Tag: depression

2017 poem

I am a beginning and an end

A span of time

Birth and death

Light and darkness

The whole world is in my eyes, my ears

On my skin, and tongue

There’s a universe within me

And although I contain it

I do not understand it

Nor do I think I ever will

There are galaxies that spread within me

Endless waves of contelltions and light

But also pits of darkness

And bottomless black holes

Which threaten to consume the things that allow me to live

I feel oceans in my lungs

Sometimes it’s hard to breathe

But I always seem to resurface

My mind is made up of land

Sometimes I restrict myself from the seeds that give me strength

That plant flowers in my stomach that fue my body and make me grow

Sometimes galaxies within me begin to fade

And all I see is darkness

And the black holes that hold me from the light that seems so hard to reach

Sometimes my body hurts

My body aches

From holding both a whole world

and the whole universe

within me.

Disordered Eating

It is hard to come to terms with the fact I struggle with an eating disorder. The thing is, I have only told a friend when I was drunk and in the morning I felt so ashamed. There is such a stigma, this fixed idea that you have to be skinny or look sick, or have something extreme happen with your health in order to be classified as having an eating disorder. And I am none of those things. In my mind I am fat, overweight. I can’t tell how my body actually looks or how I actually am – my image changes constantly, I appear in photos differently each time and when I look at myself in the mirror it really depends if I am hungry or full or have just purged to determine if I look fat or have lost weight.

Engaging in disordered eating habits have become such a normal thing. Commenting on people’s weight and appearance and labelling people is just normalized. Defining your worth to your weight and size is just tormenting. It’s all over social media, the memes about boys being so drunk they make-out with a “3/10” fat girl (in my mind, that is me. What if my image pops into the head of the person reading that?). The comments people in your friendship group subtly make about models and porn stars and how hot they are. The discussion about that girl at the party who had really good boobs and that “I am sad they’re not talking about me”. Me having thrown up my lunch and not eaten before a night out, very drunk and high and seeing leftover chips, to which is met with the line “just take it you fat fuck.” Oh but it’s just a joke right? It’s all just a bit of a laugh? “Carbs are really bad for you, but hey, enjoy your carbs.” I know when I got told that I didn’t eat for the rest of the day.

It is hard to explain to someone the compulsion you get to restrict more, to binge more, and to purge even more each time. That you set goals, pushing yourself even harder and harder until you feel satisfied with the act, but the truth is you never really do feel content. It’s a secretive cycle that seems impossible to breakthrough. Red marks are left on your knuckles (but obviously it’s not severe enough if they don’t stay, right?), you’re left with a sore throat, a stomach ache, and a hand smelling of vomit even after you’ve washed it. The sensation of a full stomach triggers you to think that you have eaten too much, so you beat yourself up by purging. You restict until you binge, to which your mind says “eat your heart out, don’t worry, we will get rid of it when you finish”, feeling the extreme fullness to the point you feel uncomfortable, and then you purge. Relief, guilt, self-hatred, red knuckles, the cycle never stops.

“If I am skinny, if I lose weight, I will be more liked by everyone. I won’t be as rejected as I am now. The boy I have my eye on will finally like me, and all will be good. If I am skinny I will be happy and small and you will see my collarbones and jawline, I just have to keep going. It is going to work. I am in control.” – The thoughts that run through my head on a daily basis.

Sometimes I think, “How is this fair? How is it fair that my friends get to enjoy their food and keep it down and not have a second thought about it while my mind torments me with the throught of purging it. Why aren’t I allowed to keep the food in my stomach while they can? Why can they continue to hang out while I am in the bathroom purging?“

My mind is set on numbers and calories, even just an estimate. I have a list of the things I have consumed. I don’t know if I can ever have a normal eating pattern. I don’t know if I can accept that I might have an eating disorder, or if I can tell anyone. I don’t know what to do.

The Ache

The thing about this sadness is that it never really goes away. Some days its a dull ache, or could morph into emptiness. Some days it can be covered by drugs and alcohol and the fake happiness and release it gives me.

But days like today it is like an ocean that has just engulfed me complelety.

Sadness has always been a part of my life, I guess it is one of the few things that hasn’t actually left me. I’ve realised I’m scared of happiness, because it always abandons me. Just like my BPD makes me terrified of people leaving me. It is only temporary for me. But sadness, it never leaves.

I look at myself in the mirror or on the front phone screen camera while this depressive episode consumes me, and I see the bags under my eyes even though I have slept all day, but the life in my eyes has dimished, my eyes just look different. I lay in bed and it feels like concrete but it’s like im paralysed, like theres weights in my stomach holding me down. All I can do is stare at the wall. It takes way too much energy to even put on a movie. Even then, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it. I probably have assignments due today, and emails I haven’t replied to.

To others, i am nothing. I am that annoyance and burden that no one wants to talk to. The last option. The person that is left one way or another. I am too much. I drift, I don’t want to speak to people. I don’t want to see people.

I lay here imagining myself dead. How much easier it would be. I always have. I should’ve died a long time ago. I honestly have not had a normal life because of mental illness. It has fucked up so much.

Years

I have always believed that every year that I will enter will be a complelety different year to what I left behind – so many things will naturally and inevitabely change.

That thought in itself is both exciting and terrifying.

I keep thinking how every single aspect of my life leading up to now has changed me, for better or even for worse.

All of these building blocks for the growth I have endured.

New people became the most important and present people in my life. Some who were previously that in my life have grown distant.

Unravelling my own morals, untangling my own identity from the knots I felt consume me.

New songs, laughter, giddiness, sex, first kisses, and unforgetable moments with people I evetually had to say goodbye to.

Healing from heartbreak, healing from bad days – lots and lots of healing.

Meditiation, angel cards, journalling, art.

New diagnosis’s, new medication. A hospital visit, doctors visitis, new pschologists and a new psychiatrist.

New music, new movies, new books.

I have to remind myself, these are critical parts of being human. everything I feel is valid. There will be better days and the worse days, they will pass.

Sinking

“ i always get myself into this mess. i always let him tell me i am beautiful and half believe it. i always jump thinking he will catch me at the fall. i am hopelessly a lover and a dreamer and that will be the death of me” – Rupi Kaur

It is a fog. I can feel it nesting throughout my mind – heavy, grey.

It covers any sort of positive thought with its heavy grey mass, the positive and logical thoughts I have been trying to build in my mind since this last happened.

The guilt and anger of feeling like i’ve lost that progress, it just adds to how much of a faliure i already feel like.

My eyes feel heavy, but i have had about a 24 hour sleep.

i can feel it. it’s in my stomach. an empty void that is sucking all the life out of me. the black hole i have been desperatley tried not to let consume me.

it’s a constant ache.

every single beat of my heart is pumping this sadness through my body like it has replaced my blood.

the void that everyone keeps telling me to fight against. to do things that make me feel better.

there’s no point.

i feel paralyzed.

i am not enough. i have never been enough. people moving on to others and leaving me just proves that – it proves that i lack something.

it proves that i was not enough for them to stay. it proves that i was delusional for ever believing their words.

maybe i expect too much.

i am a bottle of emotions waiting to explode.

i see the scars on my body.

they have also seen the scars on my body.

i hate them. they make me more ugly.

i will never have a beautiful body.

this is no one’s fault but mine. i will never blame.

i feel like i can’t escape.

Broken Pieces

Day by day.

Night by night.

Trying to glue the shattered pieces of my body back together

But my hands shake

I crumble again and again

I need help

I keep screaming and no one seems to hear me

Shattering like this hurts like nothing else

I’m all cut up on the inside

And it forms scars on my skin

The purpose of life

Is ripped from my body

The thoughts of the people around me swim through my mind

They haunt me with their voices and opinions of me and what I am and what I’m not

I’m too much

This is too much

Mental illness is fucked

This is what it is right?

It feels like its become me

I am this illness