The Truth

I don’t even know how to start to explain what I feel like. How do you explain that everything you appear to be is a lie? That you hate yourself so much, and feel so out of control of your life that you think at times how much easier it would be to go to asleep and not wake up. If you look at the earth, there are layers and layers before you get down to the core. I think Im buried underneath all the layers, so far down no one will every find me. So far down that I cant dig myself out anymore, so far down no one can hear you, and so far down even if you want to yell out you can’t, cause the earth closing in around you has muffled your voice..

I’ve tried a lot to tell people, but how do you start, where to begin? And whats the point? Everyone says something along the lines of “what do I have to be sad about?”. I’ve been told that my problems are small, because elsewhere people have it so much worse. I know that, but it doesn’t make my problem any easier to bear. It’s like telling someone that’s got a child born with a disability that its not so bad, because elsewhere children are being blown apart by war.

Like telling someone who’s going through a marriage break up, that it isn’t so bad because elsewhere someones husband is dying. You can’t weigh up one tragedy against another, what someone is going through is their own personal pain, you cant tell them they cant be sad because they were lucky enough to not be going through a war, or a terminal illness or whatever dilemna they are lining you up against to show you they think you should be holding up better.

Sometimes I think of humpty dumpty. He probably didn’t fall off the wall at all, I think so many people probably told him he was okay as an egg he just got the shits and jumped. That’s how I feel. And all those kings horses and all the kings men, no wonder they couldn’t put him back together, once you shatter this bad, no matter what glue they use trying to piece you, we all know that you are never going to be as strong. You are only ever going to be as solid as the fragile bits.

So this egg keeps waking up every day, and going through the motions. No friends would guess at how low I am, I doubt any family would guess the extent. That even when I appear happy, underneath I’m frantically clawing at all the dirt around me, and as it keeps sliding back in I loose the energy to fight against it harder. How do you just walk up and say “by the way, I’m so sad that no matter what you give me, what you say, what you do….I don’t think its gunna work this time”. No one wants to hear that, and no one would believe it. And I can’t do that to anyone, the guilt at thinking about it makes me even lower. I want to be thankful, and part of me is, but the other part, which is the bigger part, keeps waking up in the middle of the night thinking ‘how did I get here and how do I get out?” How did I get buried under this rubble. How come when dirt used to land on me, I was once able to fling it back? I don’t even know what changed that I cant anymore. Something took away my shovel, and without it I’m hopeless.

I sometimes wish I was brave enough to tell everyone that I haven’t been able to pinpoint a day for months on end when I’ve been happy. When I haven’t hated myself, when I haven’t been sad, or woken up crying, or gone to bed crying, or just driven along thinking how I just want to keep going and not come back anymore. I wonder if anyone even knows that I store the lifeline number in my phone, and twice now I’ve been crying and holding the phone in my hand, thinking…if I ring now, will someone understand?


Its tiring living like this. Tiring keeping up a front of faking another smile, and facing another day appearing to be one of the normal people of the world. For the first time ever I understand what people mean when they say depression is like a black cloud over you.

You want to see the sun, but your eyes have forgotten what it looks like. You pretend to everyone you can see it though, because its easier than them thinking you should be leading the freak parade through town.

You tell yourself you are fabulous, you are unstoppable, you are loved and worthy and all the things people are meant to believe in themselves. You tell yourself you are feeling much better, and you tell others the same, but only because its easier than seeming like an ungrateful spoilt child. You wish someone could reach you in your underground world, but you cant even remember how to raise your arm or voice for help. You’re frightened if they do help and its still doesn’t work…….. then what? What if this is it for you?

I don’t know what made me this way, was it anything in particular? Who knows, maybe, maybe not. I couldn’t pinpoint a single event to blame. Maybe it was everything, maybe it was nothing and I’m just another spoilt drama queen. I cant figure it out anymore, and I’m tired of trying. I tried pulling myself up by myself, I tried talking a couple of times, I’m at the point where I don’t know what to do, where to turn, how to get up, or if I even want to get up.

Once again I have a headache. Lack of sleep, too many painkillers, too much sad and not enough happy. To much pretending and not enough living. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know why I’m writing this, but if I don’t write tonight it will only keep going around and around in my head anyway. Maybe tonight I’ll get some sleep.

Like humpty dumpty though, I think I’m in danger of falling off the wall. Funny how that nursery rhyme used to never make sense, I used to wonder why an egg would even be sitting on a wall in the first place, used to think the writer was another mind lost to drugs. I don’t think he was now, I think he was probably just another sad person, and he and I are both sitting on the same wall wondering what to do.