When premenstrual tension kick-starts anxiety and depression

I’ve been particularly angry today for no reason.

I put it down to PMT, premenstrual tension.

Something men with depression and anxiety don’t have to deal with. How lovely for them.

Anyway, I was speaking to my mother about having a heart to heart with my cousin, who is just a few months younger than me, and who left work because life got too difficult for her.

Well, I compared her situation to mine, and my mother said: “well, she’s worse than you”

I just thought, well there you have it. Yeah, she’s worse than me, because while she has taken two years off work and stressful life events, I’ve hauled myself back into the office after 11 weeks because we have no money. And I make myself run errands, like shop for food.

But yeah, she’s worse than me, because while she may have contemplated suicide, I think about it every day. And I am seriously considering it.

But yeah, she’s worse than me, because whilst she might have had a good childhood, I spent my years anxious out of my brain.

But she’s worse than me. I don’t want to work tomorrow. I don’t feel like I can face it. I cant face the stresses of work, the responsibilities, the difficulty in getting up in the morning. The difficulty of spending hours of your life holed up in an office. Either that, or hours of your life doing fuck all inside your house. Good choices.

I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t even want to leave my room at this point. My PMT just comes into my life and says, hey remember that depression and anxiety your trying to fight every day of your fucking life and you’ve been doing okay going to and from work and with life in general? Yeah well, here’s a bit of a kick-start. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES!?

So, I think I’m just gonna fuck it and not go to work. Whatever, she’s worse than me.

I don’t want to live in this world anymore

I don’t want to live in this world anymore,

If I’m a woman I’m obviously a whore.

If I’m a daughter I belong to a man,

And if I’m getting older only marriage is my plan

I’ve tried and failed to be worthy of air,

Suffocating whilst people don’t care.

I don’t know how to tell you, that I’m losing my will.

The voice inside me tells me that I’m ill.

I don’t know how to say I don’t want to live,

Or that I have nothing left to give.

I am truly exhausted I’m sorry to say,

Trying to live until today.

I’m ending my life, and I’m sorry I must.

Though I hope the world I leave will turn fair and just.

I find no point in continuing to breathe,

And if there’s a God he’ll know there’s no need.

For in my mind I know I’m already dead,

My wishes unfulfilled, these fires left unfed.

Look, I’ll be honest with you I have tried,

But in the end these tears I’ve cried,

Would make you an ocean, or a raging sea.

The same I must take refuge in if I’m to be free.

There’s no point to me, don’t you see?

The sea is calling, it calls to me.

 

(A poem by me.)

I grieve, but not because of death

Is it possible to grieve without death?

To grieve is to mourn a loss. A loss so great that it hurts every day.

Today, after having cried so hard last night before bed that my blood vessels burst in my face, and after having cried again this morning after pushing myself to go running in the woods (the only thing that makes me feel like I’m moving forward) I talked to myself about what I am grieving over.

I listed all of the things I am mourning – and in most cases they are not losses in themselves. They are a grief for what could have been; not what once was. If you catch my drift.

I tried to give myself therapy, by asking that same little girl inside of me, the one so humiliated, and that same woman that I was ten years ago, the one so degraded from then up till this very day, to feel comforted because I was here. The older me, the learned me, the experienced and knowledgeable me. I’m here, and I’m proud of me.

But that only works to some degree. I’m a writer. That’s what I did for work, that’s what I have done since I was a child. Dear reader, I CANNOT WRITE.

I spend my days eating too much, watching films and TV. And spending money I don’t have. The only things I do of any significance towards my supposed recovery are running and swimming. I guess that’s something. Some of the time I am okay, most of the time I present to my family and friends as okay. But I am not.

Yet, I know that doing nothing and spending time at home, after quitting my job, is supposed to be helping me get over my grief. So that I can live some sort of life.

But I don’t seem to be healing. Or maybe I am, and I just don’t know it.

The fact remains I am grieving now, more than I have ever grieved since I was a child.

And the only death involved in this griefpexels-photo-302804.jpeg will surely be mine.

 

As someone considering suicide, here is what people should know

I don’t want to feel this way.

I feel pity for myself. I feel sorry.

All I do is eat, cry, sleep and repeat. Sometimes I’ll occupy myself. I love running and I can’t even run properly because I’m always crying. It kinda makes it hard to breathe.

I’m so tired of this life. It sounds like such a cliche, but it’s true.

You know what I think about as I lie here and cry myself to an early grave?

That maybe, just maybe someone will come to save me. But it never happens.

I keep thinking about the previous men in my life. The ones who were supposed to love me. And I keep wondering whether they feel any remorse for hurting me.

The worst thing is I don’t want to feel this way. I want to be normal and get on with my life. But, since I’ve been suffering with severe depression and anxiety since I was a child, with no help whatsoever, I feel so tired now it’s like I can’t even contemplate a normal life.

The simple truth is, I feel so lost. And so lonely. And I don’t know whether I want to live or die. I guess I’m at the cusp of deciding.

I truly feel like I don’t belong in this world. Or maybe I do. Recently I came to realise there is one other option for me, as a way out of this desperate torment.

I cannot speak of it, but I am seriously considering it.

As someone who is right now seriously considering suicide; here is what the world should know.

Nothing will stop me from doing so. Nothing anyone says, or does, will stop me once I’ve made up my mind. I guess, I’m not so sure yet. But my life is empty. And no one is to blame for that. Taking ones own life is the most unselfish thing to do. Take it from someone who is hesitating to knock on death’s door.