DESTRUCTION OF SELF

My mind struggles with thoughts of a silence that promises me freedom and the false hope of no pain and a permanent escape. Free from depression and self-hate. Oh, how I have longed to feel that I’m finally okay. That feeling of worthlessness haunts my every thought, clouding my better judgment, destroying anything good I’ve ever accomplished. The tears of depression fill the empty bottle that was once full of dreams to be forgotten. Now drunken with more hatred of myself than ever before. The devil sits next to me, hungry for more. He whispers the cure over and over, diluting my mind with ways to prepare for the hanging I’ve so long been waiting for. He tells me it’s the only way that I don’t matter anyhow. I rock back and forth, trying to block his voice, but it gets louder and louder. I think of how I’ll drift off into a peaceful black hole of nothing if I’m successful. The depression weighs heavy on my soul, so rich that not even the strongest of men could hold it alone. I thought the alcohol would work as it has for so many years, now my body just craves more with each empty bottle, never getting to the point of forgetting. I don’t really want to die; I just don’t want to be alive. To live day by day with a sadness so powerful that it seems impossible for any person to bear. I blackout only to wake up and self-destruct even more.
Depression is so powerful, and if not treated properly, it will cause more severe life-threatening consequences. I was so depressed I couldn’t function. I couldn’t take care of myself, let alone anyone else. My own mother was terrified. She was looking into nursing homes because she didn’t know what else to do. She thought that I was going to be this way for the rest of my life. After three suicidal episodes and a desperate cry for help, people came into my life that understood my struggles. They didn’t judge me and helped get me the proper treatment. I wish I would not have gotten as sick as I did, but I’m not ashamed of it. It’s not like I chose to have mental illnesses. I am grateful I went through all the pain I endured. I know that sounds weird to hear, but it is true. I’m a stronger person now. I still struggle daily, but I’m fighting every day with therapy, medications, and a support team that loves and cares about me. Now I get to share my experience, strength, and hope with the world. I spread awareness to as many people as I can, shutting down the stigma out there with a message of hope and speaking for those who can not. They often want to but just don’t know how to do so. Many are afraid of the consequences of standing up to whomever and fighting on the front lines saying, “this is a problem, and I’m going nowhere.” I am never going to stop what I do. This is a bigger problem than most people think. People are dying every day, and it is hardly talked about. If it is, the blame is usually put on the person that passed away. Saying so and so overdosed or committed suicide or was shot down because they were waving a gun around and not making any sense. Most of the time, it doesn’t even make the newspapers. They rarely ever say they were suffering and sick from a mental illness and never got the proper treatment. They automatically deem them as crazy, a druggy, drunk, selfish person, or immoral person. Hopefully, my blog and speaking out about mental health awareness will help change this stigma society has created about mental illnesses. If you or someone you know struggles with a mental illness, make sure you are talking about it with your medical provider, counselor, therapist, and loved ones. If you have no one to talk to, contact me, and I will help guide you in the right direction or just chat if need be. It’s okay not to be okay, and remember -You {R} Not Alone.

TO LEAVE A COMMENT SCROLL DOWN