I spent 2 hours last night looking at articles, reviews and advice online about how many co codomal tablets it would take to kill you.
I took them out the cupboard and put them into piles of full sheets and half empty sheets.
I forced myself to put them back in their box and into the cupboard instead of leaving them on the kitchen side like I wanted.
Last week I had a breakdown. Tom said it was heartbreaking. I said mean things. That’s pretty much all I can remember, besides the crying and incessant voice in my head telling me to smash my skull against the wall opposite because that was the only way it would shut it up.
Today started off okay. And now everyone is asleep and I’ll be awake until 4am again staring at the ceiling and wondering why is this so hard sometimes.
It terrifies me that sometimes I want to die and it terrifies me even more that no one is ever going to let me. That I’m probably always going to have somebody stopping me and it always will stop me because the pain it would cause them is too much for me to even consider. I wish it would stop me thinking about it in the first place. But it doesn’t.
Tom wants me to “see a professional” hahaha. That worked out so well last time. They told me I wasn’t depressed, but that I did have anxiety issues and OCD. Apparently self harm and an overdose and recreational drugs aren’t enough to warrant a label so bold as depressed!
And so what if that happens again, what if I go to the psych and they tell me I’m perfectly normal because my fucking social anxiety portrays me as this lovely, polite, sane young lady who giggles all the time. What do I do, record myself when I disappear for 5 hours inside my head? FaceTime her when I’m hysterical because my boyfriend told me I didn’t need to accompany him to his Dr’s appointment because he’d only be 10 minutes??
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I’m supposed to be over the moon happy and content and someone who potters about the house reading and playing games and occasionally tidying up and talking to people. Not this shell of a human who stares into space for 20 minutes but thinks it was 20 seconds and cries at least 3 times a day and constantly isolates herself.
Am I crazy? I ask myself that question a lot. I never really know the answer. Isn’t everyone a bit crazy? But surely some crazy’s are worse than others.
All I know is that I’m in a deep black pit and I can’t find a way of pulling myself out.