This morning, I didn’t want to wake up because I was so incredibly sick of feeling the awful emotional pain that I’ve been feeling for the last month, that was especially amplified yesterday after a situation that happened.
That terrifies me.
To know that your mind is so tired, and that you are so miserable that you inactively want to just stop for a bit – is something that has shaken me so badly. In all my periods of wanting to disappear, I’ve never woken up feeling so hopeless. I never want to wake up like that again.
It was partly this, the emotions and situations I’ve experienced recently and the encouragement of my friends that has pushed me into really considering getting professional help, in some sort of form. A few months ago I would have never considered that, because I’m eternally convinced that there’s nothing wrong with me and that I’m making it up – but that just shows me that I need it, because I’m not fine and I think I have some unresolved issues that I’ve refused to address.
After I published this post, both Ivy and Wren messaged me. Both of them are amazing friends of mine, always there for me, and they know pretty much all sides of me. They said the same thing: “I’m worried about you, Elm.” “I really think you should consider seeing someone because we can only do so much.”
Yesterday, before everything kicked off, I told my dad that I maybe wanted to see a therapist, if I could find one. It was one of the most nerve-wracking yet casual conversations ever: I told him how I was feeling, that I was worried, and not that I didn’t think it was serious. As much as I’m convinced it isn’t, I think I owe it to myself to do something about it.
Then, what I like to term “Elm Breakage 3.0” happened. I won’t go into what exactly I “broke” from because privacy’s important, but I’ve never felt that guilty for crying in my life.
I paced around my room, gripped my hands together until it was just below painful, and then was on the floor sobbing. I’m only telling you this to set the scene: over the next 3 hours, I cried on and off, heart feeling like it was being destroyed all over again. The sheer horror of it, confusion as to why it had to happen now, and just general pain stacked up into a tower of spiralling thoughts. At midnight I walked into my dad’s room and cried, and barely got any sleep.
This is exactly why I’m quite worried. I can’t carry on like this, even though all of me wants to curl up. If it was just the cheating, I’d be more okay, but it’s lingering feelings of utter worthlessness. The skin below my eyes was slightly red this morning, and when I felt it it was a little sore. That’s not good, and neither is not sleeping much.
At break, I spoke to Red; it was so refreshing to talk to him about everything. As I spoke, my eyes widened and I could barely hold back tears. He understood me, though, and I think out of all of my friends he gets how I literally can’t move on right now. There was no judgement, no “you’ll be fine’s!”s from him that rang of empty promises; like with the majority of my friends, he knows that I can’t be okay for a while because I have to deal with these terrifying emotions.
Something that he said really hit home. “Maybe you’ll move on in a few months. Maybe you never really will.” Unfortunately, I know my own mind when it comes to this, and it takes me a long time to move on from people. It makes it especially difficult as S and I were good friends before all of this for years, knowing each part of the other from cringy pre-teen to now. The fact is, similarly to Ash, he’ll always be in the back of my mind. Unlike Ash, it’s not toxic to me, and I’m ready to accept that. I’m going to write a post on the parallels and differences to how I felt in both situations, at some point.
Now, I know that I need some sort of help. Yesterday, I got to the point where I felt bad for even telling someone that I felt bad. I questioned every single thing I’d ever said to S, to anyone; all of the conversations and tears and attention-seeking comments I’d made ripping away at me.
As Wren said, I’m pretty certain I have a fair few self-esteem problems, along with an unhealthy dose of disgust towards myself. Currently, I hate myself for various reasons, not least because of the things I’ve said to people that I thought were right at the time:
“I feel so miserable.”
“You’re so lucky, you know?”
“Yeah, it’s irritating because if I say how it really is, I’ll cry my eyes out and not be able to get up for a long time.”
There’s too much of it: feelings, pain, denial. I refuse to admit I have any serious problems, because that’s so disrespectful to those that do. I’m just having a “mental cold” right now, and pretending it’s something else won’t do me any good.
Still, any problem with mental health should be addressed. I can’t do this on my own, not when it feels like it’s choking me. Not when I am still telling myself that nobody really cares. Illogical maybe, but I’ve lost trust in everything, and that includes myself.
You should always get help if you need it. Even if you don’t think you need it, if someone else does think you do, listen to them. Whether I’m going because my friends want me to go or because Ow want to get help, either way, it may make me better. That’s what matters.
It won’t happen overnight. It won’t happen for a long time; I’m not deluding myself. I still don’t understand how they can be happy when I’m so entirely horrific, when I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of hurt. In the end, it’s just life.
I’m scared of me, of how I could think. I’m scared of who I could become, of letting go, of finally losing all hope. Because of that, I’m going to get help. Somehow.
From Elm 🙂