Are you taking your pills?
So, I’m guessing that there is some merit to asking “have you taken your pills?” I’ve heard that a lot lately. Sadly, the answer is always the same. “No, I haven’t taken my pills lately, it’s been about two months since I ran out. My doctor didn’t refill my prescription.”
So, not calling the doctor is NOT helping me, at all. But I’m nervous, as I’ve explained to my friend last night:
“Of what? I’m not judging, I promise. I’m afraid too.”
“I’m afraid of people thinking that I am crazy. I’m afraid that if people knew what was going on in my mind that I would be locked away. I’m afraid of making the call…I just don’t want to be looked at as any less that what I am. But I look at myself. I know I need help.”
Anyhow, she was full of support and comfort. I told her that I have lied to Mom and Angel about the scratches on my arm. I felt like she became disappointed in me, but she said that she was more worried and concerned about me than anything.
I just feel like my best isn’t good enough. I told my mom the same thing when she was trying to calm down. She said something along the lines of all you can do is your best. But when your best doesn’t feel good enough, that kinda warps things. My mind tells me that I’m not good enough. And, honestly, I believe it. I look at everything that I could have accomplished, should have completed, where I should be. Then, look at where I am. I feel like nothing, a lot of the time. I know that I’m good for something. But I can’t see it.
My resident, we talk, and maybe we shouldn’t. But when there’s a voice that cares and an ear that listens, I’m thankful. She says that I’m special. I just haven’t found that out yet. She says that there’s a lot going for me, a lot going on in me, she knows it; we just haven’t made it that far, haven’t found it yet. She listened. And she asked me the same question that Mom and Angel asked me…Maybe they knew I was lying. Maybe they were just waiting for me to be ok enough to tell them.
I just don’t want to hurt anyone. I want to let people know that I’m not crazy, though I feel like I am. I’m NOT suicidal. But cutting helps. It’s a way for me to feel that I have some kind of control over myself. I was mad and I was hurt, and I’m tired of living in chaos. I needed control. (There’s going to be another post about this soon.)
I’m glad that I have friends who listen, I know that I’m not easy to deal with. So, for my friend that loves me and worries about me, I thank you. You really are a big help and I hope you know that.
I wish that more people understood. That there wasn’t a stigma when it came to mental health. It’s obviously more common than people think. There is a rather large percentage of Americans that deal with depression. Others that deal with anxiety. And others that deal with bipolar, schizophrenia, and much more. There is so much out there, I don’t understand why it’s still looked down upon.
When I mention my pills to certain family, they turn up their nose, roll their eyes. I can tell even just through their typing, what they are thinking. See, the tone changes. I’m not stupid, I’m just depressed. And yes, I did catch that tone change you did, and the rolling eyes.
Maybe I’m not weak. What if it is all chemical? I know that I certainly did not choose to be depressed.
Anyhow… I guess that’s it for now. I should probably get to bed and pray that tonight goes smoother.