I’ve decided to make this a public post, for the sake of raising more awareness on how damaging poor mental health can be to someone. If you find any of it distressing, please forgive me, and if you are open to talking please comment. The hardest thing about mental illness is that it’s incredibly difficult to communicate, and I believe we can only get better at this by trying; if you have any thoughts or feelings on this, I’d love to hear from you.
This post is about hope, or more, me trying for hope. I haven’t been feeling very hopeful at all these last few weeks, but I’m trying now to find more pieces to what feels like a very messy head.
To get the bad stuff over with: I’ve been paranoid, to the point I’ve isolated myself from everyone and given up on the thought that I’m not perceived as some kind of freak; I’ve only thought about negatives and dwindled in a cycle of self-loathing, while the world moves on. I’ve shunned anyone who has told me that if I want to talk, they’re there for me, because I wouldn’t know where to begin and I struggle to get past the thought that there isn’t a person worth talking to behind these eyes.
I like the idea of the heart being a bond between others, but if anything I’ve been running away from my own heart, scared by the thought of feeling more alone than I already do. I haven’t enjoyed much these last few weeks, and I have to remind myself to eat and get outside to breath fresh air.
As I said, though, this post is about hope. I’m trying to find peace, however that comes, by doing the little things right again. I rearranged my bedroom, I bought some new clothes, and I picked up my guitar for the first time in months, because I never used to worry what I was going to play. Things I never used to worry about that I stopped doing, basically. And while I can’t face trying to make amends with everyone I tried to hide from, I’m here talking on the blog I started with my best friend many years ago.
I always used to be scared of people, because since as long ago as I can remember I’ve struggled to relax when I’m around lots of people. I tended to play out adventures in my own head growing up. I taught myself to read and draw and play music and play videogames and write fiction in my spare time, because through those outlets I didn’t feel exposed or out of breath, and eventually people began to talk to me about these things I enjoyed doing. I learnt to get used to other people and talk back, but it’s never been easy. When my mood drops, I hide.
Except I’ve never been able to hide from HH. Soppy as it is, we promised each other that we would always listen if the other had something to say, and even when I’ve tried to reject him he’s stuck by me- I can condemn myself all I want, but I’ve never been able to entirely give up on HH. I’m not sure what that says about either of us. We made a promise, I think because we felt that’s what friends should do, and for my part the conversations we end up having are still something very much worth sticking around for.
It’s easy to think that everyone else has it easier when you’re struggling alone. No one is perfect, and no one has all the answers, no matter how much they might try to convince you. We are just as stupid as everyone else; just as capable, just as endearing, just as easy to break or to trust.
What we decide is what we do with that. For me, I’m trying to live happy again, because I hit a dead end living alone. I’m trying to be W again. Being W worked, mostly.
It’s worth a shot. Stay tuned.