Please don’t be hurt. Please don’t blame yourself. This is not your fault. I just couldn’t take it anymore. The voices in my head, the emptiness in my heart, the darkness in my body. But I had everything, I know I did. A loving family, a bright future, a promising life.
There was just so much going on inside my head. I felt like I was 10 feet underwater with my feet tied to an anchor that was pulling me down, down, down. I knew I needed to find my way back to the surface but I couldn’t seem to untie myself. My willpower had reduced to nothingness.
You know, I was terrified of mirrors. Every time I looked into them, I felt like I was under a magnifying glass where every single one of my flaws was staring back at me, mocking me. I looked around and saw so much perfection, and my own imperfections made me feel so small. Like I could disappear into thin air and no one would’ve noticed because they didn’t understand, or care. Everyone thought it was easier to pretend I was still the same girl I used to be, when they all knew I wasn’t.
Sometimes, I tried to think back to the exact moment my depression became too heavy to bear and my anxiety became too prevalent to ignore because then I could’ve found a way to retain a tiny shred of who I used to be. Unfortunately, every time I did, I came up empty because it wasn’t a specific time or a certain moment. It was something that developed over time and got to a point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore. There was so much bottled up inside of me and I didn’t know how to deal with it.
Depression slipped into my system, and slowly, it got a little harder to wake up in the morning. I felt like I was moving, but not getting anywhere. Soon I started to feel numb, like nothing mattered in the world. I found that all the things I used to like doing, didn’t bring me joy anymore. Then suddenly I was sitting in my bedroom, alone, wondering how I got to such a dark, sad, empty place and I tried to find a way to make myself feel anything other than this overbearing numbness.
My anxiety came in small bursts. It started off small and barely noticeable, but built up overtime. One day, I was getting overly nervous and scared about a specific situation, but I didn’t think anything of it. Then sometime later, a similar situation occurred and that time, I was sitting on the bathroom floor trying to breathe, telling myself to stop crying. My chest tightened, my vision blurred, my hands and feet went numb and I couldn’t think straight.
In the end, all I was left with was the feeling of wanting it all to go away. But my mental illness was just like a layer of skin: I could never get rid of it.
I know I seemed fine, happy almost. But it was all fake, a simple act I put on each day. I know I should’ve told someone, I know I should’ve reached out for help. I just didn’t want to seem like a failure, I didn’t want people to think I was weak. I was put on a pedestal and I was scared to come down from it. It would have crushed my family to know I wasn’t an intelligent, confident young lady but rather an anxious, depressed freak. But it still isn’t anyone’s fault, it’s mine for caring more about how people thought of me than my own mental health. It just got to a point where there was no other option. Whether I was living or not, I was already gone. There was no soul, no life, left in me. I was just an empty body.
Goodbye.
Jessy
I'm so sorry
