August 8, 2017

It was December. The days were long and
dark. Very dark. My thoughts were as dark
as the winterdays. Maybe even darker.

 

It was January and the dark days got even
worse. It was all I would’ve known. Every
single day was the same.

 

It was February and I was in the same
mental state as the last two months. You
weren’t. You distanced yourself from me.

 

It was March and we didn’t even talk
anymore. You were acting like I didn’t
excist in your life anymore. And so did I.

 

It was April. You were done. You ended
everything we had. I tried to cope with your
descision. I coped with it, in a way.

 

It was May and I finally got myself some
help. I was battling my demons. Sometimes
I watched you living your life without me.

It was June. I tried to reconnect with you.
You were fine with the contact, but only on
your terms and conditions.

 

It was July. I became stronger and healthier.
You noticed it as well. So you tried to reach
out to me, but again on your terms.

 

It was August, and I was done living in
insecurity about our future together. So I
asked you what you wanted.

 

But you were still living in December,
a
s I am living in August.

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April 28, 2017

What’s going on? Life, basically.

Today was an intense day. I had a bad sleep last night, because of the alcohol I was hitting the last two days because of something called Kingsnight and Kingsday. I had an awesome time, mostly. I was with my girls, which I enjoy. We were just having fun, getting drunk. Until I saw my ex-boyfriend, everything was perfect. Everything was perfect, until I got emotional. I couldn’t relativate anything anymore, because of my drunk. I started begging him to kiss me. Not to have a relationship with me, but just to kiss me one more time. He said no. I begged him even more.

Before that, I was looking for love in all places. I started flirting with every man just looking fine. I was craving for love. I am craving for love.

But he didn’t give me any love. He was cruel, actually. He told me I looked awkward. I told him I wasn’t, it was just because I was cold; my hands are always cold. So he went for his pocket and grabbed his handcloves. But then he started laughing and put them away as soon as he grabbed them.

My memory is awful when I’ve had some drinks. I just remember some fragments of the day. I don’t know why, but I always seem to remember the worst things better than the good things.

So, I even begged him more for some love. I told him I was getting hospitalized. He told me I should work on myself, and on my health. But I already am. I already am working on that, just by almost getting hospitalized. That’s the biggest step to make for your recovery out of an eating disorder. You have to want to make a change, for you. And you have to do it yourself.

So, J., this is for you. Not that you will ever read this. But here it is, anyway: screw you. Screw you for making me love you as much as I do. Because I still do. I care for you. I hate it knowing you got back on drugs again. You know I hate drugs. You stopped for me, when we were in a relationship. But now we broke up, you started again. I hate you for it. I’m worried sick. Couldn’t sleep last night because of it. Screw you for being such an asshole when I needed affection the most. Screw you for not whiping away my tears when I wanted you to. Screw you for not giving me any comfort, when I wanted you to comfort me in these hard times. Screw you for always choosing you over me. Screw you for what you did to me, or just didn’t. Screw you for making me think you love me, but you don’t. But most of all: screw you for not being there when I needed you the most. I hate you for it. I hate that I still love you.

And that is why I couldn’t be with the guy who is having a crush on me. He was also there. Hadn’t seen him all day. And I guess that’s why I wanted the affection from my ex. I just needed love. From the new guy in my life, from my ex, from just… a guy. I needed love. I was craving love. I needed someone to hold me. I needed someone to like me, just for me. I needed to feel like I deserved to be here, in this world. I needed to feel like I have a purpose. I needed to feel like someone wanted me here. I needed to feel like someone wanted me to stay.

Because I don’t. I don’t want to stay. Here. I’m not as suicidal as I have been the last couple months. I just feel tired of all the shit going on. People are shit. Full of shit.

After the break up, I went on a date with a guy who had been having a crush on me for the last 3 years or so. My ex never liked him for it, and had forbidden me to ever talk to him again. So, when we broke up, the first thing I did was talking to this guy again. It was easy. Talking to this guy, flirting. Feeling wanted. It was nice. So, we went on a date. I got drunk, actually. I don’t know my limits, because of my new limits because of the underweight. So, I told him my secrets. Even some secrets which weren’t mine. He passed the secrets on. I got in a fight with a friend who found out I spilled out some secrets. Alcohol was doing its damage. Or was I?

Anyway, I kissed the guy. On the first date. He was a terrible kisser, but I wanted to feel wanted. So, I didn’t care. We made an appointment for our next date, a couple days after our first kiss. Never spoke to the guy again after my fight with that friend. I let him. He wasn’t worth it, anyway. He got what he wanted for 3 years, I was easy, so now he didn’t want it anymore. I was kinda upset because of it. I wasn’t wanted, anymore.

Was it because I spilled secrets? Was it because I spilled my secret? About the eating disorder? Why did I tell him that in the first place? Why him? Some friends don’t even know what is going on with me, but he is now. I don’t even know this guy, now I think it through. Was it because of what my friend might have told him? Was it because I was easy? Was it because I was a bad kisser? Was it because I wasn’t like the girl I was in his fantasy? Why? Why didn’t he want me anymore?

I don’t know. I won’t ever know.

Then, I met this guy, who I was talking about before. I had known him from high school. We never really had been friends, but the last couple weeks we started talking. We met at a party and we got along very good. So we have been in touch the last weeks. When I was out with my girls, I saw him. I was afraid to talk to him again, but my friend forced me. It was nice. He was nice.

A week later, we met again when we were out again. I had been wanting to kiss him from the last week, and my friends knew. And, it happened. Just like that. I don’t even know what we were talking about before the kiss. We kissed like, all night long. It was nice. He was a good kisser. He was sweet. His friends left, but he just stayed. With me. Even when I had to leave, because my friends wanted to go home, he asked me for another kiss. It was sweet.

But now, he is sending me texts like “I’m in bed, where are you?” I don’t want that. I don’t want a new “relationship-thing” based on sex. I don’t even want sex. I can’t imagine sex with someone else than with my ex just yet. I’m definitely not over him, yet. I will be. Ever. Just need more time. A lot more time.

But I really like this guy. Just want him to be as sweet as I imagined him to be.

So, I woke up today, feeling crappy as fuck. Because of the hangover, because of crying in my ex’s arms the day before. I felt like shit. I had 3 appointments at the clinic today. It was intense.

First, I finally got my diagnose today. It was hard for me to face it. But I’m glad. It gave me some relieve. I wasn’t making it all up: it was real. I was a girl with an actual eating disorder: anorexia nervosa. And I would be hospitalized for it.

They told me, during the first appointment of today, I would have to wait for hospitalization until the end of May. I couldn’t breathe. They told me over the phone it would be mid-May. Not end of May. It was awful.

But during the last appointment of today, the psychologist told me I could start May 8. Hopefully. If everything goes right. That is only a couple days away. I couldn’t breathe, again. This was too much. I was confused. I still am.

The psychologist told me I would be at the clinic just for me. Not for the other girls in there. I wouldn’t have to help them. There are psychologist and therapists to help the girls. The moment she told me that, I knew I would be getting a hard time trying not to help those girls. Because it’s in me. Wanting to help the people in need. That’s what I am studying for. But I am in need now. I just have to accept that.

But I don’t. I still don’t accept that I am in need. I’m fine. I’m not “that” sick that I need to be hospitalized. I’m not as skinny as the other girls there. I am not in danger because of my underweight. I am just a dramatic little princess who seeks for attention. I am not that sick. I am just tired.

I need to be loved. I hate people for not loving me.

I am a mess.

It’s friday night and I’m in pain.

April 11, 2017

Lots has happened since I wrote last time.

For starters: my boyfriend told me he wants to break up. It hasn’t officially been done, but it will be at the end of the week. I’m in pain because of it. I couldn’t breath when he told me he wanted to stop our relationship. I called my dad. “Can you come home, please? I need you.” He was there in like 10 minutes. I cried for an hour straight. He talked to me. Whispered things like “baby, you’ll be okay. You don’t need a guy who can’t be there for you in hard times. He doesn’t deserve you in your good days when he can’t be there for you on your bad days. It’s all or nothing. You know that, right?” I do. But I also know the good times we had. The love between us. It ain’t fair. But then again; I know… I don’t want to live with a guy who just flees when I can’t stop crying because of my depression.

But is it? Is it my depression?

Is there really a depression? My psychologist diagnosed me so in January. But… it’s April now. And we know a lot more about me now then we did back then.

We know now I’m too stubborn to just listen to people who tell me “just to eat a bit more” to have a healthy BMI again. I didn’t listen to psychologists who told me to gain weight before I could start EMDR-sessions. I just told them I would be fine. They trusted me. They shouldn’t have.

Because today, I went to a clinic. For intake. For an eating disorder. Still haven’t got the diagnose. Should be waiting on it for like, another 2 weeks. Because of Eastern. It sucks. The waiting sucks.

On March 13, I told my psychologist I felt fine about all the PTSD-symptoms. There was something else going on. The “losing weight” and “eating as less as I could” were the things my whole life was about in the last weeks. I told her. It was so fucking hard to be honest. First to my parents, then to my psychologist.

She told me she would get some help from a staff-meeting about my confession, because she couldn’t make a decision for me on her own. I had to wait a few days for her to call me.

I waited 4 days for her call. I was a zombie. I was just waiting for her to save me. I was just tired of fighting. I told her because I wanted help. Now. Not days later. I wanted someone to save me.

On March 17, she called me. She told me to make an appointment to see my general practitioner. So I did. My dad told him everything, because I couldn’t. In the waiting room, I had an eye-opening-moment. ‘What am I doing here? Do I really have an eating disorder? Me? What am I doing to myself? I’m hurting my body. I shouldn’t be treating myself the way I do now.’ I could only cry at the time the general practitioner could see me. He gave me a reference to a clinic for eating disorders.

That day, there has been lots and lots and lots going on in my mind. I had found my motivation to stop with my crazy eating behavior that day. So I got a book from the library: “13 steps to conquer anorexia nervosa”. I would start a new diet from the book, by myself from the next day.

The next day, it was my boyfriends’ birthday. I wasn’t invited. He and his parents didn’t want me there when other people would be coming over. I would get an hour to say congrats and I would be gone. It was okay for me. I was proud of myself because I started my new diet that day. I told him that. And I told him I would be getting help from a clinic for eating disorders.

My boyfriend told me “thank you”. “For what?” “Not making a big deal out of this. Wanting to slow down a bit for me.” “Of course” I told him, with a warming smile. It was the last time I saw him.

Days were passing by. Weeks were passing by. I missed him. But I was focussing on me. It felt good. I felt free.

I still am focussing on me. Yes, it fucking hurts me to pieces when I know I won’t get any more love from someone who I am still in love with. But I know it’s for the best. For my best. I’ll have to focus on me now. On my battle. On my battle with me and my eating disorder.

I still can’t believe I have an eating disorder.

Today, I was confronted with the fact that my BMI is almost that low that they would want me there for hospitalization. I literally couldn’t breathe. The first thing on my mind was “but I don’t belong there. I don’t even look like an anorexic patient. I’m not skinny enough. You can’t see my bones. I’m eating! I stick to my diet.”

Still gotta let it sink in. It was a fucking crazy day.

I just don’t want to wait no more. I want to be happy again. I don’t want an eating disorder. I still can’t believe I have one. I still can’t believe they want to hospitalize me. I can’t believe any of it.

I’m in the middle of a nightmare I can’t snap out from.

March 13, 2017

Today I had an appointment to meet with my psychologist. I told her everything. She made me tell her. My dad forced me to. But my psychologist made me tell my own story. It was hard. It felt like failure.

I know it isn’t. It ain’t failure. It’s a succes. But that’s not how it felt like.

I haven’t got what I wanted. Not yet. I haven’t got a diagnose. She told me to take it very seriously. She is going to discuss with the upper-psychologist (?) about what to do with this. What to do with my story. What to do with my behavior. What to do with my thoughts.

She will call me tomorrow. Or on Friday. That’s 4 days from now. That really is a long time for me. The days are long. I’m tired all day, every day. So days are like, always too long for me.

It might take 4 days for her to call me. I don’t know what she will tell me over the phone. Maybe I’ll have to get a treatment somewhere else. She told me today there are external healthcare which can provide the best care for me.

But do I want the care? Yes and no. It’s a struggle. A conflict. A dilemma.

I know I should get some help for this behavior of mine. But I feel like I’m not ready yet. Will I ever? Don’t think so.

But I don’t think I’m already at the point where I am already the stereotypical “girl with an eating-disorder”. You can’t see my bones. I’m still eating. As less as I could, but still; I’m eating.

I’m counting my calories. Today was a good day for me. I hadn’t eaten all of my lunch. I was proud. I ám proud. I had gone to school today, and still hadn’t eaten all my lunch.

Today I woke up, and I felt like I should weigh my lunch again. I left a few more pounds at home. I thought it would’ve been too much. Because of the calories. Carrots got a lot of calories, you know… I didn’t know before.

Tonight, when I got home after the appointment with my psychologist, the 1.5 hour drive and dinner with my parents, I weighed the “left-overs” of my lunch. I weighed it again because I would know what my real calorie-intake of the lunch was. My dad was horrified. I asked me what I was doing. I didn’t hide my action. They already know I’m struggling. Why not just be honest in the one place I can be and feel like myself?

So, I went to school. Crying in the morning because I felt awful. It’s the depression. In the train, I ate my breakfast. 225 ml skinny yogurt. Weighed, of course. A guy kept looking at me while I ate. I hated him for it. Like he hadn’t ever seen somebody eaten their breakfast in the train.

In school, a friend told me I looked like a walking ghost. Gee, thanks. I felt like it, tho. So, I wasn’t hurt by it. Another classmate told me it appeared like I was just there physically; not mentally. Like I was living on a cloud. Far away from reality.

I am. I am living far from reality. My reality is food. My obsession with food. My control over my food. Not over my body yet, because I still maintain the same weight for three days now: 45,5 kg. My Body Mass Index is 45,5 / (1,64 * 1,64) = 16,9.

So, I cut in my lunch. What did I eat for lunch today?

  • 300 g carrots
  • 400 g cherrytomatoes
  • 115 g cucumber
  • 40 g red pepper
  • 60 g orange pepper

I know it’s bad for a 18 year old girl who needs a lot more energy to just get through the day. But it’s my addiction. I don’t feel like I’m ready to give up yet.

It’s like I’m being an alcoholic. I need more (less) to get the good feeling of not feeling those extreme emotions anymore. I love feeling less. I love escaping from the real world. I love escaping from reality.

I love obsessing over food. But it makes me tired, too. I just want to enjoy food. I was never like this. I lóved food. I still, I think. I love good food. I just don’t like the calories the food contains.

Today was my best day so far in this battle. My calorie-intake today was 329.

I got a few days left to lose some more weight. I don’t know what will be next. I don’t know what my psychologist will tell me on the phone in 4 days.

 

March 11, 2017

It’s Saturday and I’m in pain.

I’m blowing up my own mind. My boyfriend is. My dad is.

I wrote in my last post about confessing to my parents about the eating-thing. Because I had gone mad, I didn’t know what to do anymore. I needed help because the only one who I trusted didn’t wanna talk to me anymore because he couldn’t handle it anymore. He still can’t. He wanted to break up with me this afternoon. I didn’t want him to.

We were at a party last night and he hadn’t talked to me at all. The minute he talked to me, he was mad because of me throwing up a few days ago. Well, I don’t want it either. But sometimes I feel like I have to. It’s like I’m being forced by myself.

I’m stuck in my own head. I’m mentally ill. There’s too much for me going on in my head.

And that’s why I stopped eating properly. I don’t feel as many emotions then. It feels good. It feels like a distraction of all the things going on in my head.

Because I’m so fucking tired. I don’t want to be in any more pain. I just want the pain to stop. Make it stop, please. I’m done fighting.

I’ll have to confess to my psychologist too, on Monday. The thing is; I don’t want to. But if I don’t, my boyfriend really IS breaking up with me. My parents will be even more horrified and I will be thinner and thinner. It won’t ever be enough. I know that. It’s not okay for a young woman to have a weight of a 12 year old. But it feels soooooooo good. It’s an addiction.

Am I ready to be cured? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I feel like I HAVE to. I’m being forced by everyone around me.

I just want it. I don’t want to stop. Not until I got the ‘label’. It’s just a game. I can stop whenever I like. I just don’t want to stop just now. That will feel like failure. Like I can’t even get some label for the addiction of getting thinner. When I’m being honest, and I really am now, I just want it. I want to go on like this until I’m getting the label anorexia. It’s absolutely crazy. I know that. I need help. I know that. I just want to go on until I get it, and then I will get help for it. Does it make any sense to you? Because to me it does. But for my loved ones, it’s unforgivable to go on like this and starve myself to lose weight. They don’t want me to be unhealthy.

My boyfriend doesn’t want a girlfriend who’s instable. He wants to build on me. He can’t now, he told me. I told him to wait. He’ll see I’ll be okay again.

Just not now. But it has to be a secret. The addiction just started.

 

March 9, 2017

I’m going crazy.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who to talk to.

I feel alone. I feel powerless. I feel all these emotions so fucking intense. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of those emotions.

My boyfriend is rejecting me because I wanted to throw up after dinner. I hate being fat. I don’t want my body anymore. I feel like I should lose weight faster.

I got rejected for an internship today.

I’m so fucking depressed this whole week. I can’t take it anymore. The only thing I can do is cry.

I don’t know what to do. I feel powerless.

I feel like I’m empty. Not because of the food. I just, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I’m freaking out. I’m in panic.

I don’t know who to trust. The person I trusted is rejecting me now. He won’t talk to me anymore. I tried everything. What the hell should I do?

All I can do is cry. I don’t want to feel like this. I just want to live my life to the fullest. I want to be happy again. What makes me happy? I don’t know. Him? I know this shouldn’t be the answer. But he was the first thing in my mind when I asked myself the question.

He doesn’t even know how much he means to me. Nobody else knows about my secrets of the eating-habits and throwing up. I don’t know what to do. I just don’t want to feel this anymore. I don’t know what to do. Please fucking help.

 

__________________________________

I wrote that 20:30 AM. It’s 22:00 AM now.

I told my parents. The whole stuff. The eating as less as I could, feeling the need to throw up. The thoughts.

My dad told me this can’t go on any longer. We should fight it now. The battle isn’t lost. We should fight it now, it won’t ever get easier. I know, I know, I know…

I just don’t want to. I don’t want to confess to my psychologist.

Am I anorexic? I don’t think I can already be anorexic. I’m not like a bag of bones or something. I still have fat on my body. I’m not like the stereotype “anorexic-patient”. I don’t earn it to be diagnosed with something like that…

 

March 7, 2017

This post won’t be about my story about being diagnosed with PTSD and how I cope with it.

This post will be about my obsessed thoughts about losing weight.

The last few days I’m really sad. I’m tired. I’m depressed. And I really am. I am diagnosed with depression.

Because of the depression, I had a lack of appetite. But now, it’s just not okay anymore. I’m losing weight on purpose. And I know it’s bad. I’m already underweight. But I don’t like my body like this. I want the fat gone. I just want to be thin.

Don’t get me wrong; I know what I’m doing. I just want to lose a little more weight. The thing is that the weight just don’t disappear as easily as I would want to. So I’m speeding up the proces by eating as less as I could.

The last few days I’ve been feeling so depressed, I can’t even describe it. I hate my body. When I ate too much the last few days, I would try to throw up. It didn’t work out the way I wanted to, but there came something. I searched for tips on the internet. I knóóów. It’s a bit dramatic.

I told my boyfriend about it the minute I threw up. He got angry. He told me I had a few hours to tell my parents or he would. I didn’t tell them, by the way. Nor did he.

When I saw him the other day, we were in a fight about it. He told me he didn’t want to live with me if I would stay this obsessed with not-eating and throwing up. I got angry. I felt betrayed. He was the only one who knew about me being obsessed with all this. I trusted him. And now he threatened to leave me if I would go on with this. He told me just to “eat like a normal person”.

“Eat like a normal person”… I don’t want to. I created an “abnormal” diet months ago, even before I was diagnosed with PTSD and depression. Just started to eat even less than the “abnormal” diet already contained.

My diet on a normal day now is like:
9:30 – breakfast: 350 ml low-fat yogurt
12:30 – lunch: 1 carrot, 0,5 paprika, 20 slices of cucumber, 7 cherrytomatoes
16:00 – 1 carrot, 0,5 paprika
18:30 – dinner: 3 boiled potatoes, 1 cup veggies, a piece of meat or fish

I think it’s okay. I’m okay with it.

Today I got upset in the bus to school. A girl from my class asked me a bunch of stuff about what I was having for lunch today.

“Just veggies? That’s all? Do you even like it? You don’t eat any bread, do you? So how do you get your proteins on a daily basis? Do you also eat something like fruit?”

… Don’t fucking bother me with those fucking questions. Mind your own damn business. Sorry for the language.

When I got home, my grandma asked me which size I was wearing. She told me she also had that size when she was younger, so I felt a bit better; I wasn’t skinny. My size is normal.

I dídn’t threw up anymore since my boyfriend asked me not to. I felt like doing it, but didn’t do it. Instead; I ate less.

In January my psychologist told me I should gain weight for EMDR. I would need the pounds on my body to cope with the effects EMDR would have on my body. I didn’t want the pounds on my body then. I don’t want them now.

When my psychologist asked me how gaining weight had gone the last few weeks, I would be honest with her, because I don’t want to lie to her. I told her it had gone awful. She would give me some sermon and I would move on. She told me it was “normal” for a depressed person to lose appetite, but not to have obsessed thoughts about losing weight and not-eating. She told me I would get anorexia as a diagnose too, if I would go on with this obsessed behaviour. She didn’t ask me for weeks how it had been going. I’m relieved. Because I’m not anorexic, you see. I got this. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but when I’m on my “ideal weight” and when I’m skinny enough when I look in the mirror, I will stop with losing weight. I will. But not yet.

Tomorrow, I will have to attend to a high-tea of my internship. It’s a nightmare. I don’t want to attend. I don’t want to be confronted with food which will make me fat. I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to be around people who are eating those foods. It makes me sad. I don’t want to throw up anymore. It hurts my throat when I do. I’m stuck in my thoughts. I will háve to attend. Just not going to eat any of those things, I told myself. Otherwise I will HAVE to throw up. Gotta stick to my diet if I want to lose weight to reach my goal.

For my next year in my study, I will have to get a new internship. I have Always been interested in caring for people who have an eating disorder. But wanting to be an intern there, meant having to eat the menu for the people with the eating disorders. I saw the menu. I was shocked. I’m not willing to eat thát amount of food. So I walked away.

Just needed to get my thoughts out here. Sorry. Thanks.

February 8, 2017

If someone would ask me “Are you happy?”, I would say yes.

I would definitely say that. It’s like a mask I’m wearing. Always pretending to be okay. It’s just because I don’t want people to know about my misery. I don’t want to ask them any more questions about things I don’t want to answer. Because when I answer, people get scared. I’m honest. Some people can’t handle my truth.

Sometimes, I think I’m as unhappy as a person can possibly be. But why? Why do I feel unhappy?

Sometimes, I can’t even explain why I am unhappy.

It’s the whole package, I guess. The heavy weight I’m carrying with me every day. Trying to struggle to carry it all with me during the whole day. Surviving the day with all the weight. Not letting anyone in to carry some of the weight. Carry it all myself. Although I know so many persons would carry it for me. I just don’t want them to. And then, I feel alone in my battle.

I’m battling everyday with depression, PTSD and if I’m being honest, I think I have a problem with eating too. My psychologist told me she was worried it would become an obsession for me, but it already is. I promised her last week to eat properly. So I did. I felt awful. I didn’t weigh myself for a week. But when the week was over, and I had to see my psychologist again, I had gained a kilo. I cried. I saw the gained weight everywhere on my body. My psychologist is afraid I might be getting (or having) an eating disorder. It was two days ago when she told me her concerns. And I think I might be having an eating disorder. I don’t want to, but maybe it is. Because I’m obsessed with the addiction of not eating and losing weight so easily. When I lose another pound, I’m planning on losing the next. It’s just a competition with myself. It’s addicting. And I know that it’s bad. So bad. That’s why it feels like a constant battle in my mind.

 

January 31, 2017

Today, January 31, 2017, I had to relive my trauma again by EMDR.

And, that’s okay, really.

What isn’t okay, is how emotional I got watching a movie after EMDR. I watched a movie about a girl who was being bullied, and tried to kill herself because of it.

And I just really felt how she felt. I knew what she was going through. Not the bullying, but the suicidal thoughts. Yeah, I got bullied like half a year when I was a freshman because I was a little fluffy (fatty), but I didn’t get any emotional damage at the time from it like she had.

Maybe I do, actually. Maybe the bullying is the reason I don’t want to eat anymore. And if I eat, I choose the foods which contain the less calories. It’s so bad, I know. I’m already underweight. But I still think I’m fat. It’s just in my head, I know that. Everybody around me sees me getting thinner. But it just isn’t thin enough. I can see the fat all over my body. It’s like a battle everyday in my mind: I have rational thoughts but also emotional thoughts about it. The rational thoughts say I should eat properly so I can get to my strenghts (also for EMDR, because it’s exhausting), but the emotional thoughts say I’m not beautiful this way. And I feel so sad. Tears are streaming down my face, as we speak. I want to feel loved and beautiful again. I want to love myself again. And it’s a constant battle. Most of the times I feel like I can only love myself when I’m as thin as I can be. And at really rare times of the day (or maybe even week) I just get angry at myself. How can I do this to myself? But then, soon enough, there’s the mirror again telling me I should eat even less to become more beautiful. Because right now, I’m full of fat.

I’m not anorexic. I’m not that underweight. You can still see the fat on my body. I’m just having a hard time loving myself, with my depression and stuff.

But what I wanted to say, because I was really distracted in my own thoughts, is that I really felt the pain of the girl of the movie. I could really get her dilemma. She didn’t want to die; she just didn’t want to feel any more pain. She didn’t want to hurt her loved ones, but the pain made her do it.

As I watched the girl in the movie, I watched myself.

She just thought it would made all her problems go away; if she would go away.

I’ve had those thoughts so many times last couple months. They really are awful. You can’t do anything about it. You don’t want anyone around you; yet you want them to hold you. You don’t think you have the power to go on anymore. You want to live your life, not survive each and every day. Your thoughts are like a rollercoaster. One time you’re at the bottom and you don’t think you could get any lower (worse); and then maybe a couple hours, days, or weeks later, you can find something that can light up your day for a bit. And that’s where you have to feed from. That has to be your strength to go on. You will still have to survive, but sometimes you have to survive before you can live your life again. And that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m trying to survive. I’m trying to keep up with life, so one time maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week, maybe in a month, I can say I’m really living my life again as I used to know.

But right now, I’m not. Sometimes I still suffer from suicide. It’s so fucking awful, I can’t even explain. But I will try. I will try to describe what it’s like to be suicide (from my view).

I wake up. I get less than 5 hours of sleep at an average night. It’s because of all the nightmares. It’s characteristic for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. So I wake up, and I feel already tired. I’m always tired. It’s because of the depression too, I guess. I feel empty too. I’m getting out of bed, because I don’t want to have any questions from fellow students or anyone else. I want to save myself from having to answer those questions about what’s going on in my life. So I get up, make myself ready for school. Don’t even bother to bring me some lunch; I won’t have any appetite. I cry, because I will have to go to school and not feel safe at all. I feel lonely. But I’m still going. I’m scared as soon as I have to get out of the house; he might also be out there. But that’s just anxiety talking to me. I’m going. I’m scared in the train. But I’m going. I’m smiling at my fellow students as soon as I walk in the building. I don’t even notice what the classes are about; I’m just there. Physically, not mentally. I can’t even be a good student, because I don’t know the subjects of the class I’m in. How can I be a good caregiver? How can I do something for the world? I don’t belong here. I can’t even participate in school, so how can I participate in the world? How can I study for caregiver if I can’t even help myself? I feel useless. I’m just a no-good. A no-good for my friends, my parents, my fellow students, the world… I’m doing nothing good. It would be better if I wouldn’t bother anyone anymore.

Well, it goes on and on. Tears streaming down my face. It’s a constant battle; do I have the rights to be alive or should I just end it?

Yeah, I know. Everyone says all the same things. I should go on, the pain will end and so will the misery. But today, it’s just still there. So are the thoughts.

By watching the movie, I just felt understood. It felt nice to be finally understood. That’s what I wanted to share. I made the message a lot longer, sorry for that. Just needed to write all my thoughts down.

 

January 24, 2017

As I am writing this, I am currently sitting in the train. We got a notification that there was someone who jumped in front of the train: suicide.

A few people sitting in the train with me, sigh. “Another one! A week ago there was also someone who committed suicide. It’s always committed at the same spot. They have to build something so they can’t get on the rails anymore!”
As I am listening to their voices, listening to their awful thoughts, I get angry and sad.

They don’t get it. I awfully believe they really don’t get it. They don’t get what it feels like to be suicidal. Maybe even have a mental illness. Maybe even be in physical pain caused by the mental pain. All they can think about is that they can’t be at work on time. And that’s frustrating, I get that. But it’s not life-changing. Committing suicide is.

I know lots of people don’t understand what it is like to have suicidal thoughts. I didn’t even get it myself before I got them. You have to be strong to not give in. Some people can, some people can’t. And that’s not something to judge. Suicidal people have to fight everyday, to survive. It’s a battle everyday. Your mind is a killer. I really think mental illness (like suicide) can kill you. It can make you kill you. When you’re losing your battle every day for a month, I get it you don’t want to fight anymore. I got tired of fighting, too.

I get so sad because of the lack of empathy people have. People are so selfish. They only think of the effects a suicide have on them, instead of thinking of the effects the suicide has on the suicidal person. The life of the selfish people will move on, they won’t think about this one suicide attempt five years from now. But the life of the suicidal person is over. That person can’t move on. And that was his choice.

But I think of a suicidal person as a surviver instead of a loser of a battle. I know lots of people who wouldn’t survive being suicidal. Suicidal people are strong: they coped with being suicidal for weeks, months, maybe even years. They fight every day; every minute of every hour. They’re just tired of fighting. And when you’re tired, you go to sleep.