smallbottlesofjuice-blog

[smallbottlesofjuice-blog]

Not much has changed. But I do think after a lot of therapy my inner dialogue is a little kinder. A little bit of progress. 

My depression is slowly killing me. I can feel it eating away at me inside. It’s getting harder to breath and pump blood through my veins, like I’m trying to breath in a burning house simultaneously as my arteries clog. I feel nauseous and fatigued. My head is nearly constantly throbbing or experiencing a dull hard numbing pain. My shoulders are tense and my appetite fluctuates from intense hunger to the sheer thought of food making me gag. Emotionally I’m drained and I’m often irritable and very little makes me smile. I feel hollow inside, but at the same time I want to throw up all gross sludge inside which is weighing me down. Sometimes it hurts so much I feel like ripping my hair and teeth out, like smashing my head against a hard surface, like screaming as loud as I can, like giving up. Instead I scratch, up and down my wrist. The stinging burning pain distracts me. As one pain camouflages another.

I feel sick. But many people can’t see it. I assume what they see is a fat brown girl resembling a tired cow who should be fitter and tougher as she is only young. The scars on my wrist seem to be the only physical manifestation of my illness. And I hide them. Like dark secrets that coyly comfort me, reminding me I’m not crazy and the pain is real. It all stems from the thoughts in my head. The uninterrupted monologue of self doubt, high expectations and disbelief in the state of the world. Half of my time is spent procrastinating due to an innate fear of not achieving perfection and the other half is spent berating myself for not using the opportunities I am so lucky to have. “You are so lucky. You have so much. Look around you. Think of all the people suffering in the world. You’re letting everybody down. You’re ridiculous and you look disgusting. There are people in the world starving and look at you. Someone else deserves my life, they would use it so much better. If only I could give it to them. One of the many people you hear about, the refugees fleeing war, the children suffering from hunger, the people who are capable of so much more.”

I search for more information. To keep up to date in the world of politics and pop culture. Thinking for hours on end about white supremacy, the lack of diversity in the media, global warming, the alt-right, natural disasters, terrorism, Trump, body image, rape, the victims and victors of the world. Thinking about how these bog problems that impact peoples every day lives. Where detention centres and inequality exist because of the lack of empathy people have. And how small I feel, how little I can help. How I feel somehow responsible and incomplete for not doing enough. I express these thoughts to some. I give advice to others I don’t take myself. “How you can only help others if you don’t help yourself first.” To take one day at a time. That you don’t have to be perfect. I’m also extremely jealous of the intellect of the people I interact with and then so critical of those i disagree with. Constantly in a state of confusion of how people act. But also angry at myself  for judging others when I am….well me.

I don’t sleep. Even at night when everyone is at rest, I don’t get to switch off. “Constantly blaming others for your own problems. There are people much worse off. You have this and this and this to do. You could be doing them now. When you wake up you should have a productive day and actually get something done. You should have done something today to help others. Why didn’t you do anything today? Why didn’t you do your uni work or clean your room. Look at this place. You are so lucky. You don’t deserve this. Why aren’t you better? Why does it take you so long to do something? Why are you so dumb?….Why does my heart hurt?”. When I do sleep its in short spurts with incredibly vivid dreams. Set in a variety of locations built so authentically they seem to trick me into thinking I’ve been there before and that those dreams are realities. Places you can trust but are laden with subliminal messages about the past day and the mistakes I made, my worst fears, bottled up feelings and played out confrontations of the past. However when I wake I consider the realities that i recently awoke from and am left with the overwhelming feeling these places do not exist and not matter much like real life.

Moreover, I am a burden on the people I know, making mistakes and taking up time and resources which could be used more efficiently. I have a sever lack of motivation and a relentless desire to be productive and help others. People who are in my life, who do nothing but support me, financially and emotionally. I know I’m letting them down. And this depression is making it harder for me to be good and helpful. I can’t kill myself as it would hurt too many others. The people i say are so important and I want to please so badly. So I live in a constant state of pain, dying and pretending to be alive just waiting for time to pass.

[smallbottlesofjuice-blog]

My depression is slowly killing me. I can feel it eating away at me inside. It’s getting harder to breath and pump blood through my veins, like I’m trying to breath in a burning house simultaneously as my arteries clog. I feel nauseous and fatigued. My head is nearly constantly throbbing or experiencing a dull hard numbing pain. My shoulders are tense and my appetite fluctuates from intense hunger to the sheer thought of food making me gag. Emotionally I’m drained and I’m often irritable and very little makes me smile. I feel hollow inside, but at the same time I want to throw up all gross sludge inside which is weighing me down. Sometimes it hurts so much I feel like ripping my hair and teeth out, like smashing my head against a hard surface, like screaming as loud as I can, like giving up. Instead I scratch, up and down my wrist. The stinging burning pain distracts me. As one pain camouflages another.

I feel sick. But many people can’t see it. I assume what they see is a fat brown girl resembling a tired cow who should be fitter and tougher as she is only young. The scars on my wrist seem to be the only physical manifestation of my illness. And I hide them. Like dark secrets that coyly comfort me, reminding me I’m not crazy and the pain is real. It all stems from the thoughts in my head. The uninterrupted monologue of self doubt, high expectations and disbelief in the state of the world. Half of my time is spent procrastinating due to an innate fear of not achieving perfection and the other half is spent berating myself for not using the opportunities I am so lucky to have. “You are so lucky. You have so much. Look around you. Think of all the people suffering in the world. You’re letting everybody down. You’re ridiculous and you look disgusting. There are people in the world starving and look at you. Someone else deserves my life, they would use it so much better. If only I could give it to them. One of the many people you hear about, the refugees fleeing war, the children suffering from hunger, the people who are capable of so much more.”

I search for more information. To keep up to date in the world of politics and pop culture. Thinking for hours on end about white supremacy, the lack of diversity in the media, global warming, the alt-right, natural disasters, terrorism, Trump, body image, rape, the victims and victors of the world. Thinking about how these bog problems that impact peoples every day lives. Where detention centres and inequality exist because of the lack of empathy people have. And how small I feel, how little I can help. How I feel somehow responsible and incomplete for not doing enough. I express these thoughts to some. I give advice to others I don’t take myself. “How you can only help others if you don’t help yourself first.” To take one day at a time. That you don’t have to be perfect. I’m also extremely jealous of the intellect of the people I interact with and then so critical of those i disagree with. Constantly in a state of confusion of how people act. But also angry at myself  for judging others when I am....well me.

I don’t sleep. Even at night when everyone is at rest, I don’t get to switch off. “Constantly blaming others for your own problems. There are people much worse off. You have this and this and this to do. You could be doing them now. When you wake up you should have a productive day and actually get something done. You should have done something today to help others. Why didn’t you do anything today? Why didn’t you do your uni work or clean your room. Look at this place. You are so lucky. You don’t deserve this. Why aren’t you better? Why does it take you so long to do something? Why are you so dumb?....Why does my heart hurt?”. When I do sleep its in short spurts with incredibly vivid dreams. Set in a variety of locations built so authentically they seem to trick me into thinking I’ve been there before and that those dreams are realities. Places you can trust but are laden with subliminal messages about the past day and the mistakes I made, my worst fears, bottled up feelings and played out confrontations of the past. However when I wake I consider the realities that i recently awoke from and am left with the overwhelming feeling these places do not exist and not matter much like real life.

Moreover, I am a burden on the people I know, making mistakes and taking up time and resources which could be used more efficiently. I have a sever lack of motivation and a relentless desire to be productive and help others. People who are in my life, who do nothing but support me, financially and emotionally. I know I’m letting them down. And this depression is making it harder for me to be good and helpful. I can’t kill myself as it would hurt too many others. The people i say are so important and I want to please so badly. So I live in a constant state of pain, dying and pretending to be alive just waiting for time to pass.