So I haven’t written in a while – largely because I feel I have nothing new to say. Every day is a struggle, and I feel like I am not making progress. I feel like I’m floating, surviving, rather than living.

So I figured I’d try something different. Rather than a diary update – I’ll try a proper blog post. Try to identify exactly where the fuck I went wrong.

Adventures in Depression & Low Self Esteem

I think that somewhere inside – I have always known that I was depressed. For as long as I can remember back into my childhood, I was not happy. Now that doesn’t mean to say that I was never happy, or enjoying myself – I laughed, I had fun, it wasn’t constant, but yet – it was constant. It was always there in the back of my mind. Like a spectator, it would sit there, it would observe everything I did, and even when it didn’t say anything, it’s presence was there. If I got too happy it would silently remind me that that wasn’t who I was. If I was sad it would berate me for letting it get me down. When I would desperate it would tell me – but you have no reason to be depressed, your life is okay, you’re not homeless, you didn’t have an abusive childhood, what the hell right do you have to feel sad?

That’s quite a big point for me, that last one. I talk to people a lot about depression – I tell them it can strike anybody, with no reason, it is indiscriminate, and it is not a sign of weakness to seek help – it is a sign of strength. But when it comes to me – I feel unjustified, I hear tales of others who had horrible things happen to them that caused it, and I feel unworthy of that label. Like a fraud. And if I were to seek help for it then it would mean I was incapable of getting through it by myself. Rationally I know that what I say to others is right, and what I tell myself is wrong, but emotionally, it’s really tough to break that barrier.

In addition to that, usually I do cope. Okay, I clearly don’t cope well – but I’m still here. Despite long periods of self-harm, starvation and psychological abuse campaigns against myself, I’m still here. I find ways to cope, I throw everything into a relationship because it is my saving grace – it gives me purpose, and then I fuck it up, or it ends and I am left hollow and empty. That’s how it’s gone before – except this time it was different. This time I really really love her. She was good for me, she helped me, she was there for me, and I cared about her more than I cared about me. I wanted to make her happy for her, not just so I could feel worthy.

But that all masked the fact that I still had these issues underneath. I still felt unworthy. In some ways it amplified them – Who was I to deserve this amazing person? I began holding back, biting my tongue during disagreements for fear that I would upset her, she’d realise she was better than me and leave. I ignored my needs, I let them fester inside because I was afraid to voice them. And that wasn’t fair on her, she’d given me no reason to not believe that she would help me through anything. But I let it build, and then when she was going through her own issues, I was unable to talk about how it made me feel for that same reason. Gradually that built an emotional wedge between us. I still loved her so very much but I was unable to communicate. I wasn’t able to ask for the intimacy that I needed. I started to look elsewhere for that intimacy – in friendship at first, but then flirtation turned to more. For me, it felt like one of those ‘rate your body’ websites. They didn’t feel like real people, it was like paid chatrooms (okay, that sounds hideous to me now saying it out loud) but that’s how it felt. I never wanted anything physical because I never wanted anybody else but her. Hearing nice things said reassured my body confidence. And at the same time made me feel awful. I’m pretty sure that I realised that this wasn’t okay. But how could I say anything? The communication had already broken down and this made it worse. I know that this was all inside my own head – if I had spoken out at any time the communication would have been fine – but at the time I couldn’t see that.

Ultimately, it all came out. In a way, I’m glad. I had lost that avenue of communication with her and after a few weeks I realised that being 100% honest was the only way forward. I wish I could have been the one to tell her. I wish I had told her how I was feeling before any of it started. But I was weak and afraid. I have hurt her so very badly, and she was the one person I loved. If I had tackled my issues instead of letting them get so bad this never would have happened.

For the first time now – I want to be better – I want to never be this way again. I want to never do these things again. And yes, that is partly because I want to be with her and I want to be a person that she deserves, but it is also because I want to be able to respect myself.

I’m not entirely sure yet how to change myself, but I am now seeking help – I am talking to doctors and therapists to try and help me change how I think and behave. I do not want to be the version of me who could do that.

Ironically – the thing I have done which has made me feel like the worst person in the world has made me determined to become someone I can be proud of.

It’s a long road ahead, I know that. Right now I’m struggling most with trying to own what I did and accept it vs trying to accept that my illness had a part to play in causing it. Ultimately, both are true.

I know that there is a future, I know that there is a way up – I’m finding it hard to see it at the moment, but I have belief that it is there, and that is something.