Wishing people a happy new year is problematic when you look at things like mental health issues. To wish a happy new year to someone who sometimes struggles to find enough happiness for a day seems unfair to me. So I guess I will just say what I mean.
You survived this year. And that makes you incredible. You have another 365 days worth of memories in your head, add those to the rest of the past. You have logged 365 more sunrises and sunsets, 365 more opportunities to create, to birth ideas, to explore your world, your mind, or your body. 365 sections of life that threw every emotion and feeling in your face, from the awful to awesome. And within these 365 days.. an unmeasurable amount of choices flowing from your head and your heart straight through to your lips and your fingertips. And you survived all of this 365 times. Isn’t that remarkable?
Now you have the chance to do it all again. What will you do this time around? So no “Happy New Year” from me… simply a Congratulations on surviving, and since we already did it once, here is to doing it again. <3
I dont know which tag you found me under, nor do I care. But I follow every one of the tags that I post under. And I read them as often as I can. And I seem to read 2 things.
1. The wounded words of the suffering
2. The so far removed hope offered by people who may or may not care, how would you know?
I dont know. I just started thinking. When I was at my lowest, I didnt want someone to tell me they loved me because my mind told me I was unlovable. I didnt want someone to offer me hope because my mind told me hope was useless. I didnt want any sort of advice, because my mind told me it didnt matter since Id be dead anyway. So, I was wasting their time AND my time. My inner thought track was nothing but a loop of you are worthless, you are disgusting, no one loves you, you should die, i hate you, you hate you, they hate you, you dont do anything right and so I would hurt myself to ease that voice. The build up from that voice was out of control, it absolutely leads to pulled triggers and buried razors. It is the loudest and only thing you can hear sometimes.
“And who the fuck cares what a stranger on tumblr has to say. Oh, you love me? You dont know me. Oh, you wanna tell me how you got through suicidal thoughts? I dont want to hear it.”
That isnt what I want to say to the people following the tags I post under. All I want to say is this…
I almost killed myself just before my 16th birthday because of the hellish loop track that played in my head. It was born out of depression, sexual abuse, anxiety, whatever and the only way I could slow the voice (not silence it, but only slow it down for a moment) was by hurting myself until I bled. Im 22 now. And do the best I can every day to not hurt myself. I havent thought about suicide in a fairly long time ( almost a year now!) and I am not on any medicine currently, this is the first winter in years that I havent been on something. Personally, I think its a fluke. Hahah, but who knows?
I dont want to tell you how to get better. I dont want to guilt you into a corner over decisions or thoughts. I dont want to erase, minimize, or shrug at your pain. I just want to hear you. And maybe make you smile for a second. I mean, shit… even in my darkest hours I had the ability to smile. Sometimes it was sincere, but sometimes it was just to remind my face what it felt like.
I dont know what I am trying to say. I guess, just that … I am not in my darkest place right now. But I know my darkest place, what it feels like, and that it does exist. And everyone’s dark place is different, but they are all a place in the same neighborhood. And people who have never lived in our hood arent the ones who should be giving advice on how to move out. You know what I mean?
So instead of shouting it gets better in bubblegum tones (there is a time and place for that, of course) or milking stories for all they are worth, I just want you to know my heart has felt like your heart. And if you want to tell me stuff, I am here. And if you want help, I got you. And if you dont, that is cool too.
A reason to stick around that I have heard echoing in my life lately… you never know who will miss you. It could be a pet, a long lost cousin who never had the chance to get to know you better, or even someone who heard about how great you are through their friend and if you ever disappeared they would look you up on facebook and hate that they never had the opportunity to make memories with you.
“Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life. It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.”—Unknown (via esssayer)
“Despite increasing acceptance and public awareness, there is still a stigma associated with seeking help from mental health professionals. While mental health screening and treatment can dramatically improve someone’s quality of life, there is often still a very strong resistance to the idea. People may be afraid that they are “crazy” or that others will look down on them for it. They may have an irrational fear that they will be locked up. The truth of the matter is that seeking professional help is a suitable course of action in many situations. If you are resisting seeking mental health help, there are a few things that can help you move forward.”—Seeking Mental Health Care: Taking the First, Scary Step | Psych Central (via mentalillnessmouse)
Don’t kill yourself. Please. Instead can we take turns telling the most awful joke we know? And laughing obnoxiously and ridiculously -borderline offensively - over how not funny they are? I would like that so much better than sitting around and missing you.