Moving on, I got a full time job and I found a friend in jagerbombs and night clubs, and competing with my club buddy to see how many guys we could kiss on a night out… classy. This stopped when a guy took an interest in me and we got together. I was never too sure how I felt about him (sounds awful I know), but I think I hit my blank stage around here. We were together for 8 long months, which included many arguments about me not enjoying the things he did, and me not wanting to do a whole load. I wasn’t happy, he wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be with – mega show off, loud, obnoxious, but I was too weak to say bye. Eventually I did, ended up veeery messy with about 8 months worth lot of tears and threats of suicide and self-harm on his part, and all leading up to the lovely confession of him having cheated on me.
I spiralled. The guilt from breaking up, the thoughts of being told I was boring and never wanted to do anything, and the constant words behind my back.
I applied to go back to college in hopes of coming to uni, so for a year I was working full time and doing evening courses. I was knackered, stressed, exhausted from constant harassing from the ex. Cue someone else walking in and making it worse. Clubbing buddy’s family friend – also very up himself but very confident and was able to take my mind off things, of course in a bad way. It got messy. Being a psychologist I can safely label him as a sociopath – lied to me about everything, sectioned me off from family and friends and bloody loved himself. I spent a lot of time with him which destroyed many of my other friendships.
When I realised what was happening I got out of there, but not before things reached a low point. I began making myself sick (my body is a huge issue – another time) and woke up every morning wanting the day to be over. I can remember that feeling of hopelessness well, I just wanted to escape and breathe. I felt suffocated and I had got myself into such a rut I couldn’t get myself out. My parents are functioning alcoholics (again – another time) and I was trying my hardest to help them, before everything accumulating in my first big ol’ anxiety attack in my car outside of college.
I got help. It took me maybe a year before I realised that living in darkness wasn’t normal. That dreading every single thing that may happen that day wasn’t okay. I was prescribed antidepressants and sent on my way. These helped, but not as much as the next thing that walked into my life.
Me and my current boyfriend have been together for 2 years now, and its been two years since I started taking meds. In this time, I moved away to uni, met so many more people, got my dose upped, freaked out, and then just came off of them (bad move – I can do a post about it if wanted because I really don’t advice just coming off them!!).
Last summer was a hard one — my siblings have a different dad to me and he passed away. I can’t go into too much detail but he was always a big figure in my life, he was another family member and I know this sounds weird to a lot of people but it was a massive massive hit. Putting loss into words isn’t easy I have realised – I’m not very good at it. Looking back at what I have written doesn’t touch on the way I feel, but going into too much detail makes me sad and I can’t deal right now.
Anyway, shit summer. Back on tablets after breaking down to my mum about everything being shit, and since then everything has been more stable. My depression is back to a little shadow, but my anxiety creeps up more regularly. I got counselling from my uni recently, but realised that as much as I’m supposed to encourage it, just talking about your problems doesn’t really solve them. I’m applying for CBT so we will see how that goes. I started self harming, not in the ‘serious way’ (doctors words) using a knife or anything sharp, just with my nails. It started with smaller scratches on my hands and arms and stomach, and then more recently during a big meltdown I did it badly on my leg.
I can’t pinpoint when this happens, I don’t think there’s a specific point. I feel that it may be on the crossover between anxiety and depression, when they’re both at equal levels and causing the awful oxymoron they do and I don’t know how to deal with it so I take it out on my body. My fear is my nails not being enough. My medication got upped as a result and now I’m on a very high dose. BUT I feel better. Better than I have in a long while anyway.
So that brings us up to today. I’m tired of keeping what is in my head a secret, and I know I am not alone. I feel like if I can talk freely about it on here, it can finally get out and not swirl around and make me feel sick. So expect a lot of posts about feelings and shit, and if there is anything that anyone wants me to talk about more, drop me a comment or an email. For now I am actually going to go to bed, that’s probably a good thing to do.