I have been my own hero for some time now. I have fought to survive day in and day out.
I have not given into the voices and the dark temptations they bring.
There have been people to assist me along the way, and for that I am eternally grateful, but the ultimate truth in life is that the only one who can save you is yourself.
So I am here, I am fighting, and I shall continue to do so for the rest of my life.
My heart and my mind are conflicted with one another.
“Run away, girl, for you’re nothing but a burden.” the voices shout, over and over.
But my heart says the opposite. It tells me to choose life and to stay, to embrace what I’ve been given and that I am a gift.
Alas, it is the truth that the brain is the one calling the shots.
If I were one to listen to my brain, I would surely be dead by now. And that’s the sad truth of it.
My heart has done well by me, it has kept me alive and striving for anything good in life – but it is breaking under all the pressure of fighting the mind.
So what am I to do?
With dignity stripped entirely, I uttered the words I never thought would come out of my trembling mouth.
But there I was. Saying the worst of the worst, and my mind was just.. confused.
How could anyone break trust in such a way that it completely and utterly ruins another human being?
I didn’t think about revenge. I never thought about anything but the fact that my heart had been smashed into a million fucking sharp pieces and my brain had begun to play the tricks of PTSD on me.
I was just always trying to wrap my head around the whole situation.
But now.. things are different now.
I am not broken.
I am healing.
I am not broken.
I am shining.
I am not broken.
I am going to be okay.
Although I have been depressed for as long as I can possibly remember – I am finding fleeting moments of stability, and what I assume to be happiness.
I’ve never been a happy person. Too many mental illnesses colliding all at once, too much trauma, too many let downs in general.
So when these feelings come on, I feel pride, as well.
I have been through so much, and I have never really admitted that before for the sake of not wanting to be seen as an attention seeker. But it’s time to let go.
It’s time to embrace that my life is what it is. It may be messy, it may be downright sad a lot of the time, but that’s okay. Just like it’s okay to feel this happiness, even though I’m not too sure what that feeling means yet.
I realise that my heart is a lot more open than some others.
Trust me when I say that this is a fact, and what a painful realisation it is.
I can be at the lowest point, in my own personal hell, but I will still make time for other people.
Which, has seemingly, turned me into somewhat of a doormat.
I am walked all over and I am told that what I do is not good enough, and I don’t need to have that sort of negativity, when the voices are screaming the same damn thing at me every day.
So please spare me the bullshit, I have my own and no one else’s have to matter to me anymore.
My fists will no longer remain clenched,
there will be no more devilish thoughts of gruesome violence,
my mind will be at ease and my soul pure, once more.
I will no longer live on the edge.
I will not allow anger to control me.
The pill count is continually fluctuating;
much like my mood, it would appear.
It all started with one at 14 years of age. Xanax.
My madness worsened, and I was in a somewhat zombie like state when I was on my one drug.
Then came my diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, two years later.
I was just 16 then and I am 24 now, and let me tell you – I have lost count of how many drugs I have been on since being given my multiple diagnoses.
At one point, I was on 13 pills a night.
And it’s a feeling like no other to look down into the palm of your hand and see a multitude of drugs, sitting there waiting to be consumed.
Years later, and I’m on 8 pills per day now.
And it still fucking hurts to look at the amount that is there.