At the worst
By Sophie Ann

There are so many things flying in my mind, crashing against my skull, creating a constant migraine of pain and exhaustion.  So many questions swaying on my shoulders, dragging me down lower and lower throughout the day.  So many voices telling me things that I believe and know to be true, when I’m at the worst, at my lowest point.

It’s consuming me

No-one actually cares about me, no-one actually gives a damn.  They don’t care if I’m stood there, or just sat inside sorting out someone else’s issue.  If I’m there to give advice and help them, then that’s good for them.  All I am is a toy, played with then dropped on the shelf and left for a while till someone takes a fancy and plays with my feelings, then puts me back again on the shelf, just to sit and take a long look at all the happy couples and friends laughing around, not caring where the toy had disappeared to.

It’s consuming me, and it doesn’t take a genius to know how hard I’m trying not to have a breakdown in the middle of school, I’m sure any fool could see it.  I’m at the worst, and I definitely know it.  I can’t control what I do or what I think.  I can’t control my moods or how I am.  I’m sorry to anyone who I put down, or make sad.  And I’m sorry to anyone I’m around, to anyone I hurt or ignore when I’m barricaded in by my sadness.  My emptiness.

When I’m at the worst

You know you’re at the worst when you have to physically drag yourself out of bed, while your brain is weighing you to the covers where no people can disturb your thoughts, like a sick bug, pulling you down and exhausting you.  Even eating half a slice of toast makes you feel sick, and your head pounds at you for eating the shit that makes you look so fat.

You feel an empty bubble around you, and even when you’re laughing and being ‘yourself’ around friends, you still hold back the urge to scream and shout at them, tell them that you know they don’t give a damn about you and that they don’t care, that you don’t trust them and that they just don’t make you feel wanted, that you feel unwanted compared to the pretty, popular girls that actually have mates that want to spend time with them, and not just be there out of pity for the selfish pathetic mess of human I have become.

Shaking with memories

You know you’re getting worse when you don’t want to leave the house, even to see friends, because you feel so scared of what they may think, or if you get an anxious wave of panic and you need to be alone, but not seem rude.  And then you can hardly compose yourself in a science lesson, or when a teacher is shouting at a student, saying they don’t care about them.  It makes you shake with memories and your mind turns with the past.

You know it’s at the worst when the simplest walk turns into a death thought, and the racing cars nearly hit your body, the subconscious steps that you take, the leading of the sadness to the other side.  Or when a simple routine chore of cleaning turns into a daydream of a slow, poisonous ending, a simple unknowing solution to me.  You know you’re dangerous when your mind is filled with the worst thoughts someone can have, every second of every day.

Happiness seems like a childish memory

Happiness seems like a childish memory, when all you feel now is a chain holding you, numb, underwater, suffocating you just enough that people can just see you breathing shallowly.  I know I’m getting worse, the thoughts, the wants, the needs to escape, the careless actions I take, the stupid things I do or nearly do, the pathetic thought that people could ever love someone like me.

I don’t know how long I can go on feeling like this.  Two long years. and who has helped?  The professionals do nothing at all.  Parents use it against you.  Friends don’t give care.  I’ve found walls are the best to talk to, because they actually listen.

You know what?  I had two amazing best mates.  I was so close to them and I felt so wanted around them.  But trust me to help them get together, and I’m so happy they’re happy.  And someone has become happier than ever.  But I’m back to being pushed out, third-wheeling and being pushed aside so they can walk together.  A couple and a loner.  Why does nothing like that ever happen for me?  I guess I’m at the end of people’s priorities, no surprise.

The lie

Oh, but don’t worry, ‘I’m fine, just tired’.  You know that common lie I tell about every suffering day.  But it’s not a ‘no sleep’ tired.  It’s an ‘I’m physically exhausted from life please push me off a cliff’ tired.  I just feel it’s so much easier than explaining all the infinite problems I have within my mind.  About the chemicals that turn my happiness into something horrible, even if it’s as happy as a clear sky.  So don’t ask me ever, to tell you how I am, because you’re just going to get the same answer.  Even if I’m rocking back and forth screaming, or trying not to cry, I’ll still say I’m just tired.

I give in.
I’m sorry.

Reproduced with permission, originally posted here

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