Confession time...and it's dark...
Let me say now that this is not a cry for attention. I'm not looking for sympathy. I do not want pity. Understanding, yes. Compassion, maybe. I don't need to be saved.
I just need to say this -
I suffer from depression.
I used to say "suffered" because I thought I was past it, but that is no longer true.
It's hard to say if it's purely chemical or emotional or both. I'm leaning towards both.
In high school I counted pills, contemplated hanging, and (briefly) considered slashing my wrists. The thing that held me back was that I didn't want to leave a mess for anyone else to have to clean up.
I did cut myself, looking to feel anything other than the numbing pain inside. I used pins or needles to scratch red lines into my skin so that there was a physical reason for the hurt. Razors and other sharp objects scared me too much to use anything else.
And then I had a few good years.
Before I moved to Montana I began to feel its grip again, suffocating me with panic attacks about being around people, leaving the house. Almost agoraphobic. I stopped trying in classes, just stopped going to some, just shut down. And no one said anything. No one said, "Sierra, what's going on? Are you alright? What can I do?" Some people pushed me, but when I'm pushed, I withdraw even more, so it just made it worse.
Montana made it better for a little while.
Now it's not.
For the past five or so months, I've felt restless, which is a sign of what's coming, but I brushed it aside as my wanderlust.
Two months ago, I began to have darker thoughts crossing my mind, but I still kept thinking I could handle it.
A month ago, I began to long to be carried away from everything. I wanted to cry but couldn't. I wanted to hide from the world, to be left alone. More so than I did in January or February. I'd watch the river currents and imagine jumping in, letting the water carry me away from everything, not struggling, just floating...never before have I even pictured drowning, but now I have. No pills have crossed my mind, none of the other methods have occurred to me. Just that.
Two weeks ago, I cut myself. Three lines on my upper forearm. One with a pin. Two with a razor. Not terribly deep. A really bad cat scratch would do the same. I didn't realize what I was doing, couldn't stop myself until it was over. I was there but I wasn't.
On Tuesday morning I did it again. Not as deep. Two lines with a razor. Almost paper cuts.
Last night I managed to stop myself and call someone instead.
I'm drowning right now. My head is above water, barely, and I'm struggling for the shore, so I'm not giving up, but there's a very strong current here that's pulling at me. And I feel very alone.
I don't want to hear your stories about how you're the same, why you can relate. I don't want commiseration. If you truly can relate, then you will understand why I feel that way. Hugs are usually welcome, but don't be offended if I pull away because I feel too enclosed. I will talk to you about this if you want, but I may not tell you everything. There are only a rare few in this world who will get everything. And they have shown themselves time and again to be trustworthy and understanding.
This was not a cry for help. This was not meant to make you upset or worried. This was me being honest with myself and the world.
For once.
I just need to say this -
I suffer from depression.
I used to say "suffered" because I thought I was past it, but that is no longer true.
It's hard to say if it's purely chemical or emotional or both. I'm leaning towards both.
In high school I counted pills, contemplated hanging, and (briefly) considered slashing my wrists. The thing that held me back was that I didn't want to leave a mess for anyone else to have to clean up.
I did cut myself, looking to feel anything other than the numbing pain inside. I used pins or needles to scratch red lines into my skin so that there was a physical reason for the hurt. Razors and other sharp objects scared me too much to use anything else.
And then I had a few good years.
Before I moved to Montana I began to feel its grip again, suffocating me with panic attacks about being around people, leaving the house. Almost agoraphobic. I stopped trying in classes, just stopped going to some, just shut down. And no one said anything. No one said, "Sierra, what's going on? Are you alright? What can I do?" Some people pushed me, but when I'm pushed, I withdraw even more, so it just made it worse.
Montana made it better for a little while.
Now it's not.
For the past five or so months, I've felt restless, which is a sign of what's coming, but I brushed it aside as my wanderlust.
Two months ago, I began to have darker thoughts crossing my mind, but I still kept thinking I could handle it.
A month ago, I began to long to be carried away from everything. I wanted to cry but couldn't. I wanted to hide from the world, to be left alone. More so than I did in January or February. I'd watch the river currents and imagine jumping in, letting the water carry me away from everything, not struggling, just floating...never before have I even pictured drowning, but now I have. No pills have crossed my mind, none of the other methods have occurred to me. Just that.
Two weeks ago, I cut myself. Three lines on my upper forearm. One with a pin. Two with a razor. Not terribly deep. A really bad cat scratch would do the same. I didn't realize what I was doing, couldn't stop myself until it was over. I was there but I wasn't.
On Tuesday morning I did it again. Not as deep. Two lines with a razor. Almost paper cuts.
Last night I managed to stop myself and call someone instead.
I'm drowning right now. My head is above water, barely, and I'm struggling for the shore, so I'm not giving up, but there's a very strong current here that's pulling at me. And I feel very alone.
I don't want to hear your stories about how you're the same, why you can relate. I don't want commiseration. If you truly can relate, then you will understand why I feel that way. Hugs are usually welcome, but don't be offended if I pull away because I feel too enclosed. I will talk to you about this if you want, but I may not tell you everything. There are only a rare few in this world who will get everything. And they have shown themselves time and again to be trustworthy and understanding.
This was not a cry for help. This was not meant to make you upset or worried. This was me being honest with myself and the world.
For once.