My brother is a boy of unique interests. One of which, included the interests in all the different phobias which existed, from strange fears of the number 8. Octophobia. To the fear of everything. Pantophobia. I always thought that they would one day be useful when he would be able to answer the final question to a TV quiz show. But now, I only wished that there were labels to describe my fear of… well, me. The me that doesn’t feel like me at the moment.
It’s a feeling of total suffocation, even when you are surrounded by empty space.
It’s a feeling of total loneliness, even when you are surrounded by people who care.
It’s a feeling of endless pain, a pain that only the feeling of having no feelings can make it better.
It’s a feeling of hopelessness, with voices talking and telling me that the happiness won’t last.
I used to think that I knew it all.
I was one of those people who tried to fix people who came to me talking about having a bad day, I was someone who didn’t understand until I came across it myself. The anger and frustration towards the world, and wanting to just collapse into myself and become nothing.
I used to think that feeling depressed was selfish.
‘But you have so much in your life that you can be happy about.’
‘It’s just one of those days, I definitely understand you, but I’m sure it’ll pass soon.’
‘If you try to focus on the good things, maybe you’ll feel better.’
I never understood how those words could do more harm than good. I don’t underestimate the genuine care and love the person is feeling, but they have no idea what the voices will say in response to those words.
‘You have absolutely nothing to be happy about, because you don’t deserve any of the good things in life.’
‘It’ll pass, but then it’ll come back again, and seep into every corner of your life, slowly taking over, and you’ll never feel that happiness ever again.’
‘Focus? Focus on this: you are worthless.’
I have a slightly overactive imagination. Show me a horror film, or better yet, even just a horror film trailer, and I’ll start imagining the characters appearing through my day, near my bed, lurking in the corner. But what’s scarier are the feelings in my head, when they shoot out like tangles of thread, and I can longer pull them back, because the harder I pull, the more tangled it gets. Until it fills the room and all that’s left is me. Suffocating. Under a really thick blanket of bad thoughts.
As much as I fear admitting it, with a lingering feelings that the second I say it, it’ll be taken away…
I had a good day today.
But tomorrow, I’m not so sure.
It started late September, and in early October, I knew something wasn’t right. I wasn’t myself.
It was like I was shut into a box, banging at all the walls to get out. But it won’t let me, the black film that covered the box, and when it finally opened the lid, I crawled out, with the black film clinging to each bit of my skin. A piece of clothing too tight that it was suffocating, a piece of what felt like myself trapping the real me inside.
I reached for help before it was too late, counselling.
Tomorrow is my first appointment.
After hearing it too many times, I had already created my ‘ideas, concerns, and expectations’. I can only hope that they are met. I guess we’ll see.