I just want to say that I am a typically private person. I know, I know, I write a blog that talks about all my feelings and whatnot, but that’s different. It’s not everything. No one writes the horrible, raw, painful, and heartbreaking trials of their life for the entertainment of others. I mean why would you? For one it’s a little sadistic as entertainment, and for two well it’s hard enough to deal with alone without everyone else’s pitying eyes. Everyone has their own heartbreak and their own issues they deal with, why tell them mine? It hardly affects them.
I think the reason I’m finally writing this is because of the fact that though the impact may be minuscule, and most people don’t care to know, someone else feels this way too and if I can let them know they aren’t alone and they always have an ally in me, how could I possibly keep it to myself?
I am not always an easy person to get along with, I have long since held my trust close and coveted so afraid of it being shattered like every other time I let someone hold it. I am emotionally distant only opening up the amount needed to sustain relationships, terrified of showing the broken light that is hanging within. I have a harsh exterior, jaded from years of rejection, heartache, and disappointment.
I may have looked to you like I had it all together, but I never did.
And this is where the tone changes.
Remember when you go through recovery no one, and I mean no one, is more affected than the people who aren’t you and were hardly there to begin with.
*she said bitterly and sarcastically*
Perhaps many didn’t understand me when I said I went to rehab because I worded it so prettily *rolls eyes*. When I went to the hospital, it was rehab.
Before you ask or say anything
- Yes it really was that serious
- I am aware I looked like I had it all together
- Rehab didn’t make me magically better with 5 days of boredom and AA meetings
- I am still barely hanging on
- Yes you mentioned you didn’t know, It’s because you never asked
- Again, I know I seemed so happy. Seemed looks like the keyword.
…Need I go on.
When I got out of rehab things were very different in my life. Those 5 days were not sunshine and roses I’ll tell you that. It was emotional numbness and hunger for food that wasn’t weird, for my jacket that I couldn’t have because it had a string, for a shower with a real door and a mattress that wasn’t harder than most floors.
I had to make hard decisions. I had to leave my school. I had to leave the people I had made my family and those who I thought were my friends. I had to abandon my carefully constructed timeline. I had to say goodbye to the things I never got a chance to see. It was and is a horrible punishment, one that wasn’t even earned I might add, one I got simply for having an unhealthy balance of chemicals in my brain.
It was my choice, yes. But when you are told you can choose to listen to your doctor and leave and live or attempt to go back at it only to end up back or worse dead…the choice is obvious, isn’t it?
I left expecting to go into open arms of the support I thought I had built with the family that vowed to be there.
The reality? An empty room and judgment about how disappointing it was that I wasn’t as strong as I looked as if I wasn’t upset about it either.
Uhm excuse me? Disappointing? Oh pardon me, I apologize for not falling apart to your standard, for not appearing broken enough for it to be serious, for not scheduling a better date for you when my entire psyche was falling to pieces.
Not everything is perfect. And I sure as hell am not.
The funny thing about a breakdown is that it often happens from a lack of support. The Jenga blocks were wobbling, the facade was cracking, the pressure was building. I was out in the middle of a tightrope with the promise of a net, only to go tumbling down into a field of thorns.
I wonder, do you think I smiled for my sake, or yours? I think it’s interesting that so many pieces of my protective facade were able to fool you when in reality all you had to do was ask a few questions, or look into my eyes with every I’m fine. Instead of just accepting it because you didn’t want to have to believe differently.
I hope my anger is apparent to you. Because it’s not just anger, it’s fury.
I can handle strangers telling me that depression isn’t real or that my life looks so easy, or that it must be nice not to have to care.
What I couldn’t handle. My best friends, gone, no words, just disappeared. My “family” unresponsive and disappointed. My support, non-existent, only there because I offered something of my own.
So quite honestly forgive me if I just don’t give a fuck what you think about how I handled my situation because you honestly didn’t give a fuck about me.