Wall

A brick wall pushes against my brain,

trying to keep me sane,

but in reality,

it’s trapping the helps and the whelps

and maybe I need them back.

If I have no tears or fears,

if I have no worries at all —

then what’s left to care about?

You only care when you feel bad,

and I just can’t feel sad.

It’s so heavy, against my mind,

and I can’t lift it —

I need a grenade.

Perhaps, then,

I’ll find a way

to feel again.

Let’s Be Honest

Let’s be honest.

I’m in a black hole

that’s sucking me in deeper,

and I’m trying to reach —

reach for the stars, as they say,

but I can never make it.

Let’s be honest.

I’ve been like this for a while,

sleep is my companion

and my worst enemy,

I don’t have the motivation

to get motivation,

I don’t have the aspiration

to get aspirations,

I don’t have the strength

to get strength.

Let’s be honest.

I’m sorry I can’t pull myself away,

from the same muddled day

I’ve been living for too long,

it’s a blurred mess.

Let’s be honest,

I’m depressed.

What My Depression Feels Like

I’ve been depressed for a long time, suffered from anxiety for most of that time too, though I think the depression started first. I wasn’t even a teenager when it started. I have been on medication for it since I was fifteen, and I’m currently trying to get it changed as I am now an adult and it’s really not working. Not so many years ago, I overdosed on iron pills and spent quite a few hours in A&E, but I had thrown up most of them already. This was my way to get away from toxicity by digesting toxicity. Not my best idea.

I usually talk about my anxiety on this blog. My anxiety is simpler than my depression, because I can understand it. I can understand why I have it and what factors contributed to me getting it. I can understand why I used to be depressed, but I can’t get why I still am.

I guess it’s because of expectations, and what everyone else is doing with their life… and the fact that I can’t just get up and do something. It’s not that simple. Depression is never that simple. I’m at home most days, lonely. I want to get out and do stuff, but I can’t. A heavy weight stops me from doing it.

I want to be distracted, to have a friend come over and distract me, but people that were once my friends are now further apart from me than ever. They’re moving on with their lives, going places. And I’m not. You can’t expect me to just get a job, or to just go to university. It’s not that simple, again. Autism and depression don’t mix. I was never good at interacting with people, especially strangers. I want to volunteer but my confidence isn’t very high. My anxiety also coincides with this. I just feel so alone about all this.

This is just how I am. I’m sad all the time, but I’m too exhausted to talk to someone, because my mouth won’t move. So I type.

Sylvia Plath, Mental Health, and Girls

This post is a combined post about mental health day (yesterday) and girl’s day (today). It’s talking about my all-time favourite poet: Sylvia Plath.

She was born in 1932 and died thirty years later in 1963. Why did she die at the age of thirty? Suicide. She had attempted suicide many times, but they failed. Eventually, she succeeded by carbon monoxide poisoning.

As she wrote in some of her many letters, she felt that she wouldn’t get a place at the top universities because of her suicidal background. She did eventually get a place at Cambridge, where she met her future husband, Ted Hughes, who was once the poet laureate.

She talked, in her letters, that girls being suicidal wasn’t taken seriously back then, and that it would even affect their chances in education and work. Her doctor cared deeply about her mental health, however, and had tried to get her admitted to hospital several times, but they would not take her. The system failed her because they didn’t care enough about her mental health. She was also subjected to electroconvulsive therapy when she was depressed, which is a really awful way to treat someone.

In one letter, she mentioned that two days before a miscarriage, her husband had beat her. Many blame Ted Hughes for her death, and some even vandalised her grave, getting rid of the surname ‘Hughes’ and replacing it with ‘Plath’. Her son also committed suicide in 2009.

Nowadays, mental health is taken more seriously, but a lot of girls are still subjected to judgement: “it’s just hormones”, “it will pass”, “you’re not depressed, just sad”, “you don’t seem it”, “this is a phase”. Sylvia Plath was failed, but she did so many beautiful poems that will always honour her memory; don’t let anyone else be failed. Just because they’re young, doesn’t mean it’s a phase, or hormones, or anything else. Even if it is, just take them seriously. Wiping them away like rain on your windscreen will cause them to isolate themselves and, eventually, they might have a similar fate to that of Sylvia. I love her writing so much but a lot of it is sad. She literally wrote about her emotions and she still didn’t get the care she needed.

This post was about girls, as it is girl’s day, but that doesn’t mean you should forget boys. They are taught to be strong pillars, but allow them to fall down. If you don’t, they might have the same fate as Sylvia Plath’s son, Nicholas.

A-Levels: Mental Health

I’ve been struggling with the stress of a-levels for a long time now and then I realised: my mental health should come first. Having suffered with depression and anxiety for a long time, I was back into a cycle I couldn’t get out of when I started my second year. The constant change of creative writing teacher certainly didn’t help. Now, I might only be doing one a-level soon. I know, I know, only one!? It’s because I’ve been having a lot of anxiety attacks recently and we’ve been talking to the college about the stress.

You guys have to remember that, although good grades would be nice, you shouldn’t let them be harmful to your mental health.You matter and you will get through this. I believe in you! However stressful a-levels are, they will be done one day. Just remember that. Especially if you have had mental health problems in the past, I would speak to people about what the best course of action is for you. They can help you by breaking the work down or referring you to counselling or whatever you need. Just reach out if it’s all getting too much. People do care.

🙂

Lia

Again?!

Today, I found out that yet another teacher has quit us, though this time it was after only one lesson (what a record!). When I messaged Rose to tell her of it, she didn’t believe me because it was so ridiculous. She’d been ill so hadn’t come in, thus was very unconvinced. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been messing around.

I used to be ashamed of my autism, upon my diagnosis, wanting to hide it and never telling anyone about it but, then, when I realised that teachers who knew about my condition started treating me differently… I felt like I didn’t want to be different, but that I had to be. I wasn’t like everyone else and I had to accept that. So, now that I’ve accepted my diagnosis, I understand what aspects of it affect me. Change is a big one, and I’ve already done a post on it which you can find here. After struggling with so many teachers leaving, I was told that this one would stay. Nope.

It’s just really upsetting for me and I almost want to just drop out but I know that my parents would get a fine if I did, so I can’t. I have to put up with it. This isn’t something anyone should have to go through (especially when the college gets Ofsted outstanding!!!), but it is especially difficult for people with my condition and I am just not gonna do well this year at all.

I’ve been so sad today and they don’t seem to see how this affects my mental state as well as my education. It’s honestly ridiculous and I wish I could just have not done Creative Writing (my dream course) at all because, although I love writing, this course is so messed up that it’s just destroying me, to be honest. The constant change of teachers, the teachers who we do have not knowing anything, I just can’t deal with it. I wish I could but I wasn’t built like that. This just sucks.

How do you deal with difficult circumstances? Do you get out the other end?

Lia

After post P.S: Why do I need to approve me linking to my own posts?! xD

Self-harm

I understand that this is a really sensitive subject, but I want this blog to be as honest as possible, and, to do that, I need to share my experiences.

I have self-harmed since the age of twelve and still do, though not as regularly as I used to. At first, it was just sharp rocks that were at my school underneath the trees; the sharpest I could find weren’t that sharp, either. But I liked them because I could hurt myself without marks being left behind. My pastoral carer at the school suspected me of self-harm and one time he made me lift my sleeves. However, because of the instrument I used, he couldn’t find much proof, so couldn’t help me. I didn’t want to be helped. I liked the pain.

But the rocks didn’t give me enough pain so I turned to nail scissors. Sharp, small, easy. They were amazing for giving me the satisfaction whilst leaving clean cuts, which had very minimal scarring. I have cats too, so any leftover marks could have just been the cat, or so I said. Eventually, I decided that nail scissors weren’t enough, so I turned to the sharpest knife I could find. And God, did it leave scars.

Once my parents found out, they removed everything visible from my room but they didn’t realise that you can use anything to self-harm. Anything. Your own finger-nails, an elastic band (I used to wrap them several times around my fingers until the circulation was cut off and they were really sore), really just anything. Sometimes I’d self-harm in the way of making myself vomit and I even told people but, because I was of normal weight, they let me go (and probably continue doing it). It didn’t matter that stuff was taken away from me; I didn’t care. I would find a way.

I tend to do it in an irrational moment of madness when my social fears get so bad that I feel I need pain to distract myself from them. Sometimes, I just want the world to end, because I can’t deal with my emotions, and when the world continues to thrive, I cut. Now, it is quite irregular, sometimes being every day, other times I won’t do it for a month. Really, my mood is like a see-saw. I can be so happy and then something happens that makes my emotions go anti-clockwise and I’m sad. It’s a kind of sadness where you want to die but you don’t want to do it to yourself because then your family will be asking all kinds of questions; it’s the kind where you just wish someone would do it for you. The happiness I feel, though, is because of my loving family and pets and, occasionally, friends, though I don’t have many. The sadness I feel is because of everything else. It all adds up. One small thing at a time then another thing and a bigger thing and a massive thing and I’m self-harming.

At the moment, I’m undergoing a lot of stress on my autism at college, because people with autism can sometimes struggle with change and I’ve had so much change recently. FYI: I have had five lecturers for my creative writing course in the just-over-a-year I’ve been there. The classes were also merged. It has been very hard for me. As well as this, I don’t find anyone who I particularly bond with at college; no one who understands me. My main friends aren’t at my college and they’re amazing, but I can’t see them very often.
When I was twelve, something bad happened to me, which I won’t go into detail about, but basically we’re also studying this book in English, and I really don’t want to study it because I’ve heard what the content is from someone who’s already read it and it could be triggering to me.

Basically, I’m trying my hardest to stay clean, but there are little events at the moment that are trying to push me to do it. I’ve emailed my lecturer but she just said “read through it” — and that’s exactly what I don’t want to do, in case I get triggered.

Unfortunately, I feel deeply misunderstood in a lot of areas of my life, and I feel like soon another moment of irrational thinking could turn into some more scars. I hope not but I feel like this desire to inflict pain on myself to distract from how I feel will always be here. It’s been here for five years; it’s not going away soon.

I hope you understand this post and I’m sorry if you’ve had experiences with self-harm. Just to let you know, I’m here for you.

Lia

Bear [Poem]

A bear, glaring at my movement,
deciding where to go,
what part of me to eat first;
my mouth feels dry, thirsty,
my heart feels unused, rusty,
and my hands become a ball
and the bear charges —
misses by a margin,
and again again again
and eventually,
it doesn’t miss
and I am crushed
by its killing kiss.