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literature
for you, for hope.
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Literature Text
i've been diagnosed with major depressive disorder, in fact, i've been diagnosed with a lot of things.
before, it was manic depression with bipolar tendencies or dysthymia; before that, it was chronic depression; before that, it was an anxiety disorder and before all of that, i was just a troubled child.
i'm writing this, not to ask for empathy or sympathy, but to simply provide hope in others: hope in you. i'm a survivor of the wildest war: my own, a battle between mind, body and soul. i've had my entire view of reality get turned upside down and shoved down my throat. i've had all of my dreams shattered against my own bones and all my hope torn apart at the hands of the ones i loved the most
but i'm still here, i'm alive and breathing and so are you.
here, i hand to you, all my deepest secrets. i hand to the world, my painful history that i'll finally let go. i won't disguise them in pretty poems or scribble them into hidden notebooks, but print them here, in cold hard words: the truth. so take them away, set them alight and throw them to the seas.
but most of all, remember that no one is ever alone.
i've had my mother call me horrid names. i've had her ask me to kill her with a kitchen knife as a child. i've been locked out of her house with no shoes and no one to turn to. i've been told daily that i'm a selfish disaster and then shipped off to another town to live with my father because i'm too much to handle.
i've had my father beat me with his leather belt. i've had him threaten to kill me with his bare hands. i've had objects prodded into my chest, my arms; thrown at my face. i've been punched in the face in a moving car and sworn at. i've had my jaw squeezed so hard that i thought it would break because it amused him to feel that powerful.
i've had my trust broken under the weight of a boy i barely knew. i've misjudged so badly that i've found myself raped by a stranger. drugged by alcohol mixed with tiredness, i've had my dignity taken away in a total moment.
i've fallen in love and fallen flat on my face.
i've let myself become a tool for men because i stopped believing in the idea of love. i stopped thinking altogether.
i've cut a shooting heart in my hipbone with a rusty knife: three straight lines and a little love heart.
i've written a 'goodbye' note in my own blood.
i've felt completely empty and alone.
i've turned to medical help and had medication shoved down my throat. i've planned my death and made a final phone call to my mother. i've been taken back into her care and placed under constant supervision away from alcoholic substances. i've had her tell me that i am extremely talented and lovely. i've had her apologise for my childhood. i've had her confess her deepest darkest secret to my ears: the only ears that will ever hear it.
i've come back home to my father who realised he was too scared to lose me for good. i've seen him cry at the idea of anyone hurting me. i've had him deny ever treating me the way he did.
but i know they really did love me from the start. people make mistakes, really bad ones.
i've always known that there are others out there who've had it worse than i have, so i've never, not ever - not once, felt sorry for myself. i've learnt to look outside my own box and to see the faces of the people i've stumbled upon in my life: the people who adore me to the core. i've seen the people i've saved the lives of; the strangers that i've made smile by simply saying" hi, i think you're beautiful". i've thought about my little sister, my una vita (one life).
most of all, i thought about the children i may one day have; the little life/lives that i create.
i'm a survivor. i've learnt that emotional pain, is a gift that proves i'm human; that makes me different from the bad people in life. i've fought almost all of the pain i still carry with me, headfirst and as for the others, i've not forgiven but forgotten. i've learnt to move on from the past and work towards my future.
i've found happiness in helping heal wounded hearts. i've smiled at the fact that i was not the only one and maybe, just maybe, i can make them better. i've not needed to turn to councillors but i've turned to friends and to people like you. i've found things i like in life and made them a source for my career path. i've learnt that sometimes i cry because i need to and it is okay.
i'm still bipolar. i still have erratic mood swings and push my loved ones away. i still rearrange the furniture every month and stare like i want to murder someone. i'm still on wrongly prescribed medication that makes me cry for no reason and feel nauseous but i get by. i know people love me and i'll get through this, step by step.
and so will you.
i'm writing this to bring hope back into hearts that have lost it. i'm telling these stories to show how lives can change. most of all, i'm trying to shed the pain of bad memories that still haunt me regularly but i know that everything will be alright and i can move on. the past is the past, i cannot change that. i can only change what is before me.
the same applies to you.
before, it was manic depression with bipolar tendencies or dysthymia; before that, it was chronic depression; before that, it was an anxiety disorder and before all of that, i was just a troubled child.
i'm writing this, not to ask for empathy or sympathy, but to simply provide hope in others: hope in you. i'm a survivor of the wildest war: my own, a battle between mind, body and soul. i've had my entire view of reality get turned upside down and shoved down my throat. i've had all of my dreams shattered against my own bones and all my hope torn apart at the hands of the ones i loved the most
but i'm still here, i'm alive and breathing and so are you.
here, i hand to you, all my deepest secrets. i hand to the world, my painful history that i'll finally let go. i won't disguise them in pretty poems or scribble them into hidden notebooks, but print them here, in cold hard words: the truth. so take them away, set them alight and throw them to the seas.
but most of all, remember that no one is ever alone.
i've had my mother call me horrid names. i've had her ask me to kill her with a kitchen knife as a child. i've been locked out of her house with no shoes and no one to turn to. i've been told daily that i'm a selfish disaster and then shipped off to another town to live with my father because i'm too much to handle.
i've had my father beat me with his leather belt. i've had him threaten to kill me with his bare hands. i've had objects prodded into my chest, my arms; thrown at my face. i've been punched in the face in a moving car and sworn at. i've had my jaw squeezed so hard that i thought it would break because it amused him to feel that powerful.
i've had my trust broken under the weight of a boy i barely knew. i've misjudged so badly that i've found myself raped by a stranger. drugged by alcohol mixed with tiredness, i've had my dignity taken away in a total moment.
i've fallen in love and fallen flat on my face.
i've let myself become a tool for men because i stopped believing in the idea of love. i stopped thinking altogether.
i've cut a shooting heart in my hipbone with a rusty knife: three straight lines and a little love heart.
i've written a 'goodbye' note in my own blood.
i've felt completely empty and alone.
i've turned to medical help and had medication shoved down my throat. i've planned my death and made a final phone call to my mother. i've been taken back into her care and placed under constant supervision away from alcoholic substances. i've had her tell me that i am extremely talented and lovely. i've had her apologise for my childhood. i've had her confess her deepest darkest secret to my ears: the only ears that will ever hear it.
i've come back home to my father who realised he was too scared to lose me for good. i've seen him cry at the idea of anyone hurting me. i've had him deny ever treating me the way he did.
but i know they really did love me from the start. people make mistakes, really bad ones.
i've always known that there are others out there who've had it worse than i have, so i've never, not ever - not once, felt sorry for myself. i've learnt to look outside my own box and to see the faces of the people i've stumbled upon in my life: the people who adore me to the core. i've seen the people i've saved the lives of; the strangers that i've made smile by simply saying" hi, i think you're beautiful". i've thought about my little sister, my una vita (one life).
most of all, i thought about the children i may one day have; the little life/lives that i create.
i'm a survivor. i've learnt that emotional pain, is a gift that proves i'm human; that makes me different from the bad people in life. i've fought almost all of the pain i still carry with me, headfirst and as for the others, i've not forgiven but forgotten. i've learnt to move on from the past and work towards my future.
i've found happiness in helping heal wounded hearts. i've smiled at the fact that i was not the only one and maybe, just maybe, i can make them better. i've not needed to turn to councillors but i've turned to friends and to people like you. i've found things i like in life and made them a source for my career path. i've learnt that sometimes i cry because i need to and it is okay.
i'm still bipolar. i still have erratic mood swings and push my loved ones away. i still rearrange the furniture every month and stare like i want to murder someone. i'm still on wrongly prescribed medication that makes me cry for no reason and feel nauseous but i get by. i know people love me and i'll get through this, step by step.
and so will you.
i'm writing this to bring hope back into hearts that have lost it. i'm telling these stories to show how lives can change. most of all, i'm trying to shed the pain of bad memories that still haunt me regularly but i know that everything will be alright and i can move on. the past is the past, i cannot change that. i can only change what is before me.
the same applies to you.
UPDATE 2013: i'm back to having dysthymia or basically chronic depression with bipolar tendencies. even though some days are a struggle, i know that i can do amazing things if i really try. i see three different types of therapists to get better: a university counsellor who helps me with study stress (i get major panic attacks over the smallest things); a psychiatrist who monitors my moods and checks the chemicals in my blood stream once a month; my lovely and brilliant psychologist who's seen me for over a year and helped me gain my feet and mental strength. i also know that talking to amazing people like the ones on this website, has helped me get through the most. stay strong and believe.
i wanted this to be more permanent than just a journal entry.
i want this to be something to share, i know it's so so so personal but i want to show others that there is hope.
for the record:
i do not believe in God, faith did not save me, i saved myself.
if you do believe in God, please don't blame Him/Her for the pain you suffer, believe in moving on from it all.
and to anyone who needs it, i am always always here to talk to. i'm a great secret keeper, promise.
i wanted this to be more permanent than just a journal entry.
i want this to be something to share, i know it's so so so personal but i want to show others that there is hope.
for the record:
i do not believe in God, faith did not save me, i saved myself.
if you do believe in God, please don't blame Him/Her for the pain you suffer, believe in moving on from it all.
and to anyone who needs it, i am always always here to talk to. i'm a great secret keeper, promise.
© 2010 - 2024 veiled-eyes
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i wanted to write something to express my feelings on this, because it reminds of myself in so meny ways...
But i dont know what to say or where to begin...
So ill just say I love you and thank you...
But i dont know what to say or where to begin...
So ill just say I love you and thank you...