I don’t know. Well, I do know.
I had coffee. I shouldn’t have had coffee. But I like coffee. I meant to get decaf, but I don’t know… I didn’t forget to get decaf. I just wanted coffee. And now I pay the consequences.
I tried using my skills — “Who, what, when, where, why, and how” — but then it ended up with me internally yelling at myself.
I think I’m just lazy. Yeah. I’m lazy. I can’t have depression, I’m always laughing. But when I’m not laughing I’m beating myself up. Blaming myself for every little mistake I make. And I feel so empty and lonely. I’m just lazy.
I just want attention. Those posts about me trying to help people understand my anxiety and depression is just for attention. I don’t need help. I’m fine. compared to homeless people and starving children. I’m fine. Peachy perfect. I’m a-OK. I’m good. Good in the hood.
I don’t know. My mom came in my room earlier asking me to turn off my phone. And I did. But I just started yelling at myself. In my head. Having a conversation. You’re just lazy. You stay up late on your phone. That’s why you’re always tired. No, it’s not because of the phone. It is. No, it’s not. Yeah, it is. Why can’t you just be normal? I stay up because of my thoughts! What thoughts? These thoughts! And then my inner self went quiet. It sounded like a movie. I don’t know.
Because of this, no one will want to deal with me. I’ll be alone. Yeah, I have my parents… mostly my mom… sometimes my mom… I don’t know. But who’d want an anxious girl at 3 a.m. and a depressed one at 4 p.m.? That’s why I don’t have confidence in myself. Because of this.
Breathe. Breathe. Just breathe. I am breathing. Yes. I am alive. But am I living? I think I am. I don’t know. I’ve been afraid of living lately. No, I don’t want to die. I just want this to stop. I’ll be OK. I think. I don’t know. What if this kills me?
What is life? How can I live and enjoy life with this? I am not my diagnosis. I think. I’ve been very unsure about what I’ve been saying recently. I’ll be OK. OK? OK. OK? OK. OK? A-OK.
I need to pee. But if I get up I’ll wake up Ma and then Pa will ask me if I’m OK, and what if i cry? I’m not OK. Wait. We just went over this. I am OK. Why am I not tired? Go. To. Sleep. I need to throw up. No, I don’t. What I need is: to cry. But I’ve been crying too much. Just gotta bottle it down. Just like every other time. Except yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I don’t know. They say crying is OK, but then they see me as weak. I’m not weak. I’m strong. I am resilient. Yeah. I’ll be OK. If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the next day. And so on. There has to be a day that I’ll be OK. One day. Maybe. I don’t know.
I think I’m calming down. The thoughts are stopping. What if I get anxious tomorrow morning. Ma and Pa will get mad if I don’t go. I’ll just say I’m fine. I’ve faked that for years now, and they seemed to have believed me. Yeah. I’m fine. Yeah. I. Am. Fine. If I say it enough, maybe it’ll be true one day. Hopefully.
It’s 12:39 a.m. OK. If I go to sleep exactly right now I’ll have six hours and 21 minutes. Yeah. OK. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. I. Can’t. Sleep. I really need to pee. Oh my goodness. I won’t stop shaking. My fault. I’m gonna go pee.
If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 741-741.
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Thinkstock photo by cranach