CW: Therapy, suicide, depression, anxiety
Hello you wonderful human being.
I miss these emails.
I haven't written one in a while, not because things have been going well, but because they've been so terrible and I tend to not reach out when things are bad. I'm also mindful you're also going through a testing time and I wasn't sure if me sending this would be triggering since we tend to have parallels with our struggles.
If you are feeling particularly vulnerable then feel free to stop reading at this point. I've been in a dark hole lately and I want you to keep yourself safe if reading something about someone else's terrible mental state can bring you down.
Therapy has been going okay. For the most part. I had struggled with it for a bit, mainly because my therapist is white and so I naturally adopted my "You don't understand because you're white" attitude, but I think the struggle came down to me feeling trapped. Trapped in the room. Trapped by the contract. My words trapped in my mouth.
Word of the day: trapped.
I told my therapist (let's call her Jo) about this, and she said I could leave at any time. After this, our dynamic shifted a bit. I became softer with her, the room felt more spacious and I felt like I could finally speak. I didn't feel as trapped. In the last two sessions I filled the room with my voice and it felt liberating. But generally, my mental health is at a very low point.
I think I've always had those nagging "fuck, I wanna die" thoughts in the back of my mind.
Kind of like an annoying little fucking squirrel on my shoulder just screaming into my ear, but it's always been like background noise. But recently it's been less of a voice and more of a desperate feeling. I told my therapist on Wednesday that I want to kill myself and that I research ways to do it. Telling her wasn't a relief. I think I waited too long. Kind of like asking someone's opinion after you've already made a decision. Anyway, she gave me some contact details, said I could call her any time etc. But I won't of course. Once I cross that line, boundaries will just fly out the window and I'll be calling her at 3am for banter. I am terrible at boundaries. Do you ever fancy your therapist? I'm terrible. I hate her. Actually I don't know. She's kind of like a mum. I am so weird right now.
I have been thinking recently that I need to cry in front of people. It's something I did a few times (by accident) in school, but as an adult I have never cried in front of anyone or over the phone to anyone. It makes me angry. I feel ashamed. I feel unlovable and messy and lost. I don't like the involuntary noises I make. The way my words get all muffled up. I hate it. But that's why I think I need to do it. I want to cry over the phone to a friend. I want to cry in someone's arms. I want to cry in therapy. And I want someone to tell me that they still love me while I'm in that state. Fuck. I want that so bad.
I think I'm going to take some time off work. I'm scared that having all that free time will mean more time crying in bed, but we'll see what happens. I don't feel real.
I feel like I'm writing a personalised novel for you. I hope it's entertaining.
Mate. What a mess. What a goddamn mess.
I might lose my job. My mental health has made it difficult for me to carry out my job for months now and they've basically said if I don't fix up I'll lose it.
Life at home is still shit.
I can't do friendships. They're too triggering. Every time I get close to someone, I start remembering a past toxic friend and project her onto my lovely new friends.
I want to be full of love and life and joy, but I feel like I'm full of shit.
This is Instagram worthy. I should write a book where I just complain. I might blog this.
I honestly just want to get high and play Street Fighter. Or Tekken.
I love you mate. I hope you're okay.
What a bloody mess.