This is going to be a personal post. To some people this would be a bad idea but there’s only so much writing in a “diary” you can do before you want others to acknowledge your pain. Initially I wanted this blog to be my ‘happy place’ but after the events in my life I do not know where my happy place is. I honestly don’t know where my place in this world is anymore and that partly scares me.
Thursday night I hit rock bottom. Again. In a cycle that hasn’t had an ending for the past five or six years and one that I struggle to break free from. A self destructive pattern that firstly began with sex. Yup, the big S-E-X. Well, when you’re 15 and full of raging hormones that feels like the only thing to stick in your mind. I wish it hadn’t. I wish I had decided not to be with this guy; I wish I had seen his manipulative emotional abuse; I wish I had seen that he didn’t actually care and that I was more of a “conquest” than anything else. Hindsight is a beautiful sense.
However, sometimes hindsight doesn’t prevent from creating the same mistakes repeatedly. Nor does it stop you from branching out those feelings of hurt and betrayal into other self destructive behaviours. In secondary school because I was the “dirty goff grunger” fellow students assumed that I self harmed and would bring the subject up at inappropriate times. The hilarious part is that I didn’t harm then. In fact I would tell myself that if I did, I would be following the stereotype that all alternative people have depression or an issue with harm. I would laugh it off. For years I denied that I had a problem with bullying or self esteem or depression. No matter how many times suicidal thoughts popped into my head I told myself this was normal.
Who’d have thought that five years down the line that I would be cutting.
Who’d have thought that three years down the line I would have a love/hate relationship with alcohol because it would numb me out until I cried.
Who’d have thought that telling yourself that you don’t have depression or an eating disorder or a distorted body image was much more damaging than initially thought.
Now don’t get me wrong. I do have friends and family that tell me they love me and that I deserve happiness. But when you are subconsciously switched onto self destruct mode, it’s very difficult to see anything past that. Medication isn’t a magic pill that “fixes” you. Therapy only truly takes affect in the long term and only if you stick at it. My personal mental health issues are like being behind a glass wall. You can see the world and the way to get better but that barrier is still there and makes you feel more removed the closer you get to it. In a cruel twist though, I am a stupidly deeply sensitive person. The smallest amount of affection or attention gets me hooked to that person. The smallest piece of appreciation shown and I’m addicted. I’m compassionate, desperate to be loved and that’s my ultimate weakness.
And the fucking hilarious part? Those people that I care for (that show me affection through sex or meaningless words) do not give two shits about me. Once they have what they set out to get from me, off they run. As if I don’t have an opinion as to how I want to be treated. But then when I’m on self destruct and drinking and cutting, these are the people that turn around and tell me how stupid I’m being. That I shouldn’t be hurting myself. That I am more than the disease in my head. Yet they don’t seem to grasp how their actions have damaged me.
On the outside I am a 21 year old adult woman. Mentally on the inside I am still the 6 year old girl who didn’t understand why she didn’t have friends but wanted to be wanted.
I am a creative person. The only problem is that my artwork has always been related to pain and the obscurity of suffering or the evils behind death. My second year of A Level art project focused on deformed pigeons and how people actively go out of their way to hurt these creatures. My Foundation Diploma project focused on whether there is a difference between serial killers and soldiers; why is one held in high regard when both of them can easily take a human life, innocent or not? Unfortunately I only see the world through cynical cracked glasses.
If you managed to read all of this, I honestly am proud of you for listening to my ramblings. I hope you can take some things on board but PLEASE REMEMBER: everyone’s mental struggles are different. The behaviours may be similar but the reason behind them can be varied across the spectrum.
To friends and family, I love you all.
To people who have read this and believe they may have been indirected, talk to me. Tell me why. Maybe now you will understand much more about me and why I do what I do.
The Struggling Artist 