25/9/17

writing would insinuate that i have some kind of idea as to what i am writing, but the thing is, i don't.

i have realised for every thought in my brain there are five other thoughts to explain it. five other explanations for every single thing. 

it's very confusing.

so i got sectioned today and honestly i could have avoided it. i could have just told them i'd work with them in the community, give them the medication i have been stashing and they could have gone on their merry way. 

but i couldn't and they quite rightly said that if i can't engage there was no point me seeing them. it wasn't that i couldn't engage, in my head i was engaging. 

i can't and won't let myself be fooled again. 

one small person desperately begging to be acknowledged, one larger person telling them 'no, not this time'. 

now i worry that dignitas won't see me because i got sectioned. but i figured that is okay, because it's only a section two and i can be very selective with what medical information i send them. 

i should be at home now, dying. i think i would have done it sooner if only the codeine wasn't mixed with paracetamollllll. 

anyway, last night this voice spoke to me, she sounded so young and timid and she asked me

"where is sophie?" 

"i miss her"

and i couldn't answer that because the person she was referring to wasn't me. 

the staff have kept me on eyesight. i didn't say i wanted to be, nor did i communicate anything that would suggest they should. i was just honest.

they keep staring at me, what are they staring at? where is sophie?

i miss her

thye keep telling me to go to bed but there is something i am looking for first.

the worms stopped moving & the coral reef in the garden went. 

the more i think about it, the more sad i am. not in an intense 'i am going to fling myself from a building immediately' kind of way, but that i have looked at the email from dignitas sat in my inbox for a couple days umming and ahhing over what to do and tonight i decided to sign the document to be a member.

i do what i'm supposed to, i keep up appearances as i was always taught to. the same way you'd sign your name on the dotted line without really knowing what the terms and conditions say because it'll get you out of whatever situation you're in quicker, i say and act as i am supposed to to ease the discomfort felt by those around me (and probably to avoid feeling vulnerable). maybe this was always part of my role as The Abused Child™, managing those around me's emotions by suppressing my own needs. 

outwardly i'm functioning, inwardly i know i just dodged a hospital admission last week and i know i've stopped looking when i cross the road, again.

people want me to be okay - and so i am.

but let's be honest, it's a lot easier being 'okay' and 'getting over it' in a society that demonises people with mental health conditions more complex than depression or anxiety. the idea of starting uni as 'the mental one' really doesn't appeal and so i push myself to say and do the things expected of me so i can pass as normal and try to dodge the stigma that being mentally ill comes with.

i walked on to uni today, not excited, just numb. doing what i'm supposed to. freshers events start tonight and i'm sat staring at my bed wondering what time is acceptable to crawl into it, wanting never to emerge again. alas i will, i'll get up tomorrow and do everything i'm supposed to and act as if everything is fine. i'm a really good actress.