I stumbled across my diary from when I first fell ill – written literally a few weeks into my illness. Usually all of my diaries are written in hand, but this is one of the rare ones which was typed, and I know exactly why; because I was too weak to hold a pencil when I wrote it, so I typed aggressively until my fingers went numb.
I wanted to share it with you for many reasons;
firstly, it is an insight to what a flare up of Depression is actually like;
secondly, it shows how far I have come with my Depression. I still suffer, but my recent spells have not been as violent as the one you are about to read;
Finally, I think it is also a good insight into how terrifying the initial uncertainty is of having what feels like an alien in your body and losing total control.
If you want raw and honest, then please read on.
TRIGGER WARNING: there is a lot of swearing, grammatical errors out of rage, and multiple references to suicide and self-harm.
It is NOT my intention to offend anyone, so if you are easily offended, don’t read on.
You have been warned!
“Here’s the thing;
I don’t want to be here anymore – it’s as simple as that.
People usually long for more money, better jobs, a perfect partner; but I long to feel nothing, be nothing.
I don’t want to feel guilt about falling in love with someone else whilst I am meant to be in a happy relationship with a partner who I thought I adored. I never wanted to be that girl who cheated. I usually judge people like that, and now people are judging me.
I don’t want to waste all of my savings on medical appointments that give me no answers, and to pay for drugs and supplements that either make me vomit, or explode diarrhoea.
I don’t want to feel another symptom which can’t be medically explained.
Try explaining dizziness to a Doctor; they think you are nuts. How can I explain something that I don’t even understand myself?
I don’t want to live each day stuck in this fucking house, having to do the same fucking routine.
I wake, and I wish I didn’t wake.
I stumble out of bed, make a coffee and toast that I always fucking forget to take out, so I really eat charcoal. I turn on the television and sit there for hours glued to the screen, but not absorbing a word of information. My brain does not work. I cannot access it anymore.
I know that makes no sense, but it is like someone has locked me out of my account. I know the account is mine, but I cannot get the password right.
I crawl to my room like a helpless animal, and lie on my bed for hours because I feel every inch of my body throbbing. EVERY INCH.
Everyone keeps telling me to eat, and I can’t.
I want just want to scream; I CANNOT FUCKING EAT, NOT BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO, BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE MY STOMACH HAS SHRUNK TO THE SIZE OF A GRAPE.
HAVE YOU EVER TRIED SQUEEZING AN ORANGE THOUGH A GRAPE?
I THOUGHT NOT.
They keep screaming at me. Helpless screaming.
YOU HAVE TO EAT, PLEASE EAT, TRY AND EAT.
But no, I just sit there in silence and stare blankly at my food.
I don’t want to try anymore. The pain is unbearable. I feel like my stomach acid has shards of glass in it, and my stomach will not stop gurgling. It sounds sick. It IS sick.
My Doctor keeps telling me this is a viral infection. What fucking viral infection leaves you bedridden for weeks at end?
I have lost so much weight. I hate looking at myself. My skin is pale, and flaky. My hair is falling out. I am twenty-two and my hair is fucking falling out.
I have not eaten a meal in days. I don’t even miss food. I don’t remember what it is like to feel hungry. Can you tell me how someone can feel acid rising, and suffer from neverending nausea if they have nothing in their stomach? I want to vomit every second of the day. People try and feed me things to stop the nausea; it makes me feel more nauseous. TRY THE FODMAP DIET, they say, YOU HAVE TO TRY THE FODMAP DIET. Fuck the FODMAP Diet. That’s clearly not my problem if I am unable to stomach ANYTHING.
I have lost weight, and not one or two kilograms. I am 36kg now. I used to be 44, maybe 45.
I have a xylophone for a fucking rib cage and scales for skin.
And my fucking hair is falling out.
Mum comes home from work really late now, and I have to fake my happiness. I have to hold myself together, for her. She knows that I am sick. She doesn’t look at me the same anymore. I think that she thinks that I am ugly. That’s the stare she gives me. I see her staring at me when I bend over and she is in frontal view of my spine.
Well, I am ugly. I look like a fucking troll, with eyes bulging out of my head, skin and bones, fucking scales for skin and my once beautiful hair falling out.
They eat dinner in silence every single night, and I sit at the table because I have to. I watch them eat every bite. They used to push me to eat something, but recently they have stopped.
I force myself to help her clean, until I can’t take another step. My legs won’t carry the weight of my body any longer. I fear I will just drop one day, and I wonder if it will hurt. I’ll most likely hurt myself once I hit the ground.
I go to my bedroom and slice my skin, and I am so consumed by symptoms, that I don’t even feel the blade cut into me. How twisted is that? But I crave my old feeling. I need to have control of something. I don’t control my body anymore.
I am the last to go to sleep, probably because I DON’T FUCKING SLEEP ANYMORE. How does someone sleep when they are in excruciating pain from every region in their body, and they want to vomit? I close my eyes and do the stupid deep breathing techniques that the last Specialist recommended I try. He told me that I need to relax more. I really love how nobody takes me seriously.
Yeah, I’m fucking Depressed. Would you be Depressed if you were plagued with an unknown disease, making you incapable of showering alone and walking, feeling nauseous every second, unemployed, unable to drive or eat food?
So can someone tell the Doctors to stop pushing to trial me on antidepressants, and to focus on the real health problem here? I think that if I could return to my normal life, I wouldn’t feel depressed?
Mum won’t even let me have a shower until she is home, and near me. How embarrassing. I am twenty two and my mother has to stand guard at the fucking bathroom door because I am weak.
Why would someone CHOOSE this? The Doctors insinuate every fucking time that I am just ‘depressed’ or ‘stressed’. One of the idiots actually used BREAKDOWN.
What the fuck do I have to break down about? Is everyone really that stupid? I had a great group of friends, I had saved money and money to spend on myself, a partner who I had mindblowing sex with. I don’t even remember sex. It just dawned on me that he probably thinks about it for every second that I don’t.
I had my fucking dream job, and I was surrounded by the most innocent, beautiful souls. I wanted to educate, nurture and love. I had plans to BE someone, and this plague has taken over and ruined everything.
My friends… well I currently don’t have any. It has been weeks since I have heard from my three supposed best friends. The time went so quickly because I was in a literal state of numbness. I don’t think they’d believe me anyway.
I have no interest in existing any longer.
I do not want to be here.
If I deserved punishment for something that I did wrong, I would have expected to receive something a little less torturous. Because, that’s the only way I can describe this feeling. I am being tortured every day and there is not one single Doctor, Specialist or Naturopath that can help me. They don’t have the slightest clue.
I know I am going to die.
I can feel it.
I see the signs.
If Death doesn’t take me, I will do the job myself.
A body just doesn’t… shut down like this, without anyone knowing why.
If this is my last entry, then so be it. I will be thankful for all of the enjoyment I got prior to being sick. I’ll be happy for the brief moment I was in my dream job, the love I felt and was given, I’ll be happy that I spent some wonderful moments with my family and my friends… back then.
If this is my last entry, then I just want to make it known that I am happy to die. I welcome the feeling. You do not scare me, Death.
I am happy to leave, because if this is what was destined for my life, I don’t want it.”