15th May 2015
I wake up late. It’s gone 11am. My mum came in and woke me up nicely and kindly, as she does every day. She came into my room saying ‘Bub, get up, it’s gone 11! Sorry it’s so late!’ and patted me on the head and left to tend after my dad. My mum is extremely caring; it’s like her job to look after everyone at home. I woke up again. I’m alive again. I don’t want to leave my bed. I bury myself further underneath my duvet. I thought today was going to be different. I thought I’d wake up and not wish I was dead. Every day I wake up fearing that I will feel like this. Some days I don’t. Most days I do. I never want to get out of bed because if I’m asleep, I can’t feel sad.
Mum comes in again and I really have to get out of bed this time. I feel heavy with sadness and I don’t even know why. I brush my teeth and wash my face in a blur. I see my self harm scars on my arm and I’m tempted to open the bathroom cabinet and cut myself again, but I don’t. That’s one of the hardest things to resist because cutting takes the focus away from the internal struggle and pain I’m going through.
I go down for breakfast and I don’t want to eat. I always take it out on food, being an ex-anorexic. I don’t feel hungry. I don’t want to eat because I don’t want to be alive any more. Mum realises something is wrong and tries to talk to me about it. I just tell her how ‘I just feel sad, tired and I want to die’. Why do you always do this? Why do you burden her with how you feel? She’s your mother, does she really want to hear that you feel like shit? How does that make her feel? You fucking selfish piece of shit. You really would be better off dead. My dad is spouting rubbish in the background, making white noise as per usual and I get the overwhelming need to scream at him to shut up. I’m not tolerant of anyone or anything when I get in these moods. I feel suicidal and homicidal.
I can’t even explain why I’m sad. Nothing particularly awful has happened today and I don’t really have a reason to be sad. But this is the problem with depression – it has no reason or rationality. You just feel an overwhelming sense of sadness for no reason and you can’t even put it into words.
My parents leave to go shopping for the day and I’m left home alone, which just exacerbates the problem. Usually mum is around and I feel safe around her, but I’m left alone with my thoughts and I don’t know what to do with them. I feel like I should keep busy. I have a list of things to do when I’m at a loss as to what to do, but I have no motivation to do anything at all. Such is the vicious circle of depression: being busy actually helps take the focus off how rubbish you feel, but it’s hard to be motivated if you’re unemployed and depressed. I’m a temp so if there’s no need for me, I don’t work, which is what has happened for the last couple of weeks.
I spend the day thinking, which is awful because I overanalyse everything.
What was the point of you actually being alive? I mean, you went to university and can’t find a steady job. You’re never going to be successful. You’re never going to move out in a couple of years’ time like you said you would. You’re a failure. No one will ever love you. You’re unlovable. If you do get a job, it won’t be in the field you want and you’ll end up in some corporate field that you always said you wouldn’t go into and that’s your life made. You’ll never change the world like you dreamed, you’ll never be famous and help people like you said you would. You’ll be like a robot. And you’ll be alone forever because you’re too much of a failure and a disappointment for anyone to want you for anything other than a one night stand.
The day passes in a blur. I don’t even know what I did that day because the whole day was wasted in these overwhelming thoughts. My parents come home and my dad ends up being extremely triggering for me. Sometimes I feel as though he deliberately triggers me. I run upstairs and lock myself in my room, cuddling a fluffy toy for comfort. Mum comes in my room and again asks me what’s wrong. Holding back the tears, I tell her all the thoughts that have been going through my head all day and I tell her that they won’t stop and they won’t go away. I tell her I just want to die. She can only listen. She hugs me and then goes downstairs to start cooking dinner. I start crying uncontrollably. They’re soft, silent sobs, but they’re still there. I’ve tried not to cry all day, and I’ve failed. Another failure. That’s very much like you, Jaz.
I haven’t really eaten all day. I’m hungry, so I eat my chicken and rice as quickly as possible, which is good because dad is at the dinner table, being a constant trigger. I bolt my food and go to the living room, switch on the television and put on Eastenders, but I’m not really listening. I’m just sitting there whilst a picture moves around on TV. I just feel empty. I feel like there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. There’s an all-encompassing sense of hopelessness about my life right now and I can’t shake it off. I know that tomorrow, I don’t have anything to do. All I can hope for is that I wake up feeling okay, unlike today. I’m falling apart and no one knows. When will this sadness ever end? I can’t take any more of it. I can’t live like this. Either I’m going to win or the depression is going to win. And right now, it’s a lot stronger than I am.
After mum has finished dinner and dad has gone to bed, mum comes and sits with me whilst I stare motionless into the tv. It’s the football. I should be excited, but I feel nothing. I either feel sad or I feel nothing. She tries to talk to me some more about how I feel and I tell her more. I tell her it feels as though the depression is a huge weight on my back which has me bent over double and the little stresses like not having a permanent job, living at home etc. are added weights and I’m on the brink of bowing under the pressure and just dying.
She gets it. She understands what I’m saying but it’s hard for her to relate. She says she wishes she could help, but other than take me to my GP for him to increase my dosage of antidepressants, she doesn’t know what she can do. She tells me I can have a drink if I want, because she feels sorry for me and thinks it might help ease the pain. So I agree. I pour a strong drink of vodka and drink away the pain. At least I’ll forget the pain for a few hours…
(Originally Published on CultNoise Magazine – currently under reconstruction)