Just because I’m smiling, does not mean I am ‘well’

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For the rest of my life I will live with a mental illness, a label and a diagnosis, which is hard to comprehend. For the rest of my life, I will struggle with the demons in my head. I will have difficult moments, severe depressive moments, several days of living under blankets feeling hopeless and depressed, or too anxious and paranoid to leave my house. I’ll have challenging moments when I refuse to see or speak to anyone, including my friends. I will have moments of exhaustion where my anxiety just takes over my mind. I will have days where I will struggle tremendously and the thought of surviving is enough.

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When your suicide doesn’t end in death or a hospital stay

When I was 14, I attempted suicide for the first time.

Let me rewind a bit first though.

I was 14 when my self-harming and depression decided to appear in my life and be a prominent feature still to this day. It was an interesting way to start my teenage years when they decided to appear in already a difficult time in any teenager’s life, just being a teenager. One thing led to another, while I was coping with being bullied at school, trying to keep my marks up, as well as coping with a big family fall out. When I found myself alone in my room with a load of pills next to me. I attempted to take my own life for the first time that night, and I woke up the next day with a sore throat and a terrible headache.

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When Anxiety tears you up inside

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Anxiety: A feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease about something with an uncertain outcome. It’s a small word that is defined so simply, yet the feeling is anything but simple. The feeling is anything but small.

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Please, ask me how I am. Please, want to know the honest answer.

Please ask me how I am.

Ask me in a way that genuinely makes me feel like you want the truthful answer, I know you probably wont. I know it’s not because you don’t care about me. It isn’t because you don’t worry about me, but if you’re honest with yourself, it’s because you probably don’t want to deal with it.

Continue reading “Please, ask me how I am. Please, want to know the honest answer.”

I’m lying when I tell you I’m fine

I’m not fine.

I am not fine, but even with tears running down my cheeks I will look you in the eyes and still insist I am fine. Why? Because I hate to admit that I need help, even when it is extremely obvious that I do.

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