Everybody has a story. It’s just never is as straight forward as that. This is my personal feelings towards mental health and the perception behind it.
Mental illness and me: An insight to the crazy account of somebody suffering with Mental Health problems.
Suffering from a mental illness is a feeling of sheer hell, punishment and depression.
It’s the thought in knowing that for every split second of happiness you find there will be that minute, that hour, that day, that month, that year or even a whole lifetime of misery accompanying the happiness keeping you captive as a prisoner inside your own mind.
That’s what happens. You begin to forget everything that is good about your life and you ignore everything that makes you happy. You hold onto the misery, the anger, the brokenness and the loneliness your life entails because being miserable and heartbroken is only thing that your life equates to now, and what it will ever equate to. In the end, it’s better feeling empty than not to feel anything at all.
The only thing keeping you alive is the utter temptation and desperation to revive the positives which you wish to relive and dream of.
Having a mental illness can make you feel so weak and empty you begin to experience a sense of coldness, tiredness and exhaustion becoming so run down and pale you start to resemble a dove.
A contradiction, I know. For example how can something that represents peace and hope have any relevance to somebody suffering with depression? Truth is, it can’t. A dove is a work of nature so alluring it is truly a sight of beauty, but depression is a treacherous illness which only allures dark thoughts and emptiness.
It’s so much easier pushing away the truth once being diagnosed with such a cruel illness, through different coping mechanisms such as occupying yourself through certain hobbies with the intentions of putting your mind at ease, pushing away your dark thoughts; you might do it through writing, reading or singing. Others do it through drinking, self-harm or dosing themselves with stress relievers. Anything really that can distract your mind away from the true obsession of misery and isolation.
You will mostly spend your nights alone, sitting and staring at nothing. Completing mindless tasks over and over as if they have any sort of importance, some sort of relevance to your life, when really you are resolving something that is broken in the attempt to mend a hole that will never be filled.
Mental illness will consume any self-worth that you exhibit inside your body like a flesh eating piranha. You’ll be too scared to seek support and ask for help until it’s too late. As days and days pass somebody will notice your slow meticulous self-destruction.
Then one day you start to feel comfortable and in control of the situation as you begin to reflect on the positives. I mean, it won’t always be so bad. Some days you will feel healthier just as you used to experience during your prime. You may begin to walk tall with your chin held high for one day or often on occasions feel a glint of hope is just around the corner which counters the darkness as the positives begin to show signs that you are getting better and you will have the strength to contest this illness.
Then one-minute things will go wrong, then things will go from bad to worse and you’ll fall apart all over again. And your growing speculation and suspicion about how stupid you were for even considering that things could get better and there was any hope for your revival in this handicapped illness of unavoidable depression.
Luckily there is a way forward, no matter how hard you struggle there is always help on offer, with the amount of support avaliable I am now happy and healthy but everybody has a story.
So that’s my personal journey what’s yours?