I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety about 10 months ago after my third visit to the GP, this time taking my mum with me as back-up that I wasn't just making it all up. I'd only told her about it the day before, having actually suffered from depression since I was 18 (now 29) but too afraid to face it. It wasn't the help I was scared to get, it was the perceptions of other people. It took me so long to tell my mum, the closest person to me on this planet, because I thought she'd tell me I was being silly and to pull myself together. She didn't, she didn't AT ALL. She listened to every word I was saying, she came with me to the doctor, backed me up in what I was saying, and has supported me ever since through CBT and taking anti-depressants. I am still using CBT and the anti-depressants, and my mum is still an amazing support to me, as are friends and other family who know about it...so why do I just want to be as far away from everyone as possible?
I've been fantasizing about it for weeks now. I have a job, but I hate it and feel there is so much pressure being put on me to be instantly excellent at it (only been here two weeks). I have always worked since I left univerisity, which I went straight into after leaving sixth form at school. At school I had a job at the weekends, at univeristy I was constantly on edge because that's when the depression all started (not that I recognised that's what it was at the time), and then I worked solidly right to this moment...bottom line? I'm tired. I'm tired because of work and life but I'm also tired with battling with myself. I also have mild (self-diagnosed) OCD, and living with that daily is, I'm sure some of you know, absolutely exhausting. Not being able to rest until everything is done, completed, tidy, organised...whatever you want to call it...means I never really rest because I never really feel I have done it all.
I love my family and friends so much, but I just want to be as far away from everyone as possible. I dream of being stranded on a remote island, with just the waves, white sand and blue sky, surviving on spring water and fish, surrounded by complete silence apart from the lapping waves. I could stay there for years...and I could finally REST.
This is my equivalent to suicide. I had one attempt, once. This was before I told my mum and before I finally got help. I'd been self-harming since I was 18, and was still doing it only a few months back. Thankfully, I've stopped now and the pills and NBT seem to be helping, but not enough I don't think. The night I attempted suicide, I honestly couldn't see another way out, but half way through, I thought of my mum. This would destroy her, I couldn't do it, not for me, but for her. So the island is my alternative, away from life, away from everything, but alive, and feeling safe in the knowledge that my mum knew I was alive.
I'm sitting at my desk, pretending to be working in the job I hate, wanting life to be simple again. I can't afford simple in this life. I would sell every single possession I have just to be on that beach, alone - sadly, the other alternative is cheaper and much more accessible, but I could never do that. So here I am, stuck in my job, stuck in my life, stuck in my own breaking mind. Stuck, and tired.