The sinking lifeboat pt1

Due to nature of my material. I advise against sensitive readers reading it. Also advise against anyone who is stressing and depressing reading it. Also if you’ve got other mental illnesses don’t. Wait I just disqualified everyone, including myself. So never mind carry on as you were.

We did a series on addiction and I combed through my life trying to find mine. Everything to me has always been so fleeting. Even love and emotions. I’ve never felt that kind of attraction consistently for anything or anyone in my life. Which is weird because someone will tell you my first love is writing, but I abandon even that bed. My addiction wasn’t sex or porn or drugs or alcohol. I was addicted to wanting to die. So here’s a little recap.

I’m not sure when how or why I got to be so sad and so miserable,but I was, am, well it depends on which day of which week you meet me. When I was sixteen I grabbed a handful of pills and chugged them down my throat. In fact I was fifteen, actually it was January of my sixteenth birthday. Must have swallowed twelve or thirteen of them. And I remember how they got caught in my throat and wouldn’t go down no matter what I did. And I remember the bitter aftertaste and the smell. Sure enough after a few minutes the sickness kicked in. I got sick, feverish. I was throwing up felt like my insides were in knots. I remember getting so ill that each time the car moved I had to stick my head out the window and vomit my guts out. I was in the hospital for nearly two weeks or so and they never got to the bottom of it. So I guess this is the first time they’ll piece it together.

Fast forward exactly one year later. Same situation and the year after that and the year after that. I’m grateful my skin doesn’t scar easy because if it did. Yikes. I’ve burnt myself, I’ve cut myself I’ve scrapped myself till I bled. I’ve banged my head on walls I’ve bit myself till I drew blood. But if you ask anyone who knows me they’ll tell you I might be slightly moody but I’m the life of the party. Which is so ironic because deep down I’ve always wanted to go by unnoticed and never have to fake smiles or say I’m okay. Yet somehow I’ve lived my life saying I burnt myself cooking or some stupid stuff like that.

That wasn’t the saddest part. The saddest part was I was so addicted to self harming but nobody ever even noticed. Not my friends not my family. Nobody.
Hear me clearly I don’t feel mad at them. But I’m just saying. Nobody noticed the cuts or the rope burns around my neck. Either I became an exceptional liar and if I did at this point I deserve a job with the spy agency or people just never checked on me.

This was my addiction. A little everyday. So that when I cried I felt less crazy because only crazy people cry when they aren’t hurt. I’d hurt myself and torture myself so I didn’t feel crazy when the emotional unwellness drove me to tears. Imagine the pain of being in pain and then having to justify your pain before anyone could acknowledge it. Don’t get me wrong it’s not pity I want. I don’t want anyone to feel they owe me anything for never realizing any of this was happening.

I just wanted everyone to know, the lifeboat was sinking while they were all on it…

No one said go gallivanting, a text can be enough

#Normalize checking on people

#Always be gentle, you don’t know what they’re going through

#Genuine care can save a life

#Love can heal the world