This is a hard one to write. My depression has been escalating over the past couple of weeks, all I’ve done is sleep and mope.
The nasty bitchy voice in my head that tells me I’m horrible and worthless has become deafening lately. It’s like being imprisoned with your worst enemy. I have moments when I can tell it to do one but then at times it becomes too loud to ignore.
So I’m writing this from a hospital bed while I wait for the crisis team to come and assess me tomorrow. They are talking about admitting me this time. While I’m not thrilled by the idea, I’m at rock bottom and I’ll take any help I can get at this point.
I should be happy. I have everything I want in life, a fab husband, lovely kids, we live in our dream home and I have a brilliant supportive family around me. But my bastard brain with its wonky wiring is conspiring against me and I feel like I don’t deserve the life I have. I got to the point at the weekend of realising they will all be better off without my toxic input. And now I feel guilty and ashamed that I’ve caused a load more drama for them. I can’t win. I can’t see any path of action that has a good outcome. I suppose the only thing I can do is keep on keeping on but I can’t do that at home.
So I’m here wrapped in a hospital blanket, unable to sleep and listening to the sounds of the busy ward, hoping that tomorrow someone will have a magic wand they can wave to turn me back into the happy go lucky optimist I used to be. Because I can’t go on like this, ruining everything.
I hesitated to write this because it shows my extreme weakness, but I figured the one thing my illness can’t take away from me is my honesty. It’s tried, it’s made me lie to my loved ones about just how low I am, but I’m not going to lie anymore. I need help, even though I don’t deserve it.
I need to get better, but I’m in a race against time as every time I harm myself my odds get worse. I don’t want to gamble with my life anymore, I just need to convince my brain that I’m worth it. All I can see in the mirror is an unemployed fat Eeyore whose existence is pointless.
I know you probably all think I’m pathetic and weak and I don’t blame you, as it’s exactly how I feel. But I won’t give in without a fight and that’s why I’m here in this bed because even at my lowest I was able to tell Rob and ask for help.
Mental health is the last taboo and I hate that. I refuse to feel ashamed for needing help, although I reserve the right to feel guilty about how my illness plays out. I will keep blogging my thoughts if people want to read them, not just for me but for anyone struggling. I know it helps me when I read blogs from fellow sufferers so I hope that all my soul baring can have a positive input somehow. The thought makes me feel slightly less pointless.
I’ll sign off now before I lose my nerve but I’d welcome any comments if you’ve read this far. I want to beat this. I have to.