The doors are shut. I feel it tighter around my neck. At this stage I have reached out to my friends, demanding them to just message her. She was the only person who made me feel full. I let her in and I shut her out when she got too close. I was dying and I wanted everything to feel full again.
The room is dark and I feel suffocated. It gets tighter and I start to black out. I hear the sirens coming to my house. I think not again. Why can't they just let me go.
They are kind. Asking me what's going on in my head. How do you describe a pain so unbearable to anyone really. Your mind is telling you that they won't understand before you even try to get the words out. Where do I even begin to explain what I've been through and what is the point of telling them.
My pain is in the past but also is carried into my present. Some days I function. But behind closed doors, where I switch off from the world, is where I battle and struggle severely. I have to go back and forth to emergency just to survive in this world. Not all days are like that, a large ration is.
Ignore the phone. She wants your attention. Ignore the manipulation and her hurting herself. She wants the attention. Ignore the pathetic screams for help, she really just wants your attention.
Flashback. The suffocation happens. I go to the toilet and force myself to vomit. The memory i have makes me feel scared. I start to sweat and I stick my fingers down my throat again.
I stew on anger and frustration. As soon as I see someone struggling in any way I will come in open arms wanting to hug them, comfort them and help them. But when it comes to me, some people just push me away. Some people just can't empathise.
You are stubborn carissa! You are the most stubborn person I know! If you do anything, I'll do it twice as hard!
I'll jump. No you won't Carissa. Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are.
I tell you my ideation. You tell me you don't believe me. I tell you my ideation. You say I'll help then you run. I tell you my ideation. You say it's all in my head. I act on my ideation. You disappear.
I hurt myself. I get that release in the moment. What you don't understand is the moment is dangerous. Call lifeline you tell me. Use the app you tell me. You don't belong in the Pysch ward. Go to hospital it's so easy. The mental health system is so supportive you'll be fine. Just stay in hospital. Book your psych.
72 hours later I am released. Two days later I see the blood rushing out of my wrists. You say you can't help me anymore. I feel broken and worthless. I feel people give up so I give up. I can never win. This vicious cycle is my life.
I shut myself in my room. I look out of my apartment window. Your words stick with me and I spend an hour in my room fighting the urges not to hurt myself because I believe I deserved the cruelest things I have endured in my life. This time blood isn't rushing from my wrists and I don't reach my phone to call you.
They don't care, I tell myself.
But some of you do.