An illustration of Loneliness

I have been out of hospital for nearly a month now. Things have been very up and down, and a lot has happened over the past few weeks.

Something affecting me has definitely been the vivid dreams brought on most likely by my increased dose of Sertraline. Every morning I had been stuck in dreams that represented frightening distorted versions of reality. Some were scary, some disturbing, some just plain strange. Sometimes I screamed or spoke in my sleep while experiencing these dreams, as they felt so incredibly real and uncanny. And I couldn’t escape, either. Any attempt to wake up with alarm clocks failed because I was so consumed by these dreams that I needed to focus my full attention to make sense of it all. I would wake up in the late morning nearing onto the afternoon, feeling ashamed, exhausted, and disturbed. Not only this, but also confused as to what was even real — afterall, if these dreams weren’t real, was my current conscious state even real? And how did I manage to get so caught up in them EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING?

Most days these dreams impacted on the rest of my day, either because I was disoriented and woke up in a shitty state of mind, or because I had failed to wake up at a particular time and felt a sense of deep regret, as well as helplessness, over it.

My moods have been inconsistent. Some days I was extremely hypomanic and had to take medication to calm myself down. I felt crazy; as though I had no sense of control. And with hypomania came impulsive spending and so forth.

One week I went through a particularly bad depressive episode.

I didn’t know what to think, say, or do. Things were looking hopeful for me. I knew I was going to get into accommodation soon. I wasn’t getting stoned much at all — a big improvement for me, proving even more that my drug use was not an addiction but that it was environmental, and with that environment out of the picture I didn’t need it; I wasn’t dependent on it after all — something I had been trying to convey to my family for quite some time.

But I couldn’t help but think, ‘what is the point of it all?’

It’s all just mere compromise. Compromise for the fact that neither of my parents are good for me to live with. Oh, how different things would be for me if this wasn’t the case. But alas, it is, and I have an altered personality I cannot simply ‘grow out of’, as it is essentially grained into the core of my being as a means of coping through strategies and mechanisms acquired from as young as a child onwards.

I feel so lonely and empty. Where are all the friends I was close with who suddenly ceased contact for no apparent reason? Or healthy parental figures?

And what about the times when I’m feeling shit so I seek drug-induced refuge in the company of friends, where I wake up the next day feeling completely desolate and purposeless? When it becomes quiet and awkward and nobody can hold conversation — not even you, because you’re too scared of the stupid shit you’re going to say. Instead too numb to speak a word, feeding off the barren silence. When the vibe is off, and you wonder what the fuck you’re doing there, how it got to that point, how you still feel lonely and unfulfilled and bored; as though you have an inherent tendency towards being incapable of feeling human happiness, or any level of social arousal?

When I overdosed things seemed different. With almost everyone. It brought people closer. And perhaps what my therapist told me was true — that I push people away (in my case, through a suicide attempt) and it actually draws people closer. There is a stark contrast between the dynamic of push and pull in my life.

I just feel like I am so generous and I will do anything for people just to prove that they can trust me and that I’m not a bad person, since I constantly feel like I am, through years of conditioning to believe that somehow I was. I always feel so horrible and rude. I hate myself. And I can’t help but feel if I was brought up feeling loved and praised and nurtured, that maybe this wouldn’t be so.

I’m like a below half-empty cup and I constantly GIVE and GIVE and GIVE, and then I’m left empty. Mentally. Emotionally. Financially. I end up leaving feeling shit about myself for the stupid things I do.

Obviously my rendezvous of sorts with the guy I have been mentioning a lot in my last few blogs was intended to be somewhat healing towards him as well as myself and it’s as if I tried to prove myself; to wash through sincere and feel important and wanted in a way I never had before. That mattered to me. But again I was tipped empty.

Anyway, time has passed and I have started talking to someone else and went on a couple dates and he seems good for me — but I can’t believe or trust it. Not now. I have given too much of myself to others that goes unrecognised or unappreciated to the point I barely even know who or what I am anymore. I truly feel empty.

And I don’t know what I want, or need.

I don’t know how to feel, unless I’m hypomanic or under the influence. Even still, being under the influence makes me do stupid things I feel ashamed of afterwards — like being too candid or flirtatious. It makes me feel dirty and easy.

Although I have met someone new who seems really good and genuine, I don’t know how to feel about it all.

It’s like… I notice the tendency that I am usually attracted to emotionally unavailable people. They are my vice; my weakness. I don’t know. Something about wanting to ‘save’ people, and, in turn, finding my own clarity because it gives me some sick sense of purpose and I begin to help myself in the process, too. As though I only feel worthy of being better in those times when I’m helping those I am involved with.

And I gave all my thought, time, and energy to these people. It drained me. And for people who weren’t even open to receiving.

And perhaps it's some kind of replica of my relationship with my parents, in particular my mother. Like I just yearn to help people so that they can almost be like a parent figure to me, in a way.

That’s probably all I wanted when I was younger — my mother to be better.

And alas, I grew up acquiring an intellect past my years.

At age 10 or 11, I once had a dream whereby my mother and I had to undergo a surgery that would basically start the birth process all over again — as if something had gone wrong the first time with our attachment. And I think that means something.

Now I’m deviating. But I am going through some cognitive dissonance right now that I find disturbing.

Because of my most recent ex, I don’t know what love even is. Instead I just feel empty. Because of him, I feel so fucking insignificant and invalidated and as though I will never be understood. I feel like if I ever date anybody again who is what would be mentally deemed ‘normal’, I will never feel any emotion — be it on the low or high end of the spectrum — in extreme, and will just feel numb, empty, and meaningless.

I don’t know why, but I tend to prefer extreme and erratic highs and lows in relationships with others — as opposed to a sombre baseline, whereby I am clouded with confusion; in which state I will do ANYTHING just to feel different. Like concluding my week at leavers with non-monogamous sex after being completely emotionally rejected by my boyfriend for days on end and with no explanation why. After a few too many drinks and cones, I gave in to my vulnerability — just to simply FEEL — with a guy I had just met.

Was I a slut? OR, was I not having my needs met and either:

a) seeking it through others, or

b) using frantic attempts to get the attention and consolation I needed?

Either way, my promiscuity during the latter end of that relationship was marked by constant invalidation and dismissal, when clearly what I needed was attention and love.

So FUCK what anybody else thinks. They don’t know or understand me, or the ordeal I went through that shaped that particular frame of mind.

Because of the person I started seeing briefly after my ex, I feel like I can’t express anything that isn’t followed by personal attacks or judgement. And I have this seemingly unshakeable distorted sense of self worth — that I’m only useful or important when it comes to sex or help in obtaining weed.

And lastly, because of the most recent guy that fucked me over, my trust is broken and my openness impaired. And he had so much unaddressed emotional baggage that took a toll on everything, and now I can’t decipher whether I want to become attracted to normal, or broken people, as both appear as threats due to my history.

I HATED how the most recent guy was so blunt and disinterested in talking to me or seeing me and it's because he was so jaded from the past, and I fucking HATE that I am becoming somewhat of a simulation of that.

My mind’s been all over the place. I’ve had so many people I promised to contact after being discharged from hospital, but my mind has been elsewhere.

I was REALLY happy about meeting someone new to the point of apparent hypomania, but now I’m in a really sad state over so many things that I currently just take no pleasure in conversing with others.

And maybe I’m too tired from opening up to people in the past that I don’t have the effort to. And maybe I feel really guilty for being so candid so quickly? And my self esteem is practically non-existent at the moment so I feel horrible and pathetic and inadequate. I don’t know how to coherently express that I am NOT okay.

When I wake up and think of what to do, there are basically 3 options —

1. stay at home all day watching TV like the lazy slob that I am,
2. get stoned and feel absolutely FUCKED afterwards, or
3. impulsive spending, temporarily making me feel GREAT — until I have to suffer the consequences of being broke and having nothing to do about it for the next week

Staying at home all day makes me feel pathetic and lonely and I am constantly plagued by how empty and unimportant I feel. To the point that getting stoned seems a better option so then I can at least escape the feeling, right?

No, not necessarily. I get extremely paranoid and feel shit about myself and feel liable for the lack of conversation. I’m the first to wake up whenever I stay over at a friend’s and I feel so disoriented and anxious to the point I wish I could just die. It’s not fun anymore.

I guess I am probably merely in a mental purgatory of sorts. A junction between here and nowhere, back and forth, and so on. It is only standard to feel lost; stuck.

When I am in a depressive episode, I wish so badly to be happy again, even if that means compromising my reasoning and common sense when hypomanic.

Like coming up with silly, self-destructive ideas and wanting so badly to stick to them. I guess when in these states, I crave emotional affection and intimacy — even in the most bizarre and desperate of circumstances.

Luckily, I was in just the right company, and this person cared enough to want something a bit more special, as well as not to take advantage when I’m in a foggy and impulsive mindset. I liked that thought. But at the same time, I was so impatient and restless, I guess because:

a) my last intimate (was it?) experience was 3 months ago and it was awful and I probably wanted to replace it with a (somewhat) better one?

b) I always put this kind of stuff on the table, so quickly. It’s my way of trying to connect, and

c) I’ve always been treated like shit so I guess I felt I deserved it

It sure feels nice to be treated like a person and to be appreciated for ME.

But it’s not really something I’m used to, and I don’t know how to feel.

On another note, I have started talking to an old ex lately, as a friend, and I’m feeling really happy about it. He’s been in a similar situation to me, and I am so glad to be there as a support and for him to be supportive of me, too. I can’t say I could ever be on friendly speaking terms with my most recent ex, because we just don’t think and converse in the same way. But this other person is different — we both understand how hard life can be, and it feels so good to be there for somebody like that and vice versa.

I have now been accepted into a 28 day program of supported independent accommodation for mental health recovery, and have been here for a week so far. Upon first coming here, I was incredibly anxious and lonely. Now, I am starting to feel a bit more settled in, and am happy to have the freedom of living by myself. This is the kind of environment where I can start to implement healthy habits and routine again.

Things have still been a bit hard for me, though.

I haven’t been in therapy for 3 weeks because my psych has been away, and externally I seem to be coping in that I am holding myself together, but frankly, it has felt absolutely chaotic and scary inside my head.

I have been having a lot of suicidal thoughts that I try my hardest not to act on, but they still haunt me and some days I feel like there is no point being alive. In this period I have neglected some people because I have not been able to provide them with my undivided attention.

One day last week I woke up to a long snapchat video message from a friend asking why I never message first, why when I do respond my replies are incredibly brief and I seem to have no interest in conversation, why I make vague plans to catch up and then cancel, all of this kind of stuff. And I felt absolutely horrible. Because, despite all this, I am not trying to be a bad friend, I am not trying to ignore or avoid anyone, I do care, A LOT, and I would hate to be perceived otherwise. This messed with me a lot, because the last thing I want to do is be like that guy I mention a lot — the one who was blunt and callous and didn’t really seem to care. On the contrary, I definitely do care and I appreciate having people contact me.

It is entirely unintentional, and I fucking HATE being that kind of person, and I hate coming across as though I don’t care, or that I don’t want to talk. Anybody who knows me well will know I am entirely the opposite usually, when I’m in the right headspace. If anything, I am the most generous, talkative, and kind person when I’m feeling ‘myself’, and I constantly apologise for any little thing that I find might anger or upset others, even if it means nothing at all to them necessarily.

Hearing this only made me feel even worse, because I was never trying to ignore or dismiss them deliberately, I have just had a lot going on that it is hard for me to maintain contact with everyone.

There have been 3 people I have wanted to contact me, but haven’t. Instead, they have been completely absent from my life. Firstly, two of which are friends, friends I was particularly close with but just seemed to ‘disappear’, but also, my mother. Sure, I have been very angry and have chosen to block her out, but the fact that she has never attempted to make any contact to see how I am going kind of hurts, to be honest.

As for the friends I mentioned, one of which I have not seen since probably late March, when I had her stay over the night. The last time seeing her was walking her to the bus stop the next morning, and although it was slightly silent ans awkward, there was no real tension or anything between us that would suggest why she never returned my texts from then onwards. Later on I even realised I was removed from her snapchat, Instagram and Facebook, and I had no idea why. So, I contacted one of her friends once to ask if she was alright. Apparently she was fine, so I don’t know what the fuck happened there.

Another friend I had been pretty close with for a while, and at some point in the past couple of months I realised he was ignoring my messages and I couldn’t understand why.

A few days ago, I attempted to call both of these ‘friends’. Neither of them answered. What a way to make me feel like shit, guessing what the fuck I had done wrong.

Eventually the latter mentioned friend sent me a message, saying that I would only contact him when I wanted to vent, and that I wouldn’t ‘listen’ or take his advice; that I would constantly complain and vent but ‘never do anything about it’, and that I wasn’t on the same level as him and wasn’t helping him to grow or be a better person. Basically what I took from it was that he thought I was bringing him down with me, and that I was ‘immature’. I’m honestly not sure if it’s because he’s a male and can’t comprehend that females tend to vent for emotional support and not for practical advice, or if it’s because he thinks I’m not at his ‘level’ because he studies at an elite university and somehow my emotional troubles interfere with his lifestyle and concept of ‘maturity’.

Sure, I’m glad to at least have a response, because now I can sleep at night instead of wondering why people hate me and why so and so won’t answer my calls and messages anymore.

But the thing that bothers me is that although I can see his point, I feel like I need to explain myself so as to convey why this is not exactly so. I DO care, and I am not always like that. I have been going through a rough time lately, and it is in these times I have needed the most support. It has never been my intention to be a bad friend, or to ‘use’ someone to vent to them. I know I can sometimes be egocentric but I do not mean to be, and it is something I have acknowledged and am trying to work on.

And sometimes, I just need to vent to someone, to be heard, to have emotional support and articulate my thoughts in a way that makes sense to others when I thought it wouldn’t — to see another’s perspective on it. Sometimes that is all I really need in order to help myself. I don’t usually vent to others seeking actual advice on how to fix the problem, because I usually know of the ways I can improve things when I have a sense of clarity. I have always been in therapy and I am always doing what I can to try to help myself; I have always tried to move forward and improve. I am not one to dwell and stay stagnant because I know BETTER than that; I know what usually helps me. And I am getting help — being part of this 4 week program sounds like it could be incredibly beneficial. It’s not like I’m not trying. I WANT to get better and I am taking the right steps toward it.

I hate feeling the way I do and I hate burdening my friends with my problems and intermittent negativity. But, at the same time, my friends know what I am like when I am in a good headspace and I can be fun to be around — I’m not always feeling so low, nor do I intend to be. I get this person’s point and I am truly sorry that they feel that way, but I think if you can’t handle me at my worst, as well as my best, you’re not really a true friend.

Real friends don’t punish you by ignoring and ghosting you because they don’t want to be surrounded by your negativity and your inability to immediately feel better with their advice. Sometimes we are in a bad place and all we need is unconditional love and support; people to prove that they are not going to just leave you when you need them the most.

If you don’t want me to be a ‘burden’ to you, so be it. Just know that I won’t be there when you need me.

It hurts, because I would never do this to somebody else. And I am so grateful for the true friends I do have.

The other day, I was going to be working for the first time in 2 months, not since I had been admitted to hospital. This was a big thing for me. I was going to be working at the Cafe with my aunt, and I was really excited. I woke up early, put on a whole face of makeup, and felt particularly amazing and happy to be alive. I had a friend offer to drop me off to work the night before, which made things even better. When I hadn’t heard from him and he wasn’t there yet, I started to become a little bit restless and worried. When it came time that I was meant to be starting in 10 minutes and he wasn’t there though, and he wasn’t answering my frantic calls and messages, despite being active on Facebook, I started to have a panic attack, and burst into tears.

Just something about how stupid I was to actually trust someone to do me a nice favour, that it all was clearly a big joke in my head at the time, how I felt so horrible and disappointed in myself for letting my aunty down, as well as myself. Instead, my general mood shifted in an instant, and I just felt like I wanted to die. Everything in the world felt wrong and pointless.

And although a while after, said friend apologised and told me they were out doing something and forget to check their phone, I didn’t care in the slightest. I don’t know how you can make a promise to someone and then so carelessly just forget about it, and that hurts. Not only just the lack of thought, but also the fact that one little thing fucked my whole day up and part of me kind of finds him liable. Similarly, I also hate myself for depending on others and trusting so openly. I guess not, anymore.

The positives this week are that I have an assessment for a more longer term supported accommodation once my stay here is over, and on the weekend I finally have therapy. Hopefully things get better for me — I have been stressed out for way too long. I have to say, on the plus side though, this past week my sleep has definitely improved and although the vivid dreams still occur, they don’t affect me as much.