TRIGGER WARNING. i was walking back to the car yesterday afternoon, enjoying the warm sunshine when i was grabbed roughly from behind. an arm wrapped around my torso, pinning me, and even as i struggled, a cloth was put over my mouth, quickly rendering me unconscious. i didn’t even have time to cry out before …
"i’ve tried to kill myself three times, most recently in november of 2014. it is a bizarre thing to able to write that about yourself. it’s a strange thing to know about yourself, to know that you are capable of taking such drastic action. there was a point in my life, long past now..."
the behavioural impulses associated with my mental illnesses are at best, ones i’ll ultimately regret, and at worst, ones that are harmful. i fight against the negative urges, hate myself for having them, and give in more than i’d like but i don’t think about them at a level above stubborn resistance very often. why …
"from a journal after a hard day: “my eating disorder makes me angry, mean, full of sharp edges, wholly self-centered, and judgmental as hell.” i suppose this is true for almost everyone who struggles; i know it’s true for me. catch me around a binge; i’m not a pleasant person to encounter. i’m angry and short-tempered, and i lash out in an effort to mitigate my guilt and self-hatred. i want people to hurt when i hurt. i want someone to blame."
we say “i get it”. we assume we understand the impact of people’s life experiences. at least i do, probably too often. there’s an arrogance to that.
my depression is singular. it’s hearing only one note. tasting only one flavour. seeing only one colour. it overwhelms everything and turns the experience of life into monochrome rather than a palette of complexities and nuances.
my basic personal philosophy is as follows: try to be a good person. it’s been the same for as long as i can remember. i suspect that i am genetically predisposed to niceness. there are worse qualities to be in possession of.