It’s a funny world we live in, everyone looks at you and think they know you, that they can relate, and everything is going to be ok.
Funny thing for me is I have never felt that I may have similar experiences, but I could never imagine what someone goes through or how they feel or cope, how can I? I am not them, everyone deals with things so differently, it’s almost insulting to assume you know how someone feels.
They look at your life and say, “you have a husband and children – you should be happy” – “you have a successful career, vacation home you have it made” whatever the phrase it’s hard to tell someone the truth.
I am very fortunate to be one of “those” people who have a husband and son, I adore them, and they are my life. Sadly, that doesn’t mean I have cracked life and it brings peace, happiness and contentment.
But I slap of the fake smiles, I become the well-known joker and go to gal! the one that makes everyone comfortable. I don’t know if I should be relieved or angry that everyone takes this front I put on and accepts it. Does no one care, is anyone even bothered? But then do I really want anyone to know how I feel?
How can you explain to someone that you just don’t want to live? Don’t get me wrong, I have no intentions to end my life, been there done that and it didn’t work!!! And I would never be that selfish and put my husband and son through that trauma.
But that doesn’t change how I feel! – Call it hormones, call it depression, call it whatever the fuck you want all I know is that is hurts.
Every morning it hurts, it hurts so deeply, my body aches deep down to the bone, I can almost hear the screams of pain as I force my body to function, nausea rises from my stomach as I fight to keep it down.
I sit on the toilet and think I can’t do this again. I take a deep breath and berate myself for feeling so weak and then I proceed with my day.
There are moments throughout the day where I have not managed to keep myself so distracted and stressed out that the thoughts creep in, a hollow emptiness eating at me, pulling me down into a dark despair. My Chest tightens, my hands clammy, rapid breathing or sometimes, just sometimes I forget to breathe.
I fake my way through the day, constantly reminding myself to eat, to drink because it’s not an automatic response. I get home, one of my most favourite times of the day, when I see my family It fills me with hope and reassurance that I got through the day, another victory, but then become saddened as I look around and see the 101 projects I have started or bought stuff for just lying around not completed, things I had planned to do to make our home a nice comfortable home, a constant reminder of my failure.
I switch off and focus all my energy on my boy, his homework, how his day has been how they feel, determined to make sure he doesn’t hold back his feelings, making sure he can express himself, then he goes to bed, and that breaks my heart, my life and blood lying so peacefully asleep, a reminder of why I need to keep going, but a reminder of how I’m failing him by feeling like this.
I sometimes go to the gym, I like the gym, it’s a form of self-harm but with perks, I push myself harder than I probably should sometimes, but the pain is like a security blanket, it comforts me, makes me feel safe.
It’s far healthier than the feeling of a blade slicing into my skin, or the numbing effects of alcohol. Well, that’s what I think anyway.
Hollow, and despair, eat away and I can’t stop it, I don’t know how too.
I don’t want to be like this I don’t want to feel like this, and I fight every god damn day to get up and breathe, but should it be this hard?
I shake it off, make a rude or inappropriate comment make everyone laugh and pretend everything is ok again.