Today is the day. Today, I’m going to a new psychiatrist. After months of family begging me to see someone new, I’m finally taking the step to go. As with all psychiatrist appointments, I don’t know exactly what to expect. And that scares me.
The first psy. doctor I saw treated it as more of a therapy session. This was when I was about 11. My current, or I guess now former, doctor was more like a legal drug dealer. Get my new prescriptions and leave. I hope this one is more along the lines of a therapy session, that way she can truly get to know me.
I’m already dreading the long list of things she needs to know about. My previous addictions, my previous abuse, and all my mental health problems. I guess, at least now I can probably get the correct diagnosis for Bipolar Disorder. I had to fill out forms online and I recognized the Bipolar test. I was never given this at my last doctor. And she didn’t even tell me when she started treating me as someone with Bipolar type ll.
I have high hopes for today. I want this appointment to go well and be more centered around what’s going on.
Here’s what I want to change:
Antidepressants. My Prozac doesn’t feel like it has any effect.
Antipsychotics. I have felt no change in this.
Stimulates. They are controlling my life and dangerously effecting my moods.
I want to keep you all updated on my progress and new journey I’m embarking on. Hopefully, I can give some insight into how things go when you’re trying to find the right medication.
This post begins the series, At War. I will be bringing you with me into my battles against Bipolar Disorder (depression and mania), Anxiety, and PTSD.
As I began my day on Friday, I looked forward with optimism. Friday was going to be a good day. I didn’t have much to do, I created a lot to do for myself, though. Most of my days begin with a great attitude. I wake up to the hottest, sweetest man ever and I get to enjoy coffee with him. It’s out special time together, just us. Then I take him to work and we begin our days.
Of course, I start my day with one, of many, pots of coffee. Since I also deal with anxiety, and I take stimulants, I found it best to drink half caf coffee. However, my first pot is almost always regular just because I need it to make sure I’m awake enough at 5:30am to drive my man to work.
When I get home begins the day’s routine. Around 7am I take my first two little pills. An antidepressant and an ADD medication. The antidepressant no longer works on its own, and the ADD medication is for the racing thoughts I get, they worsen with Mania.
Then, around 8am (on good days) I begin to get ready. Today, I’m choosing to write this before getting ready for my day. Friday, I felt good enough in the morning to actually do my makeup.
I did a full face of makeup, even applying some false eyelashes. Doing this means I actually enjoyed time to do my makeup, it benefitted myself to raise my mood and make me feel more confident. When I’m depressed, I don’t feel like doing my makeup at all. So it’s always a good sign when I look well put together.
After my makeup it was time for walk number one with my fur baby. Unfortunately, it was the only walk we got on Friday.
I usually do this before getting ready, but I like to plan my days. Especially since I’m home alone 90% of the time, it makes me feel like I actually have things to do. When I’m in a good mood, it motivates me. When I’m depressed, it haunts me. Sometimes, I start out motivated and then my mood shifts and it no longer benefits me anymore.
Not shortly after writing my to do list, my grandma called. For the most part, it was a good conversation. That is, until the subject of school came up. She mentioned how my cousin, who has been facing depression as well, has gone back to school and is doing good. While hearing that makes me happy, it also broke my heart. I was wanting to start school back this semester, however the price of classes were too high. Or, at least that’s what I thought the reasoning was. As it turns out, my grandma actually doesn’t trust or believe in me to do it. I don’t blame her. See, when I was in community college I lived with my emotionally abusive mother so, I was always challenged and distracted. No one but me understood why I couldn’t get through school. Then, once I was on my own, I faced mental illness and could not stick with a job or school. As well as one time living with an emotionally abusive boyfriend, there was no place for me to succeed. I think I might make a post out of discussing this soon.
After crying, I was exhausted. I no longer had the energy to accomplish anything and my depression was let in a bit further. Crying doesn’t make you weak, but sometimes an event that saddens you can weaken your walls against depression. My day changed in this moment.
Attempting to get back into a better mood, I decided to take a hot shower. My hair needed washing and my makeup was ruined anyways. It did boost my mood slightly, and the warm water felt comforting.
I blow dried my hair, put on some new makeup, threw on some heels and headed out of the door. The best thing to do when depression begins to hit is to change your surroundings. I understand how this seems impossible after depression has full on taken over, but while you’ve still got strength it can help greatly.
I highly recommend going someplace that calms you and makes you feel happy. A place you can relax at. For me, I chose Target! I actually went there because I had to buy some bed sheets but, it worked. Also, probably not the best idea to go shopping at Target alone when you’re feeling depression sneak up, but I did fairly well at only getting a small amount of things.
When I got home, I decided it was time to take some action against my mental health. I created a new mental health bullet journal (blog post coming soon) and I read up on my illnesses in some books on depression, anxiety, and bipolar ll.
After some time, I tried that whole, moving around so Depression can’t catch you thing. I started to clean. My bedroom was a mess, and partially adding to my stress and depression.
I didn’t clean up the whole room, but I got it looking a bit better. Warren seems to enjoy it!
That little bit of cleaning exhausted me. I was done for. All I wanted to do was nap, even when it came time to get ready to pick up my boyfriend, I still just wanted to nap. All my physical energy was gone. I was tired, sad for no reason, and I had taken a bath in which I cried my eyes out.
Eventually, I got up and touched up my makeup. I went and picked up my boyfriend and we got tacos, my happy food. I love him. When feeling depressed, it’s best not to always isolate yourself so, I’m glad this guy is in my life for times when I just can’t do it anymore.
When fighting mental illness, hell, even in just normal daily life, we face a lot of negativity. Like, a lot. Whether it’s your neighbors disrespectfully yelling at each other, or Trump being the president-elect, there’s negativity everywhere.
The other night, I was sitting outside enjoying a night to myself. I was all sorts of inspired to write and do all kinds of cool things. And then, negativity found its way into my night. My neighbor was yelling at, what appears to be her now ex-boyfriend, to get out and “fuck you.” I didn’t want to let this negative energy seep into my night, but it did. It triggered some PTSD for me. I used to have similar fights with my ex-boyfriend. Only, he was the one yelling “fuck you.” Okay, okay, I said it a couple times too. We’re not all perfect.
Thankfully, I’ve created some positivity within my own home. Mostly, there’s one corner in my living room that I’m slowly turning into kind of a meditation/yoga corner. It’s the corner I face when I’m doing yoga. And that night, I went inside and did some yoga. The positive energy of that space helped me overcome my PTSD and the anxiety that sometimes accompanies it.
I am the worst, absolute worst at paying attention to detail. But, in a positive energy corner like mine, I’m practicing paying attention to detail. This means, making things pretty! At least for me. Now, I’m not saying we all need to go and create a yoga corner. But, why not create a space in your home or room to where you can just feel the positivity by looking at it?
I chose this yoga mat long before I lived in this apartment. But, I chose it based on how it made me feel. And how cheap it was (thanks, Amazon). The design made me feel like it was a bit unique, not so dull like a solid colored mat. While I’d still love to have one a bit more unique, I’m happy with this for now. It’s all about how the things you look at make you feel inside.
I also have this sign that says, “Good Vibes Only.” While I love the sayings I have on this, I can’t help but remember where it once used to hang. In my old house with my ex. It’s taken a lot of debate, but the fact it cost me $70 on one of my “I’m pissed at my boyfriend” shopping sprees, I decided to keep it. I accepted the fact that the reason I bought it was to have a huge reminder for my ex to just chill the fuck out. It has new meaning to me now, though. It reminds me to create good vibes, only allow good vibes.
Another couple tips that are much more easily obtainable, essential oils, aroma therapy, and crystals! Okay, before you roll your eyes at me thinking, “God, she’s gone hippie on us,” let me explain.
Essential oils are more commonly used today as ever before! And there’s a reason! Although, I have not yet found that reason. I wished I had realized that BEFORE I decided to spend over $100 on some oils. Anyway, they do smell good and I have noticed some effects. Like my favorite, frankincense and lemon. It helps me to remain focused and energized. Or, lavender, which helps soothe.
Aroma therapy, I’ll admit I don’t know much about any of this shit. But what I do know are the certain smells that help me relax. For me, my favorite is Rose. But, more popularly, lavender is a good scent. That’s why this bottle of lotion in pictures above. It’s lavender scented and is such a great stress reliever for me. I like to incorporate it in my nighttime yoga, or rub some on my arms and shoulders after a yoga practice. Helps keep the calm longer.
And lastly, crystals! Okay, stay with me here. Crystals are fucking pretty. That’s it, I love looking at them. Maybe you find Pokémon cards pretty to look at, put those in your positivity area! I don’t care! I don’t judge! For me, I used to collect rocks and crystals as a kid when I traveled. So, I continue that tradition when going certain places. I don’t believe in the “healing powers” of crystals, not to say it isn’t true. I have no idea. But what I do know? They bring back happy positive memories for me and I like them. They sparkle.
You have got to know that I couldn’t end this post without mentioning coffee!! I love my coffee, it’s a part of my life. It makes me happy. Drink (or eat) things that make you happy. Whether it’s coffee, tea, hot coco, or Jack Daniels. Although, with everything (especially that whiskey) consume in moderation. Don’t drink Jack like I drink coffee!
I hope this helps to inspire you to create some positivity in your lives. How do you plan on creating positivity? It can be anything, I’m curious to know! Comment below my lovelies!
Like all mornings, yesterday’s was great. I woke up to my man making me a pot of coffee, I made sure he got to work, and I came home and watched the sunrise. I was feeling pretty good. I had the whole day ahead of me and I would accomplish everything I set out to do, or so I thought.
See, right now I’m in a hypomania episode. My days start out strong with lots of hope and ambition. I’m ready to conquer the world. And coffee helps.
I actually went and got ready for the day. Saying that at 9am I would “go to work.” And by that I meant, I would start learning how to better run my blog. I did find the resources I need, but I did no studying. I couldn’t focus. I drew a little bit, working on a new art project.
Here’s a little glimpse at just the beginning of it. I read in the book I’m currently reading that it helps to make your illness not apart of you, but something outside of you. And then, to make monsters beautiful. So, here’s my version of what that means.
I often don’t like explaining my art, I’d rather it mean what it’s meant to to the viewer. But, I’ll explain this piece. The hand that’s outstretched, that’s me. The shading is a bit off, though. And the hand around my wrist? Well, that’s my Bipolar/Anxiety/PTSD. Got a good grip on me in that drawing.
I couldn’t sit still much longer, so I decided to go to Target. Oops. I also put in a fake nose piercing to make myself feel a bit more badass. Little things like that can help your mood.
It’s a successful Target trip when I buy only 4 things and regret only 1. But, I’m starting to regret that one a little less now. I bought a journal, writing in it yesterday didn’t seem like it’d be something I could do daily. But today, with a purpose I wrote. This is a journal I plan to one day give my child. If they struggle with the same mental health issues, then I hope it will bring them peace. If not, then I hope they enjoy getting to know who I am. And how their story began.
It wasn’t long after my Target trip that my mood began to deteriorate. I can’t remember if I took my medication for the afternoon, but judging solely by my mood, I’d say I forgot. It got bad, I began to feel stuck, to feel worthless. The haunting of not working was strong. The feeling of not accomplishing anything was great. I took a moment to lie in bed. It’s like my makeup instantly knows when I begin to feel worse, it begins to look worse. At least I have my emotional support dog by my side.
I attempted to go back outside and work through the pain the illness was causing me. I say the illness now, because I’m working on viewing it as something outside of me, not apart of me. It is not me. Not at all.
In this photo, I had started crying. I had started to wonder, “why me?” I had began to feel sorry for myself, worthless, hopeless. Nothing I could do would save me, I tried doing things I was supposed to do, they didn’t help.
Quickly, I found myself laying on the sofa in tears. My dog, laying on my shoulder to help me calm down. But my breathing grew shorter, my heart raced faster. It was an anxiety attack that had been wanting to come out for weeks. I could feel it under my skin, I tried to let it out.
I cried, I hyperventilated, I tried to let this attack take over. I may not like it, but I needed it. I needed to release the emotions in a physical way. I just needed to. And I feel so much better after allowing myself to panic. However, this brought a consequence.
As my arm started shaking, moving back and forth, it attached itself to my arm. There was already a scar there from months ago when I last scratched myself. Now, there will be another. I didn’t realize I had started, and by the time I did I couldnt get myself to stop. It’s not physically as bad as the one before it, but it does hurt all the same. It allowed me to release all my emotions, yet I know it wasn’t the healthy choice to do so in that way.
I’m okay today, I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on Thursday and will be open and honest because obviously, my antipsychotics must not be working properly. They are supposed to stabilize my mood, and that is definitely not happening at the moment.
I was exhausted after my attack. I was ashamed and disappointed. I called my friend and ended up going to visit her and her family to get out of the house. It helped quite a lot. She’s always there for me when I need her.
Sometimes life brings you pain. Sometimes life brings you happiness.
In my life, I’ve had my fair share of both. The good and the bad. Right now, I’ve got the good. And as much as I love it, the bad in the past is trying its best to ruin it. It wants to rip it to fucking shreds. That’s what abuse does to you, especially after the abuse is gone.
I’ve lost contact with all of my abusers except for one. And that one no longer abuses me, doesn’t make it easy, though. The abuse still haunts me from every person. It’s trying to seep into my happiness. It’s trying to convince me I don’t deserve the joy I feel. It’s telling me that it’s not real.
I’m constantly fighting. I’m fighting the past abuse that still lingers. I want to feel this, I don’t want to miss this. I know it’s real. I know for a fact no one is lying. Just the way he looks at me, it says it all.
To those of you who have been abused, know that there is a future for you. Be open to it my loves. It’s worth it. Trust again, be careful, but trust again. It’ll have the opportunity to make you the happiest you’ve been in a while. It’ll change your world. Hold on tight. Love strongly. You’ve got this. Your good will come. Stay strong.
I’m not going to do this anymore. I’m not going to let you dictate how I spend my life. You are no longer in control, you no longer have any power. It’s all me, it’s all God, and it’s all my family.
I may stumble sometimes. I did today. I let your words get to me and I laid on the sofa feeling sorry for myself for hours. I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t want to suffer, but fighting off your words took time.
“You are the problem.”
Who am I talking to? Well, my previous abusers, depression, anxiety, PTSD, and my Bipolar ll.
Mainly, I’m talking to my longest running abuser who refuses to take responsibility for her actions. She denies every treating me poorly. He denies standing by and watching. For anyone unaware, this is part of the mental/emotional abuse. So, I was shown it was still continuing.
When they deny having ever treated you poorly, their intent is to get you to doubt your own mind. Can you trust the memories? Did it actually happen? Maybe I am the problem? Did I do something to deserve to be treated that way?
When you suffer from PTSD, it makes all those questions worse. It brings up every memory. It gets you doubting everything, maybe I am just over dramatic and making all of this up.
Believe in yourself. Know that you are not wrong. If you feel you have been abused, that your feelings/space has been violated, then it’s true. Even if they didn’t mean to do it, it happened. Don’t let them convince you that the way you feel is not valid. All of your emotions are important.
So, for me, I’m taking a stand for myself. I let myself have the time I needed to dwell on what happened, that was healthy. But I chose not to unpack and live there. That’s the important lesson of all of this.
Even if you don’t feel like doing a damn thing, you can’t even imagine getting up, force yourself to. Start by sitting somewhere different. I moved from my sofa to my dining room table. Then, do something small but either gets you active or thinking. For me, I wrote this. Next, I’ll do the dishes. After that, I’ll see what else I can handle at the moment. Take it one step at a time. It’s worth it.
Never give up on yourself. Trust those you consider family, even if they aren’t blood related. Be there for yourself, and let others be there for you as well. You got this shit.
At age 17, I met the love of my life. At age 18, I was in a relationship with him. By age 19, we had broken up twice and tried to move on. At age 20, I was moving across the country to live with him. At age 21, I was driving back home because I had left him. At age 22, I finally changed my number and lost all toxic contact with him.
There he went, it was over. You’re lucky if a passionate love comes once, right? How dare I expect it to come again. I blew it, I lost it. I had love, but I left it.
Today, as I write this, I realize, maybe it wasn’t love. First, let me say that yes, I did actually love him. I care about him very deeply and probably always will. But maybe I had confused toxic love with the “real thing.”
The only time he ever made me feel safe was when he was calming me down out of an anxiety attack that he had started. He didn’t make me feel loved or wanted, I was never undoubtably his only girl. Every day I wondered who he was hiding in that phone he never let me see. Then, I found out. I stayed with him for months after that.
I did however feel comfort, but it wasn’t good comfort. It was normal. I grew up with an emotionally abusive mother. I found myself in an emotionally abusive relationship. Why did I stay so long? Because it was comfortable, it was normal, it was all I had known.
I would like to say that while in fact both of those relationships were emotionally abusive, that does not mean they did it on purpose. That is something I will never know.
Now, as I sit here with my fur baby in my lap, I begin to realize that I’m getting my second chance. Well, maybe that’s not the right way to put it. I’m getting another chance? No, I’m being shown reality. Yes, I’m being shown reality.
I’m surrounded by a mess. My shirt has a stain on it, I haven’t brushed my hair, and my patio is basically one giant ash tray. But there’s a man out there who’s thinking of me in the way I wish I could see myself. He smiles when he’s with me, he doesn’t look at the mess with disgust, he looks at me with pleasure.
It’s too soon to tell where this is going, it’s too soon to tell if this is going to be something more. But God, do I hope it turns out for the best.
I’m being shown reality, and it’s not at all dark or mean. Yes, it’s a little scary. Yes, I’m terrified because I’m uncomfortable. But at the same time, I’m completely comfortable. I genuinely smile again, I laugh without worrying what my crooked teeth look like. I look into his eyes and I feel peace. This is reality, it’s not all hatred and pain.
In the short time we’ve spent together, he’s shown me that there is still good out there.
For those of you who have suffered as I have, who have been made to feel worthless by the people we love, have hope. You are not your abuse. You are not the nasty things people have said and done to you. In reality, you’re beautiful and deserving of happiness. We all truly are.
Hang in there, keep fighting to find that confidence and joy within yourself. Know that it doesn’t have to come from another person. But also know, it’s okay to allow someone to make you happy. It’s okay to allow someone close again. It’s okay to trust someone new. Not everyone has an evil plan to use and abuse you. Not everyone is full of hatred. Sometimes, you just got to wait for the person that shows you reality. And I’m thankful to have a couple people that do.
My Grandma, she checks in on my daily.
My best friend, she is my soul mate.
My best friend since kindergarten, she is my sister.
The guy that makes me smile, well, he makes me smile.
Some mornings, I wake up ready to take on the world. I’m inspired, happy, mornings tend to be the best part of my day. However, not lately. And especially not today. I don’t know if it’s because I forgot and had to take my medication a little later than normal, or if it’s because of an onset of a Depressive Episode. I just don’t know.
What I do know is that I’m tired. I got a shitty night sleep and it took me hours to get up this morning. I’ve sat outside drinking my coffee and felt nothing. No inspiration, no joy, not even sadness. These are the days that scare me.
Days when I can’t feel, those are the worst days. I want to curl up and hide away from the world, I don’t even have the energy to watch tv. Nothing matters on days like this.
I don’t know how to pull myself out of it, I don’t know whether or not it’ll lead to self harm. So, I let my best friend know so that she’s aware in case things go badly.
Days like these, I don’t know how to help myself. I’m lost. I’m broken. I need to feel again, but I don’t enjoy anything. I don’t have the energy to do anything.
For me, the most confusing part about receiving help for mental illness isn’t the different diagnosis, the different medications, or the things you discover about yourself. No, not these at all. For me, the most confusing part of it all is the way people react. And their lovely opinions.
My question for all of you who have given me “advice” is, where were you when it’s all started? Where was your heartfelt advice when I was lost and confused? Where were you when I was looking for which direction to go?
Before I continue this, I want to make one thing clear. I appreciate and understand where you are coming from. I know you think you’re saying what’s best for me. And I truly appreciate that. But you have to realize that sometimes, more harm than good comes from unwanted advice.
Before I started seeking help, that’s when I would have loved to hear stories of how you’re perfectly fine without medication. I would have loved to here the words, “just keep pushing,” and I would have loved to hear your thoughts on my illnesses. But, I’ve chosen a path and I’m going to honor it.
My parents, they have been the most confusing of them all. You’d think they’d be the most supportive considering my mother has been on medication for years for her illness. But, she’s got a physical illness, she’s not getting help for a mental illness.
I’ve been told I need a new psychiatrist because my parents weren’t fond of the new diagnosis I received. They looked up symptoms for Bipolar and made it sound like, oh, anyone could fall into this category. No, no they can’t. And to top it all off, they think I’m on too many medications.
My best friend, I asked her one day if this was all worth it. If the struggle with medication is creating more harm than good. She said she didn’t think it was worth it, however, I couldn’t get out of bed. So, I’m taking that as she doesn’t know either.
Another friend, she wants to pray me off medication. She believes if my faith is built stronger and I turn to God more that I can get off of medication. I don’t need it. While I agree there is no harm in rebuilding my faith stronger, I have a need for my medication.
And a friend now believes I can be perfectly fine without medication. That, my illness can be easily managed because it’s not as bad as another illness. She believes CBD oil (oil from cannabis without the THC) could help me tremendously. While I’m willing to give that a try, I know I need more than that.
What it comes down to, is this is about me. For the first time, I’m truly having to take care of myself as an adult. I’m having to set boundaries while still pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I’m having to trust the choices I’ve made for myself. That I just might know what’s best for me.
The beginning of seeking help came with a lot of support. Everyone pushed me to be one medication, to seek out a psychiatrist. But, once we found out I had more problems than originally thought, the support diminished. Now, they expect me to continue to listen to them because it was them who started me on this path to begin with.
Well, here I am politely saying, no. You no longer get to decide for me which path I should take. While the path of medication wasn’t my first choice, and at times it gets difficult, this is where I’m going to remain. I’m going to stick it out until I find what works for me.
My first medication, my first antidepressant, it no longer works. I’m still on it, though. I agree that I should ask about getting off of it. My ADD medication, it works wonders. While I don’t get the “high” that I used to from it, I’m able to think clearly for most of the day. This is a miracle! And my newest, an antipsychotic (mood stabilizer), has been working great as well. Sure, it’s not the same as when I first started, but I can tell that my moods are beginning to level out. It’s not turning me into a zombie, and I like that.
So, please, trust me when I say that I trust myself. I appreciate your concern, but right now I don’t need any doubts that I might not be doing what is best. I just need your continued support and love. I’m getting better, and that’s what matters.
I was just beginning to think, not too long ago, that maybe there is a cure for me. Maybe my depression and anxiety actually weren’t caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain. Maybe I’d developed these over the years because of the traumas I have experienced. Maybe if I learn to let those go, I’d be free from my struggles.
That thought process came to a crashing hault yesterday morning. I was nervous about asking my psychiatrist for a medical card. I should have been nervous for a while other reason. That day, it changed my life.
“I’m giving you the diagnosis of Bipolar 2.”
Excuse me, what was that?
There is no cure. There is only treatment. That’s all I knew about bipolar. This is something I’m going to deal with for the rest of my life. This is something probably inherited from a family member. This is something huge.
While I know nothing has changed, I feel as though my entire world has been turned upside down. I’m starting to doubt myself, to doubt my future.
Will I get worse? Will I turn into one of those women in movies with bipolar disorder? Will I ever make any sense? Will anyone ever want to love me? And if they do, how can I even begin to think about having a family? How would I be able to sleep at night knowing that my children will one day suffer as I have because I was selfish enough to bring them into this world, despite knowing mental illness runs in the family? How am I going to cope with this? Who is ever going to want someone like me in their life? Where did I go wrong? What did I do to deserve this? Will I ever accomplish anything? How do I keep myself from going crazy?
I’m scared. I had just accepted the fact that I have mental illnesses. I just accepted my ADD. It took me a decade to get the help I’m getting now. And now, I’m bipolar?
I don’t know what any of this means. I never thought this would happen to me. I feel like crying, but I can’t. My mind is telling me two things. One, “be calm, it’s not the end of the world. You could have worse, it’s not a big deal.” And two, “why are you not freaking the hell out right now? Your life is over! There’s another damn reason you shouldn’t continue to go on. Just go to bed and cry already!”
The worst part of all this is, they were right. My abusers, they’ve been right all along. There is something mentally wrong with me. I do need serious help. Fuck. They were right.
I’m beginning to even understand them. No wonder they treated me in such horrible ways, I deserved it. I am worthless. I am crazy. They had every right to treat me as such. I’m ashamed.
There’s a small part of me that’s saying, “stop” as I write this. It’s saying that I’m wrong. If anything, I deserved help, comfort, and love. It’s beginning to make me look at my abusers with even more disgust than before. How dare they take advantage of such a weak mind? What kind of person must they be to abuse someone for years who has suffered from mental illness?
Then the argument continues, they didn’t know. It’s okay, they had no idea how bad you were. But they must have known. They must have seen it. I was a mess. I couldn’t function. What’s even going on in my mind right now?
I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know what to do or how to cope with this. I don’t know how I’m going to continue living like this for the rest of my life. I’m strong, though. I’m a fighter. I know I won’t give in to it. But right now, I’m scared and I’m alone. I’m confused and I’m hopeless.