Things have been really hard. This past week I have struggled to even get out of bed and most days I don’t. Something has just snapped inside my brain and I just don’t feel anything anymore except sadness.
I’m 21 years old and I still live at home with just my mum. She thinks I’m just being lazy and is blaming me for my mood swings, which I can't help. It’s been hard for me and her living by ourselves. You see I have two older siblings and they both have recently moved out of home. Growing up, my parents (now divorced) always had theirattention on either my brother or sister so I grow up on my own. Dealing with my own problems on my own. Never being in the spot light. But now that it's just myself and my mum living together, the spotlight is on me. After 21 years I am being noticed. Any other person might find this great but I don’t. I’ve always looked after my self so why should they care now after 21 years what I do or how I act.
It has been a rough year for my family due to my actions. At the end of last year I tried to commit suicide bytaking a fair amount of pills. I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. But a few hours later I woke up and vomited most of the pills out of my system. My mum had heard me and foundme crying on the bathroom floor. This was the first moment that my mum had noticed something was wrong with me. I was taken to hospital and that’s when my family found out my drug use. This shocked everyone because in their eyes I was their little girl that was perfect and wouldn't dare to do anything like that. But they never really noticed did they. They didn’t notice me sneaking out to all hours of the night to get my fix. They didn’t see me up five days a week and sleep all day on the weekend. No of course they never saw because they never paid attention. I liked my world. I liked being invisible because when I am invisible, I wasnot leaving anyone behind.
The spot light was on me. They said I was depressed. After that I went to live with my dad for a while. I was seen by psychologists and was put on antidepressants. I slept a lot and was visited by friends that were completely shocked with what had happened. Some didn’t take it well and didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I lived with my dad for a couple of months and then moved back home to mums. A month or so went by and during that time I was seeing a psychologist on a regular basis. I was forced to go and talk and when I did have the freedom to go by myself I stopped. I was still on the drugs in secret from my family and was going back to my old self. Numb. But this time I had friends and family watching me constantly. I was completely overwhelmed because going from living a double life and easily getting away with it, to constantly everybody watching me and always someone on my case about what I was up to.
One night, I tried again. I was sitting on the couch next to my mum watching some TV. I had gotten up and walked over to the kitchen and opened the top draw. My mum was asking me what I was doing and without answering I pulled out a chopping knife and held it to my throat. Mum had raced over to me and knocked me down onto the floor and pulled the knife out of my hand. The police were called and they had handcuffed me in my kitchen and took me back to hospital. I still have the scars on my wrist from trying to set myself free from the cuffs.
This time, I was very paranoid being there at the hospital and would not let any of the nurses touch me or any of my family to come near me. A policeman was in my room the whole time due to the fact I was being violent. The staff at the hospital ended up transferring me to their psych ward for the rest of the week.I think I'm the only person in the world that didn’t want to leave a psych ward.
After I got released, they told my parents I had borderline personality disorder. The doctors never told me and I felt like a little kid again. Not being told what was going on especially when it came to my own mental health. In my head I didn’t believe I suffered from this borderline personality disorder and still to this day I don’t believe so. I grew up a long time ago. I have been independent for majority of my life. And I was being treated like a little kid. So I did what I thought was the best thing to do. Lie. Pretend I was doing fine. I had stopped taking my meds because they weren’t making me feel like me and to be honest I stopped taking them because I didn’t want to get better. I still don’t. So for the rest of the year I have put on a happy face and convinced my family and friends I am doing fine.
Recently things are getting really hard again. I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel and I wake up each day wishing I hadn’t. When I'm driving by myself I wish every time that I get into an accident. I drive a little faster passing every power line poll or tree thinking to myself should I just turn and smash into it. I'm still on the drugs but not as frequent as I used to be. But instead all I do now is drink. I crave it. I drink every night just to get to sleep. To stop thinking. And the worse thing is that the only reason I haven’t done anything to end it all, is the fact that I don’t want people to be upset when I leave. I need to push everyone away so when I do go they wont feel sad or guilty. I want to go. I want them to let me go. Is that too much to ask?
