Don’t ask me if I’m okay.
I’m not. I want to believe that I will be. But for now, it seems like an endless tunnel of darkness. Even in the brightest sunshine, every part of me shuts out the lights. With the blinds, with the blankets. Brightness doesn’t bring happiness, it just brings a deeper feeling of failure when I am unable to enjoy what is meant to be a good day.
Don’t tell me ‘But you’re one of the happiest people I know’
I’m bitter enough already. Please don’t give me reasons to hate you, don’t give me another reason to push you away, don’t give me expectations that I won’t meet. Every description of what I was or what I used to be is just a reminder of how far I’ve fallen, and how far yet I still have to climb to be ‘normal’ again.
Don’t try to diagnose me with websites and articles.
I have no trust. Unless you wear a white coat, unless you have a degree in psychology, unless you are… Even then, I may or may not believe you. I don’t know if I want to believe you. Tell me I have depression. Good. I have an explanation for all this madness. Bad. There is something wrong with me. Tell me I don’t have depression. Good. I’m ‘normal’. Bad. I have no explanation for this, no manual to follow to fix it, no direction to turn, I’m stuck.
Don’t ask me to answer ‘how are you’
Because I don’t want to lie to you. But I can’t tell you the truth, in fear of the judgement of not being who I’m supposed to be. Of not being the perfect, well-adapted, independent, international student. Not being happy with all the blessings and privileges that I have received. It’s not that I’m discontent. I just don’t find joy in anything anymore, so please don’t tell me to try and do things that make me happy, because believe me I’ve tried.
Don’t treat me like I’m fragile.
If I trust you enough to tell you what I’m going through, it means that I believe with all of my heart that you are someone who won’t say the wrong things, that you are someone who will believe in me to get better, that you are someone who won’t judge me. Please don’t judge me. I don’t need you to tread on egg shells around me, I don’t need you to whisper about why I haven’t been around, and I don’t need you to sneak glances at me to see if I have started tearing up again.
Don’t ask me what started it.
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I. don’t. know.
Yesterday, I spent the whole day in bed. Paralysed and chained to my bed with the thoughts of all the million possibilities of how I can fail, fall, or disappoint every person I meet. What if they ask me a question I can’t answer, what if they ask me to do something and I can no longer explain why I can’t find the strength to complete a simple task of buying groceries or stepping out of the house.
Yesterday, I sobbed through ‘Letter to God’. To a point where it was effort to even open my eyes because they had become so swollen, so I just closed them, and let the tiredness of the pain take me away into sleep. I lost track of time, but when the darkness came, it looked really inviting. I typed into google ‘panadol dosage to overdose’. In my mind, a voice was screaming at me ‘RACHEL WHAT ARE YOU DOING.’ and yet the sickening feeling tearing my stomach apart guides my hands to continue. more than 2000mg within an hour. But this dosage wouldn’t kill you, it’d just bring you to hospital until you slowly vomit, become nauseous and die of liver failure.
So I put on my trainers and ran. I sprinted and ran as fast as I could, away from the house, away from familiarity. The only thing I took with me was my keys. I couldn’t deal with the monsters or voices in my head that were telling me lies. After what seemed like forever, I stopped at the park behind my house. There was an empty park. So I just sat on the swings, I stared up at the stars. Wishing with all my heart that I could just collapse in on myself and just disappear all in all.
I don’t know what I want, I have a vague idea of what I need. I need help. But it’s a constant fight with reaching out for help, and holding back my thoughts. Afraid that if the people I love the most, the people closest to me see how ugly and messed up my head is, that they would give up on me, that I’d be a burden, that I can’t be that happy person in their life that brings colour into their life.
Just tell me that you’ll be there. That you’ll be there knocking at my door, drag me out from under these blankets of dark thoughts.