*Mentions self-harm, suicide & contains bad language – apologies, it was an emotional piece to write*
It’s six months to the day since I had my breakdown at therapy. I know some would say to forget such things, and not remember dates. But I only do so with major events – like 7th May is the closest I’ve come to ‘doing something stupid’ (as those not affected by mental illness like to say!). This year will be three years since that day. I vividly remember what led to it… I remember how I felt walking towards the top of the bridge…. I remember what stopped me doing it, and the actions I took afterwards. It was a very dark day for me.
Likewise six months ago was the first time I have self-harmed outside of my house, and been caught. My self-harm has always been immensely private. I carry the burden which leads me to cut, I do it behind closed doors, I don’t tell people, I hide the scars. I had been for treatment once in my life, about ten years prior to last year, but otherwise I had always coped alone. I invested in steri-strips so I could treat the wounds myself. I never wanted to experience that again – not because it was a bad experience, but because I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I vowed never to need external help again. I learnt to ‘control’ my self-harm, so it was never bad enough to require special treatment.
That’s why the incident at therapy was such a shock. Clearly it was daft of me to have something on me, to do myself harm with. I was in a difficult place, and I was trying to deal with something challenging, which I couldn’t share with anyone else. I just had something with me, as insurance, in case it all went very badly. But I didn’t expect it to. I didn’t expect to use it.
But when faced with having to go back into the group, in the state I ended up in… I just couldn’t do it. I went off to the toilets, crying… I wasn’t in control of myself anymore. It was like I was watching someone else. Like it wasn’t really happening. Before I knew it I’d harmed myself worse than I ever have before. I vividly remember the sight of it, the panic, how angry I was with myself. I remember the throbbing pain. I remember being found out and the shame that brought. The guilt for making someone else feel to blame. The fear I’d be in trouble with the therapists. Having to tell people when I got home, and going to the hospital… how unreal it all felt… I remember how out of it I felt, and how focused I was on how sparkly the floor was in the waiting area. I remember all the times I had to go back to have the dressings changed. I remember the weeks of tendon pain radiating up into my hand. I remember saying it would never happen again…. but it did.
As ridiculous and twisted as it sounds, ever since then I’ve been chasing that feeling. I don’t know why. I can only assume to bring me some comfort, in the reminder of the support I had… and the people I lost. My transference issue is not resolved. Although I talked to a therapist about it afterwards, and left feeling positive about it, like it was attached to my grief, the reality is it’s not. I can’t get over my feelings for him. I don’t want to. I just want to see him again. And I guess in some distorted way I feel that repeating this incident would achieve that. But the reality is it won’t. No matter how many times I hurt myself, or how deep the wounds… I’ll never see him again…
I didn’t choose this. That’s why it feels so bad. It’s not like a death, where there is no choice – the person is gone, and isn’t coming back. Losing someone who is still alive is worse. Because it doesn’t have to be that way. So in a sense it feels like a punishment. Like it’s being inflicted on me… this loss.
He was a light in a long period of darkness for me. And now that light has gone and it’s pitch black. I don’t feel I’ll ever see light again. Someone once said to me that I’d likely feel this way again in a similar situation… I don’t believe I would. This is specific to him. I’ve got to give credit where it’s due – he was a wonderful human being from what I could tell, and it’s the person I liked, not just the role, or the fact he was a man – I’m not the sort of person to just fall for everyone… Maybe it’s not transference after all. Maybe it was just attraction… and attachment. I know that the loss linked into my personal loss last year. But my feelings for him didn’t.
I can’t believe it’s been six months since that event. I can’t believe it’s been nearly four months since I last saw everyone… it feels longer than that. The time with him went so fast, and the time since has been an age. I switch between wishing I never had therapy, and never met him… and being thankful that I got the chance to have him in my life, even for such a brief time… to think I could have gone through my whole life never encountering him…but then maybe that would’ve been a good thing – to never know someone like him existed out there… someone so lovely, who couldn’t be in my life. Sometimes it’s worse to be shown something good and have it snatched away, than to never have seen it to start with.
The dark patch I’m in is more than to do with ‘a guy’ though. It’s grief. It’s the whole experience of therapy which worsened my mental health and self-harm, which I can’t get over now. It’s just an illness, where I feel nobody gives a crap about me. It’s the fact my friends don’t talk to me anymore. They either don’t like me, or they forget I exist, leaving me to deal with my mental illness, my poor health and my grief all alone. I know it shouldn’t be a big deal, but last week it was a year since my granddad died. The first ‘anniversary’. I posted on my Facebook about it, and not ONE person said they were thinking of me, or hoped I was okay. Not ONE. They all completely ignored it, save for one ‘like’. I’ve never felt as alone and unsupported as that. I don’t know how to forgive that. And then I was really ill, and still there was silence, no sympathy. I felt either they have unfollowed me, so didn’t see my posts, as I’m that much of a nuisance, or they genuinely don’t care about me. I know I’ve been told to not expect too much of people, but FFS this is ridiculous. I’ve just had a really difficult week, and where the hell were they all??
I know that when you’re mentally ill… when you have depression it can trick you into thinking your friends all hate you, you’re all alone and you’re a terrible person… but this is more than that. This is proof they all hate me, I AM all alone and I must be a terrible person. Not ONE person gave a fuck about the grief. I’m sorry, but when I’ve seen others post about their previous losses, years back, they get comments of support and caring. This is my first loss. My first year after it. And where was the fucking support??? WHERE?! I’m seriously despising people right now. How can they do this to me? Why does everyone else get support, particularly when they ask for it, but I go ignored?! It makes me think they wouldn’t give a shit if I killed myself. It makes me think they’d be relieved, as they’re all obviously pissed off with me now.
If mental illness tricks you into thinking you’re all alone, then shouldn’t my friends at least be trying to convince me they do care? Shouldn’t support come from them, rather than from strangers on Twitter?? What the fuck is the point in having friends if they NEVER have your back?? I’m so through with people. I’m so sick of feeling so alone all the time. And no matter how many times I reach out to people and say this is how I feel, they never change. They never care. They never say a word. I’m going to close down my Facebook, there’s no point in it anymore. It only makes me feel more isolated and left out. Even with the group I thought I was going to be a part of. I said I couldn’t see everyone as a group right now. Now I feel excluded. I didn’t mean I didn’t want them to talk to me. I didn’t mean I don’t want to see them one-on-one. I just couldn’t handle the whole group, as it would remind me of being in therapy, and would make me hurt over losing ‘him’. But I see them all talking to each other, seeing each other, and I’m just a nobody again… like I felt in therapy. I felt like an outsider, because of the struggles I was going through privately. I isolated myself, and it seems I’ve unwittingly done the same again here. So I give up. All my life I’ve been excluded – even at primary school… this has been my fate. I’ve felt left out… left behind…. this is only reminding me of group stuff from 2012, where my life plummeted down. I can’t take any more of this.
That year was hard. Last year was harder. Last week was hard. Today is hard. Tomorrow will undoubtedly be hard. And I feel people are training me to cope with it all completely alone. I’ve never known so much indifference to my pain, from friends. It’s sickening, and breaks my heart. I really must be that worthless in everyone’s eyes.
Nothing feels right at the moment. It’s such chaos in my head. I’m so irrelevant to people. Some would say I’ll matter to someone one day… no I won’t. If in my 32 years of life I haven’t mattered enough to one person, then it’ll never happen. It’s the pain of realising how forgettable I am, and unimportant… and having nobody to help me challenge that… and having met someone and lost them forever… and going through my grief alone… and feeling nobody understands me, or wants to understand me… feeling like a burden and an annoyance to people… thinking it would be better for everyone in this world if I wasn’t here anymore… how much easier it would be for me to not have to bear this agony every single day…. alone.
I feel like my friends are watching me spiral downwards, and don’t care enough to stop me… to help me. In what universe is that okay? If it was anyone but me, they would be there for them. They would step in and save their life. But it’s me. I’m just a tiny speck of shit on a muddy shoe.
I know people have probably seen sides to me they don’t like lately. But you know what, if they can’t see and understand my increasing problem with my mental illness, and just think I’m a shit person instead, then fine, they don’t deserve me on my good days. I want people to acknowledge I’m struggling, and not hold it against me, but help me hold on to hope. Because I see none. I want them to go out of their way to show me they care. I want to matter to someone! Seriously if that makes me ‘attention-seeking’ then so be it, but nobody knows the lack of these things I’ve had in my life. Nobody knows what it’s like to have been made to feel worthless for 32 years – not by family, but by the outside world. I’ve never felt like I’ll fit in, and if friends can’t even make me feel that way then what bloody hope is there??
I’m not a nice person when I’m mentally unwell. That much is clear from things I say and write. I know writing blogs about my feelings might upset people, but I wish they understood I have no other option. It’s my only way to cope right now, given that nobody talks to me. It’s that or do something bad. I’m not meaning to make excuses for what I’m like right now. I just wish my friends could see me drowning and care enough to hold out a hand to save me… or at least throw in a life jacket to keep me afloat. It’s gutting to see them standing on the bank, turning their backs on me as I go under. Nobody could understand that feeling unless they’ve been there. It’s enough to make someone want to end their life.
I may not be dealing with things in the way others think best. But who are they to judge the way I cope and stay alive, if they don’t offer me another option? Some may wonder why I choose this road, but they fail to see that for me it is the only road. By all means if you can think of another way of helping me, I’m all ears. But if not, then please don’t stand by and judge me. I do what I do because I have nobody to turn to.
My depression and BPD already make me feel like the lowest of the low. It makes me feel I’m a bad person. I’m sorry I’m asking too much for people to remind me it’s not true. Silence only confirms my worst fears. And I’d rather swim off and drown alone, than with those who ‘care’ idly standing by.
I’ve never felt this alone.