Existing

(TW: description of hospital memories, mental illness and suicidal acts) The title of this blog is existing, that does not mean I’m going to post a long existential paragraph musing on the often depressing subjects of life and breath and death. It will, however, state repetitively that I am trying my best and that is enough- because that is the line I have to drill into my head over and over. I am trying my best- and that is enough.

My current existence is hard. No sugar-coating, fancy wording or waffled underplaying. Its plain hard. I read something the other day that made me chuckle for a good half hour, it simply stated ‘Some days you win and some days you get your soul pureed and served to you in a melancholy milkshake.’ Ugh what fantastic, humorous hyperbole that pretty much sums everything up. I am currently struggling to sleep and then get up for sixth form where  most people’s worlds seem to revolve around university applications and essays, rather than the sun. Interspersing this with occasional secret visits to A&E due to serious SH, constant shuttling to hospital for therapy, treatment and transfer assessments where they ask you questions like ‘do you feel like you’re life is and always will be useless- yes or no?’ or ‘do you like to torture people or animals?’ and failed attempts to regulate my extreme mood swings from manic to suicidal to terrified when disassociating and feeling like I’m utterly unreal- it’s tiring. I feel like I’m not coping and the dream of hibernating for a few years seems to be getting clearer and shinier.

That said someone on Twitter posted something that reminded me of something again. ‘No matter how bad I felt today I’m happier now than I was back then. Tomorrow will be different and I’m open to improvements.’

A few months ago I was relying wholly on others just to keep me alive. Those dreadful nights. The night where I escaped from a waiting room and had to pulled screaming and crying from the centre of a busy road which I’d walked right into without looking in the hope of being hit. The night before my second admission being restrained by 4 police and 2 paramedics to take me to A&E where I was watched by a suspicious security guard and preached to by an African nurse who thought I was possessed for hours before they could find a psychiatric bed for me. Feeling completely out of control of my own life-believing that God had told me it was my time to die whilst medical professionals whispered around me constantly. And Seeing my good friend jabbed in the bum with sedatives whilst being held down by 8 people, screaming that she couldn’t take this life anymore. These are a few of the terrible memories from the last year that cannot really be explained to someone who’s never experienced similar. These are also reminders that no matter how much I’m struggling- I’m a step forward from where I was before. I’m trying my best- and that is enough. I’m trying my best- and that is enough. I’m trying my best- and that is enough. You’re trying you’re best- and that is enough.

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