Death by mannequin… 

4/19/15 8:13PM

I haven’t written in my journal or blogged in days. I’ve had so much I wanted to share. I had so much I needed to release through my writing, but I couldn’t… This new medicine turned me into a zombie. It’s supposed to help with my depression, but it has actually been making me worse. I really had high expectations about having a psychiatrist and therapist; I thought they could fix me. Turns out no one can fix me, but me… Yet I’m so busy breaking myself down. I just want to be happy. I have been staying cooped up in my room for the past 5 days. I only leave for work or for an errand that I can no longer put off. I read and lie in my bed all day. I take sleeping pills before and after every nap, because I can’t bear being alone. I’m tired of being alone; I sleep until the day I have work. Ugh! I feel as though I have no one here. It’s as though I have no friends. Where has everyone been? Is my phone disconnected and I’m just unaware? I am terrible at relationships. It is very rare that people last in my life for years. I feel as though everyone abandons me. Something’s wrong with me. I guess I wouldn’t want to be with myself either. I need to talk to my psychiatrist about switching back to Lexapro; it helped me so much. I was on the right track and now I’m falling face forward towards rock bottom. Yesterday a mannequin fell at work and it slit my wrist. I thought it would have landed on my foot, but apparently it thought my life was just as pathetic and tried to end it for me. I hate to admit it, but I loved the feeling of the cut through my skin. For once, it wasn’t self-inflicted but I wish it was. I have such a desire to cut. I just yearn for the feeling of the blade to my skin. This new medicine has me so comatose, it’s as though I feel nothing but I want to feel that. I want to see that I am still here even when I don’t know why I am. It really irks my nerves when people tell me the depression is just in my head. That if I wanted to be happy then I would be. I’m the one keeping myself from having positive thoughts. That I rely too much on the medications when they don’t really do the job, it’s me that has to change. I can think about positive aspects of life, but it won’t make me any happier. I might smile for an instant, but it fades away quickly. I am currently reading the book This Much I Know Is True by Wally Lamb and there is an incident in the book that stood out to me. Dominick, the main character, was tired of putting up a fight and he just wanted to give up because he was worn out. He was fighting and fighting but making no progress. He laid in his hospital bed and planned his suicide. A few weeks later, he grabbed his pills and bottle of scotch as planned.. He wanted to see himself die so he looked in the mirror, but he couldn’t go through with it. He poured the pills down the sink. I relate to him, because there’s numerous times when I have thought of ways I would commit suicide but I know I could never actually go through with it. I am too afraid. There’s a very slight glimpse of hope within me that believes maybe one day, I will be cured.
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