grew tired and tired.
I just wanted to give up on all social aspects of my life. I just wanted to give up.
I wanted to be a doormat, or a wallpaper.
I didn’t want to be noticed, I just wanted everything to be over.
Second year went by pretty well.
Third year, I think I felt a little bit better? I don’t really remember.
Unhappy in a relationship.
I tried to break it off once, but failed.
He didn’t understand my mental state.
And a part of me feels like I got into a relationship with the first eligible bachelor because I thought it needed to be a part of my university experience.
My grades continued to be better.
I wanted to, needed to get into grad school.
I broke it off with him. It was freeing for me.
For him, probably devastating.
But it probably was better for him to.
I know it was the right call for me.
My grades continuing to hold up.
But I could feel myself falling downhill as it came closer to the end.
The summer before fourth year, I dipped.
As I was going to my training sessions for my placement, I wanted to kill myself.
I wanted to jump in front of a train.
I don’t know why. Things weren’t bad.
I just wanted to.
I just wanted my life to be over.
Wanting to starve myself.
Wanting to faint.
Wanting to be hospitalized.
The strong urges that I had to fight with the thoughts of my family and friends.
I can’t be so selfish.
Anxiety, I don’t know where it came from.
Depression, I don’t know how it got here.
You don’t see me as someone who experiences these things, and yes, it affects everyone. But I felt like a fraud feeling like this, so I naturally covered it up.
Finding comfort in people.
I started having meaningless sex.
I got pregnant and then an abortion.
It’s still surreal to me that I went through an abortion. A secret only 3 people knows.
Right now, I feel heavy.
I can’t get up from bed. I force myself.
I’m beat down and dragged across.
I suppress and go on with life because I don’t want to worry anyone.
I should probably see someone, but how do I do that without causing attention?
I feel like I have a well where my heart should be that’s just constantly filling with water. Overflowing.
An urge to break down.
Always in fear that when something happens I’ll just breakdown.
Unable to be strong.
Sometimes I wonder how “normal” people feel.
How does it feel to not feel like this all the time.
Is that even possible?
At this point, I just feel like everyone feels like this because there is nothing else that I know.
Lack of appetite.
Always tired. Not sleepy, tired. Blank. Numb.
Covering up, making up to fit in.
Filling void with materials.
I figure if I can’t feel pretty, might as well try to look it.
I really want to know how other people feel.
Do they not feel the constant feel of tightness around their chest?
Loss of attention and interest in things they once enjoyed?
Indulging in work because it’s the only thing that keeps the mind busy?
I shouldn’t self-diagnose myself but I am so close.
Disappearing into an alternate universe where I don’t exist.
I want to be gone.
Just disappear, like I never existed.