I meant to move out of my house and move in with my mom… Atleast till this suicidal depression passes. I’m back on therapy and medication so I’m hoping to recover soon. But now I’ve decided not to.
I’ve realised that what my family is capable of and want to do is not serving the purpose that I need. So living with them expecting more and getting disappointed will not only add to how I’m already feeling but also spoil the relationship we currently share.
So disappointing or not, I shall create a family of my own. Friends I love and cherish enough to be family. Ofcourse when I did that, life decided to take them away from me by death. Since everything we were capable of fighting against.
So… In a couple of days I’ll be moving back home from mom’s place where I’ve temporarily set up tent. Will need all the strength and support I can get to snap out of my laziness. To take care of myself. To be safe. To do the things I want to do. To live.
What do you do when your whole family is dysfunctional? Maybe not diagnosed because unlike you they are functional productive over achieving members of society… But who do you turn to when you are broken and have no where to go?
Through weeks of sleeplessness… Baby, where did you sleep last night?
I can almost feel what Kurt went through before killing himself. I also understand why he did that one last show.
“Even I have a problem talking to people. But I don’t have a choice, so I just buck up and do it.” She said.
Am I not ‘bucking up’ and doing things because I have the convenient excuse of being unwell? Many people tend to use their condition as an excuse to not do enough… My psychiatrist told me. Am I one of those many people?
Humans by nature are survivors, right? So if left to my own devices, wouldn’t I figure some way out to survive? Why then am I depending on my family again? Is it because I have the option to? Would I be better off without the option then?
To be or not to be. 🙂
I deserve better, he said.
But don’t you love me, I pleaded
Maybe. But what do I get? He asked
Me. I wanted to say. But if I’m not good enough… Then what good does that do, right?
Will I ever be good enough? Won’t everyone deserve better? Better than a bipolar, emotional, dysfunctional mess that I am.
It didn’t matter that he pushed me emotionally to deal with my baggage till I broke. Didn’t matter that after coping with all that and my sexual abuse alone, I returned to Bangalore and him in Jan to start living when shit hit the roof. Pregnancy. Abortion. Cat died. Best friend died. Uncle died. Doesn’t matter. Without meds or therapy I crashed and went into silence. And that’s it. He had enough. He deserves better.
What about me? What do I deserve?
What do I do to keep myself from killing myself? I asked for help. Told everyone I know I want help. I went to a psychiatrist. Have an appointment with a psychologist for next week. I’m back on meds but the depression isn’t going. I want it to go. Please make it go. I don’t want to die. But I will kill myself. Can somebody help me? Please. What can I do? My boy friend broke up with me. So I don’t have him either to call. But he knows. Everyone in my life knows that I’m asking for help. I look normal or noone is taking it seriously I think. I’m going mad. Please help.
I returned to Bangalore to complete food poisoning. Recovered in a few days. Kept spirits high.
Adopted 2 amazing kittens. Most loved feeling ever. For 2 weeks. Boochi and Bubbles.
Bubbles succumbed to ill health and passed away.
Realised I’m pregnant. Over a month. Thrilled.
Boochi fell ill. Admitted.
Boochi passes away in my lap. I made the call to end her misery while she pooped coagulated blood.
I return home. Kept spirits high. Fighting with life.
C, cafe owner meets with accident and dies.
I give up! Fuck this year. End it already. Please.
Ten days since my last post. Ten days and each day was longer than a year.
How I’m still alive and functional I’m not very sure. I know that I am. Alive and functional.
I’m proud of myself for it. For all this.