Before reading this: I don’t want to be a downer for those people who are enjoying Christmas, I really don’t and I probably wouldn’t read this if you are – I truly hope that everyone that can, has a wonderful Christmas. There’s no moral to this one- I’m just utterly desperate. So Trigger Warnings and unapologetic emotional-ness.
But right now I feel Shit. I’ve just had a panic attack because I couldn’t go to the Christmas Eve drinks with lovely family friends who purposely didn’t invite other people because they wanted me to come and knew I’d find that overwhelming. Why did I have to go and fuck everything up like usual? I don’t know what this is. I’ve been battling over the last few weeks with whether I’m actually ill at all or whether I’m faking it for attention because I’m just an awful person.
The truth is 3 nights ago I tried to kill myself again for the first time in at least 2 months and had to be restrained. I’ve also been self harming. I hate myself, I really do. I feel like a burden on all my friends and definitely all my family- I’m manipulative- I stop them from doing things they want. I’m selfish and make up symptoms, to pretend I’m ‘ill’. Yet everyone around me is saying it’s ok you ARE ill.This IS your illness, making you believe things that aren’t true. But how do I know that? How do I know I’m ill? And therefore somehow automatically brave for existing- I really don’t know if I am and it’s scaring me.
Last Christmas I was in hospital, the only one who didn’t get Christmas Eve leave on the unit. This Christmas, again, I’d really prefer it if I wasn’t alive. I was saying to myself maybe you don’t want to die maybe you just want to be in hospital but then I remembered I felt exactly the same way in hospital last year as well: miserable and desperate. This Stabbing pain in my stomach that makes me cry and cry, not be able to breathe because I’m crying so much. This feeling like you’re trapped in this world you don’t belong in, you don’t want to be in and others don’t want you in.
And why am I feeling like this? Partly, they say, because I have BPD & Depression but also because of this stupid fucking time of the year that becomes this huge, overhwhelming thing that I can’t handle. I can’t handle it that everyone is happy, and that by not being healthy and happy I’m letting everyone down. I can’t handle it that all the shops, cafes and services I usually rely on for support and escape are closed. I can’t handle that there are traditions we have to keep to, religious symbols everywhere of a god who abandoned me and presents that I’m meant to be happy receiving.
I try, I really do try. But I think my friends and family can see past it.
All I want for Christmas is to be free from this thing that is forcing me to feel this way and behave this way. All I want is to be able to wear short sleeves and try and use my DBT skills like it was any other normal time of the year. All I want is either to be well or dead. I can’t take this pressure. I want out. But I can’t- I can’t do that to my family, the professionals who’ve helped me and my friends who mean so much to me.
So I’m sorry if presents mean nothing to me. I don’t want them. I’m not worth it. I’m a horrible shit human being. And this time of year is cruel to those of us who aren’t celebrating abundance- whether it be spiritual, happiness, family, money, a home…It’s all too much.
This is why I hate Christmas.
All I want is help. For my brain to stop this.
More than Bah Humbug
This morning I was ok- feeling productive and happy
A rarity-for me
But Tonight loomed and tomorrow looms,
The day my family will realise what a massive burden I am
And I’ll reply with a smiley to my friend’s Christmas Texts
The day I’ll painstakingly open each present
My teeth pushed together- cheeks turning upwards
To say that I love them and am so incredibly grateful.
I joke around saying Buh Humbug
But it doesn’t quite cover it
Not this crushing feeling
Like the worlds closing in on you
And all you can do is try to breathe between the tears.
Not this guilty feeling
Where I know I’m ruining yet another celebration
For the family I love
Who support me each day.
Why I can’t I just give them 1 normal hour?
1 hour where they don’t have to walk in an see me trying to jump out the window
1 hour where they don’t come across the blood-stained bandages
1 hour where my scars and attempts don’t haunt them in their sleep
Why can’t I just give them 1 normal hour?
Because I’m mental.
And Christmas isn’t for people like me.