#mental health gonna go from worse to worser | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

patricksenior · 5 years ago

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Depression

Alright I think this might actually be the first time for me making a thoughtful post on social media so I apologize if the cohesiveness of this post is lacking. For those that know me well, they know I don’t open up much or show any vulnerability at all, so this is pretty discomforting for me to say the least. For a while, I never discussed this even with those closest to me because I didn’t want to be a burden or cause them any worry. As uncomfortable as this is for me, I do feel inclined to talk about it now that things have changed. For the past two and a half years, I’ve been dealing with severe clinical depression. Right as high school was wrapping up is when I began to start feeling different and not like myself; I wasn’t really sure how to describe it but I just assumed everyone was feeling a similar way since we were all transitioning from high school to college and that can be a really stressful and scary time. Though, months went by, it got exponentially worse and I realized what was going on but wasn’t sure what to do. I can’t think of an eloquent way of putting this, but for a while it was really, really bad. I wasn’t getting the necessary help I needed; letting myself disassociate from people I cared about, letting myself detach from the rest of the world, letting my grades plummet, and almost dropping out of college because I just simply did not care about anything anymore. I became very apathetic towards my own well-being and my own life, but that topic is a bit too personal to discuss so candidly. Even when I did start getting better help, everything was still pretty rough. Making positive, gradual change is difficult and I was still facing serious issues even well into my second year of college (despite taking medication and doing therapy for a while at that point). Since then, it’s still been quite the rollercoaster. There are a lot of highs and lows, and it can be really hard to appreciate the highs when you know that feeling of elation is on borrowed time. I’m getting better at it though. And I’m getting better at getting through the worser depressive waves. It’s a little bit hard to put into words. Depression robs you of... a lot of things. It robs you of your happiness, your determination, your willfulness, your hopefulness, your optimism, and your entire personality, among many other things. It can feel sometimes that your brain is off, and even formulating your own thoughts is a challenge. It can make you feel insignificant, expendable, worthless, and so many more awful feelings. It paralyzes you, physically and mentally, to the point where your emptiness is indescribable. I’d love to say that I’ve conquered most of these feelings, but I haven’t. I still have quite a few black dog days. Like I said earlier, I am getting better though. I am at the best place I’ve been in a long time and I can’t express how grateful I am for it. I’m starting to appreciate life again even in the most simplistic aspects. I see everything through a different lens now and my experiences have molded me into a person today that I quite like and am really proud of. If you’ve gotten this far and are still reading this, I appreciate you. Always check in on your friends; your strongest friends, your nicest friends, your wildest friends, all of them. We tend to put up a façade in social environments of how we want to be perceived, making the detection of mental health issues hard as if finding help and dealing with them weren’t hard enough. I’m gonna finish up this post right about here cause this was a bit longer than I had anticipated it to be. Thoughtful post complete. Be there for others and be there for yourself. Peace

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shatteredglassbutterfly · 6 years ago

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breath

So, as I sit here and type this whole bunch of shit out, I’m struggling to stay calm and to breathe. There was no trigger or any reason for me to have to feel like an anxiety attack is coming honestly. I’m just chilling. Or maybe, it was the fact that I kept over-thinking what a friend of mine asked me. “What have you been up to lately?” Normal answers would be to say “oh nothing much” or that you went somewhere or did something. Except I won’t tell you because if I did you’d probably think I’m just trying to get attention and be an attention whore or something. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know where along the line that I've fallen so far back down into the depths again for me to feel this way. Thought things were going well. And for the most part, I really believed so. But I guess all I did was just push back and ignore as much as I could. That didn't solve shit. Then there’s the fact that I know I've been feeling progressively worser each day but I still didn't do anything about it because why would I? I get dips in moods on a regular basis. Some are bad for a bit and it passes. And so, seeing its a norm, I didn't think it would lead up to such a huge pile of mess. I just went about my days, just feeling more and more lethargic and shitty. I literally got frustrated at everything and everyone. And I mean, throw-your-controller-out-the-window-punch-some-motherfucker’s-face-in inda of frustrated. You could breathe and I’d wanna rip your throat out. It was that bad. So like how my mood dips frequently, my suicidal thoughts are pretty much the same. Its there everyday and I just brush it off and let it be like its nothing. Because I know I have a lot to live for and I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I know. I have my reasons and what not. I want to live. Or so I thought. So, Sunday rolls around. Normal day with my moods getting progressively worse and my irritation is obvious. I can’t think straight, I can’t reason with anyone about anything and I start doubting everything and everyone in my life. I start talking to my husband who is lying on the bed looking at his phone about some work messages. Things get a bit tense. But hey, which couple doesn't fight? Thing was, this, wasn't a fight. There was no anger or screaming. Nothing. It just got tense. And before I go further, let me bring you back a little as to how everything started to just.. explode. So for you guys who read the stuff I've posted before, you guys already know my in laws live with me. And my husband’s crazy brother. My husband has 2 other siblings apart from this mofo living in my house. His sister is super sweet and super pretty with 3 kids. His oldest brother has 6 kids and I absolutely cannot stand the youngest child. I was okay with everyone else. FYI, I live on the first floor and I have a window ledge outside my window where you can put plants and shit, the area is literally big enough for a grown person to sit and chill. So, while my bro in law and his wife are missing with a few of his children (the older ones), their 2 youngest children thought it was a fucking good idea to peek into my room by climbing up said ledge and laughing about it. Okay, firstly, invasion of privacy. Do not even start telling me “oh but they are kids!” Fuck that and fuck you. When I was a kid, no one and I mean NO ONE in my family or relatives family ever dared to go near someone’s room door as long as its not their own house, let alone climb their fucking window ledge and peep into the person’s room. Its rude and disrespectful and everything. So they peek and after I ask wtf they doing, they run off and come back into the house where they look at me like nothing happened. Now, I don’t have the parents numbers and they were no where to be seen so I tell my father in law to pass the message on to the parents about wtf them 2 mofos just did and all I got back was ‘they were scolded already’. No apology from anyone. Nothing. Absolute shitheads. Anyway, this sent me over the edge. So getting back to me speaking to my husband. I left the room to go to the toilet and the next thing I know, I’m crying so hard not a single sound leaves my mouth. My chest hurts like a fucking bitch and every fucking thing starts to hurt (emotionally and psychologically). Thousands of thoughts race through my mind and eventually, it stopped at one. Just one. So I sit there, finding reasons not to do what my brain is telling me to do. Can’t find a single reason. Nothing. Just blank. Blank like how its supposed to be when you think of doing something like this. After what seemed like forever, I clean up, walk back to my room where I see my husband laying there looking at his phone still. I sit on my computer chair and I took the pills out. Mmhmm.. I went to that dark place again. I held a bunch of pills in my hand and just stared at it. I kept asking myself “Just one reason not to do it. What reasons did you have in the past that kept you for ending it all?” And like I stated above, I had many reasons to live for. I do. I still do. But for some reason, I couldn't think of any at that crucial moment. So after holding those pills in my hand for a good 20 or 30 minutes, I messaged my best friend and spoke to her about it. About how I’m just so fucking tired and I don’t see a point in trying anymore. About how it seemed like nothing was getting better when I thought I was. About how my mental health was deteriorating the longer I lived here. About how I felt it was better to just end it all. And nothing and I mean nothing seemed more important to me at that point of time than popping those pills and letting it do its thing. I was struggling. I was struggling to be heard. To not drown. And then after speaking to my best friend for a while, I remember what it felt like to think about living on while she was gone. (She had a break down quite recently and she deals with depression etc as well) And I just thought, “how painful it must be to continue living on and moving forward in life even though you lost the one person who could understand you like no one else could”. So I told her I’d talk to my husband and try to calm down. Which I did. I spoke to my husband, calmed down and kept the pills and eventually my husband and I just hugged it out in a much needed embrace. But you see, what scares me is that, I’m here. Very much alive but I still feel like at any time I could snap like a twig and just do it. I've done it before. Its not new. But having so much to live for but not being able to talk myself out of doing such a thing scares me. When I remember this whole incident, all I feel is pain and fear and sadness. Everything just feels so isolated and I feel like I’m about to cry. The words I told my husband kept replaying in my head. “I just wanna go. I just wanna stop trying cause it just seems like its never enough. I just wanna stop feeling and stop thinking. I just wanna go.” And it pains me. I don’t even know why it pains me but it does. It hurts. I don’t get why I feel this way, but I do. And I’m trying to cope. But recent events have showed me that apparently, I’m not coping as well as I thought I was. Its getting bad. I know this feeling and its familiar. But for some reason, I don’t know what to do. Therapy? I don’t wanna rely on it forever. Meds? High chance I’d just overdose again. How else do I cope? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being me and for being such a person. I really am. I just.. don’t know what else I could do anymore.

- Mel

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threadsoftheeasternseas · 8 years ago

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unrelated but important (?) prsnl post interrupting the queue

gonna keep this short prior to the read more thingymajig but i’m going through some stuff personally and I need to write it down and it’s ofc nothing to do with sims but a whole lot to do with me and I feel like I’ll feel better if I write this down. feel free to skip over this and ignore any form of feelings outside of my pixelated people.

[trigger warning: death/suicide/self-harm]

today and tomorrow (may 10th/11th) marks the four year anniversary since I tried (and almost succeeded) to commit suicide. it is a very surreal week for me to go through the past couple of years, and the distance of time from said event does not change the fact that it happened.

I apologise for the detail i’m about to go into but I feel it is needed for context of how bad my situation had got. (I know I do not need to justify my feelings and my mental health but I am going to explain anyway).

I was in my first year of university, 250 miles away from home, and I felt like absolute hell. I’d made a few friends in my hall, but obviously, this is May, I hadn’t known anyone for more than a handful of months, and talking about my mental health was a difficult thing for me to process. I’d only really mentioned I had a diagnosis of depression to a couple of the girls and they’d been as helpful as they could, given that sort of social situation. I’d let university life get the better of me during my first year. I went out drinking until I could barely walk 4 or 5 times a week, and I’d sleep with pretty much any guy that paid me attention. One guy I met during my first week was a very on-off friends-with-benefits kinda situation, except I wanted more and he wanted less. I spent the whole time at university trying to get away from the toxicity of this relationship and consistently getting drawn back in, to the point it ruined friendships I will never regain.

By May I was in a state of sort-of seeing someone else, but it was quite casual. I’d told him I wanted us to be a “thing” but he was quite happy to keep sleeping with other people as well (story of my life) and one night when he saw I’d texted previous week-one twat that I never stopped going back to drunkenly, he got mad and we fought and whatever chance we had of becoming something solid shattered in a matter of minutes. It felt so unfair. He was allowed to hurt me and go off with other girls, so why wasn’t the openness he wanted allowed to be the same case on my side?

I never planned to do anything with week-one guy, I think all I’d done was ask if he’d got home safe (forever the mother hen). Who knows. All I know is that this argument sent me over the edge.

I’ve felt like shit about myself pretty much constantly since the age of 14 when I found my mum screaming about wanting to kill herself and then having a go at me for not being there for her when I’d run off terrified to call my best friend for advice.

Needless to say my mum doesn’t recall this period of our lives. (She’s in a much better place now - and she has been for a while. I can’t remember what was going on but I think she had just hit a low. She never did hurt herself nor really intended to, and she’s doing fine now.)

I’ve always been shy and less-than-confident of my own abilities, but this was the start of Literal Hell. I spent my last couple of years at school wasting away to the point that about 7 different people in one day asked if I was alright because I had begun to look rather grey-coloured. I was sleeping about 3 hours a night and eating one meal a day.

Things got steadily worse and then better and then worse and slightly better then worse then even worser after that (is worser a word? idk).

I know this is all over the place but I need to write this down. Props to you if you’ve got this far.

BACK TO THE STORY. After argument with said sorta-seeing-but-not guy, I took myself back to my room. (key point here: I was pretty hammered. The clubs around my uni sold very cheap drinks (the north of england is great for that), and I was still in my first year phase of drinking so much I couldn’t see).

All I can kind of remember in that moment was that I felt like such a waste of space; that all I did was hurt the people I cared about, that I didn’t matter, that everyone would be better off without me.

I’d somehow become mildly addicted to painkillers over the year, without really realising, and in my darkest moment, I took a huge overdose. 51 painkillers to be exact. (Who knows why I had that many anyway). All I could think was I didn’t want to be alive any more. I didn’t want to wake up the next morning. I didn’t want to ever have to wake up again.

I spent the next day vomiting my guts up as my body desperately tried to get rid of the damage I’d already done to myself.

It was around 4pm when I had finally not vomited for about an hour and decided that maybe I should go take myself to hospital and see someone.

I will never be more grateful for something I’ve done for myself than this in my entire life.

When I got to A&E and awkwardly explained I’d had an overdose and needed to speak to someone, I got seen pretty quickly. Turns out 51 tablets that all contained paracetemol and half of them also with codeine, I was a pretty high priority case.

I spent the next five days hooked up to an IV having medication to stop my liver from failing, and blood taken every hour. I vomited for six hours straight that first night. But I knew that deep down, no matter how awful I felt, I’d made the right decision to go there.

Nothing will ever be as hard as finding the strength to call my parents in the middle of the night to tell them what I’d done and where I was. Nothing will ever prepare you for how broken that makes you feel. Or when your mum arrives the next day, hotel and travel booked as soon as she could and time taken off work and tears streaming down her face. I will never forget the look on her face when she saw me in that hospital bed that day.

The nurses told me if I’d come to the hospital a few hours later that my liver wouldn’t have made it. I would’ve succeeded. My whole body would’ve shut down soon after. I would’ve died.

I had to find the strength to talk to crisis team therapists and tell my flatmates what I’d done and why I wouldn’t be around for a few days, and then trying to tell university why I needed mitigating circumstances to take an exam at a later date because sorry but I’m in a hospital bed in pyjamas that smell like vomit that I haven’t changed out of in a week.

I’ve gone on a really long-winded way of telling this story, but the point is: today and tomorrow mark the four year anniversary of this happening. It’s painful to think that I still feel like this sometimes, but it’s also encouraging to know I haven’t stooped that low since. I’ve been close, many times. But I haven’t fallen back down that road again.

I may not feel stronger, but I know I am. I’ve found the strength to talk about my mental health, instead of covering it up. I barely drink any more, and I will only take painkillers if I’m suffering from a migraine. I haven’t cut myself in two years.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come but also of how far I am also willing to let myself go. I know I will fight this, even if I spend the rest of my life doing so.

thank you for reading if you read this whole way and please, someone be crying too because I sure as hell am

#non sims #personal

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