“I’m really worried about you”

Those words seem so hazy; silly almost.

Worried about me? No one ever has to worry about me. I’ve got it together. I’ve got my emotions under control. I’ve been taking life by the imaginary genitals for like, ever, right? I’ve got this.

I do.

Do I?

Mental health collapse is a funny thing, you know? For several consecutive months life seems good, almost fun and worthwhile and nothing hurts. Bad days come and go as normal, but all is mediocre and I am numb.

And then it happens.

There’s not always rhyme or reason, not always a tragedy, rarely sense to be made.

Sometimes it comes swiftly; sometimes slowly, like a creep.

I don’t know what’s worse. If there’s a reason for my mental collapse, at the very least I have an answer. Usually the answer isn’t of much help.

If there’s no apparent reason, I’m left completely without answer. Maybe that’s okay. Some things in life are better off unknown?

It seems like a vicious cycle.

Scratch that. It is a vicious cycle. Medication, take, dosage change, manic, repeat. Every time I’m cured, every time I’m disappointed, every time a little bit more of me dies inside.

I thought about admitting myself to the hospital this time. I thought it would help.

I didn’t go.

I am better, right? I’ll get better.


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Life feels like it’s falling apart.

I don’t belong here. It hurts. Waking up, it hurts.

Life feels like it’s falling apart.

Happiness seems miles away, except not just miles; miles and months. Miles and months. Miles and months.

Life feels like it’s falling apart.

I don’t want to be home. I dont want to be anywhere else. I don’t want to be. I don’t want to feel.

I’m damned if I do, I’m damned if I don’t.

No one is listening, truly listening, to the disparity I pour out when I cry. Push it to the side. If we ignore it, maybe it will go away? It’s bound to go away. Keep ignoring.

I don’t belong here. Here. I belong here. Just not here. Nothing makes sense. I don’t understand either.

I don’t want to stick around, but feel overwhelmed if I don’t. I don’t want to upset anyone. I upset myself enough. I am upset.

I owe the world nothing, but myself everything. I have given enough of my time to the wrong people. I still don’t feel enough. I am not enough. Am I enough?

Set up for failure, I am not a failure. Am I a failure?

I want to go home. Home isn’t here.

I’m fat— so what?

When the doctor told me I gained thirty pounds, it was like the world collapsed underneath me right then and there. Thirty pounds? I waited to cry until later on that night. I didn’t want her to see how badly those words ached.

I’m on a diet. Yep, I have to be now. I have to lose the thirty pounds and then some, because the doctor basically told me I’m obese, and what could possibly be worse than that?

A lot of things, actually. A plethora of things could be worse than carrying extra fat.

Being a serial killer, a narcissist, a cheater, a raging bitch– I’d classify all of these traits as being a lot worse than having a little weight.

So why don’t we think like that? Why don’t we go through life reminding ourselves that it’s not the end of the world if we’re fat?

That’s right, I said it. Fat. F-a-t.

If I had any expertise or experience, I would say society conditioned us to be weary of factors not included in the social norm.

But I’m no expert, I have no experience. My opinion means zilch to most people, but that’s okay. Maybe it will mean something to you.

Regardless of weight, we are who we are. We can learn from that and grow; grow beautifully and with grace, or we could hate ourselves and fall straight into a black hole of self-pity.

Health is important. It is necessary for a good quality of life and personal satisfaction. Healthy is not a look, it is a feeling and a lifestyle.

So be who you are, own what you have, and grow from it. Unapologetically love every ounce of yourself.

We need you. Regardless of your body, your ethnicity, who you love and who you don’t, what you claim to be or who you’re not; we need you.

All of you.

I wanted to kill myself tonight

I wanted to kill myself tonight.

In the swarm of work and home and class and work and home and class, the emptiness shrouded within me, encasing myself in a black cloud.

I wanted to kill myself tonight.

Between the medication changes, the weight gain, the “I could sleep forever, I can’t sleep, why can’t I sleep?,” the indecisiveness, I am not the same. I am weaker.

I wanted to kill myself tonight.

At work a lady said to me, “you should smile more,” and I thought about that; really thought about that, because I don’t feel like smiling sometimes but they say just smiling makes you happier. I tried it, but the next customer didn’t notice. She just yelled at me and left.

I wanted to kill myself tonight.

When I realized I have the world in front of me, and some people don’t have that chance. A chance. The chance to really live, and breathe and feel something. I can’t bare to get out of bed some mornings but I long for a life without dread, without medications and with much more sense. Lots of sense. Does this article make sense?

I wanted to kill myself tonight.

Last week I felt great. My life always tilts, forward and back and forward and back. I feel great one day and I think life is wonderful and I’m cured. I’m cured! But then I tilt, and life’s not so great anymore. I tilt. I always tilt.

I wanted to kill myself tonight.

But not really. I didn’t really want to kill myself. I just want to kill the parts I don’t like and plant great, beautiful things in replace of what lay earlier.

Life isn’t always that simple.

Maybe one day it will be.

If you or someone you know and love shows signs of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, etc. please do not be afraid to reach out for professional help. The very best people are always the ones given the biggest struggle. We all need help sometimes. You are loved.


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