Despite her vigilant and unconditional love, the eldest was scarred mentally by that evil. Anorexia was the new evil seeping into their lives. She had tried so hard to keep that evil out, but it came; her spirit was crushed. Invisible hands fed the eldest and took this duty off the mother’s back. An invisible voice consolidated the mother, reassuring her that she was not a bad parent.

 It must be in my genes! She had thought as it became evident that the youngest’s mind was disturbed. Well the mother knew what she had to do: that strong, benevolent woman took the measures needed to nurse the youngest back to health (or at least to a comfortable degree of health). Suddenly, curiously and unfortunately, evil struck again. It was in a park this time; the youngest the victim. Yet the youngest must have had her mother’s genes for they all survived that well. The mother started to hope – for hope and faith were characteristics she always maintained – that things would get better. They did. The eldest was well and no longer did the invisible hands have to feed her. The youngest was medicated to a point where no one would have to see the ugliness of her mind and health.            

Yet evil came back – or maybe, it was simply just a coincidence. The now happy eldest was ripped from the mother’s life. The eldest she loved so much and the eldest who made it all seem worth it. It was bitterly cruel for her to be taken when she was finally contented. The mother may have been strong but how was she supposed to survive this cruelty? Who could ask her to continue her brave face? The mother now lies in a blanket of melancholy and darkness; hatred and grief running her life. Invisible hands wash the dishes. Invisible hands pay the bills. Invisible hands dial 999 for the ambulance whilst the mother lies in a pool of blood. Invisible demons haunt the youngest, known to no one but herself. Invisible sadness lies under the smiling façade. As deep down (though she despises herself for feeling this way) she waits for thanks, love and care. Yet that too seems invisible.

            I have decided that I am throwing away any beliefs about strength or weakness or good or evil out of the window now and I am just going to live. And live as well as I can. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? A good thing to just get on with life. It is a smart and logical thing. To not let these stupid ideas and worries and emotions hold you back. Well I am on the road to recovery :).

            Sorry for the short post but this is my update…and it is a big one; a big event in my life!! :) 

People never understood/understand why I think depression is a bigger issue than my rape or schizophrenia. Well, I am sure my depression was never really ‘normal’ depression. It was more the feeling of nothing was worth the effort. It was more the inability to bereave enjoyment from anything. Life was more effort than it was worth so I wanted to die. Yes, I had all the normal tell-tale signs of severe depression but depression for me was probably more anxiety. I think I was mis-diagnosed sometimes. I hate to sound completely like an angst-y teenager but I am not understood. Not in the way most teenagers feel misunderstood but honestly, I truly deeply think no one knows who I am and if they did, they would be as confused as fuck.

I’m lonely but at the same time I adore solitude. I would never be able to stand anyone for more than a short amount of time and people get on my nerves quickly; the possibility of falling in love always looks so ridiculously slim for me and I was happy with that. But I am lonely and I expect I will be for (not meaning to sound dramatic but this is the truth) the rest of my life. I get irritated with people easily, I barely care for people in the first place, very few people would accept me for who I am, I am too scared to actually be myself around anyone, I will never trust anyone, I never let people in and I am fickle. I have a fear of rejection I guess. I don’t want to show people the REAL me, because if they don’t like it, I can’t not take offence at that because it isn’t them not liking a ‘fake’ me; it is them rejecting the real me. I sometimes think that roots back to issues with my sister from when we were very young but I cannot say it is wholly from that; my sister’s rejection just played a large part in my fear. There is also the fact that I find myself sickening. I think people would never accept what I think or feel and would find me sick. I am one of society’s abnormalities that would disgust people. So, I carry on playing the parts they want me to play instead. It doesn’t count if I am loved for what I act as; I am not loved for what I really am and to be honest, I don’t blame people for that.

                All these factors are going to keep me lonely- I know it. My friends (the people who I am closest to) have no idea that I come on PC or that I have this whole double life. A few very close ones know I am ill but they don’t know how it makes me feel; they don’t know what I have to put up with seeing; they don’t know the mean things the voices say; they don’t know how often I panic that they, themselves are reading my thoughts; they don’t know how often I think about death; they don’t know how often I just want to scream; they don’t know how uncaring and cruel I can be; they don’t know how bored of everything I am; they don’t know me. They would never understand that I make up personalities that sometimes I cannot remember. They would never understand that I made a whole second email address and person just so I could be someone else that I wanted to be and escape from what I am. Even my mother doesn’t know that. I can’t manage to bring myself to tell a psychiatrist any of that or any of my thoughts that I deem unacceptable and I think she will think I am sick. I just can’t voice this whole side of me and it is fucking killing me. This is me too and this side of me is so fucking lonely. LONELY; a word I hate! An emotion I find weak and pathetic. I never wanted to need or want people but here I am all upset because I feel lonely!

                Anyway, to continue with my original rant; (sorry, I got side-tracked) I don’t understand how I am feeling now. The pure panic I used to feel at the idea of going out or the idea of being around people for too long is subsiding. This is partly because I have managed to distance myself from friends I previously hated and made me feel uncomfortable but it is not just that. I used to panic and feel sick if I hadn’t spent enough time alone or enough time on the computer – I have a technology addiction and scored 100 on technology issues on the sanity score – but now-a-days I don’t panic so much. I still love my time alone and still need it, but it is no longer such a desperate need. I don’t spend any time I am out just wishing to be alone and watching time tick by; I can just ‘live in the moment’ so to speak. Does this mean I am getting better? I think it does…but then again; I am still not happy. I cannot help but feel like I did at the beginning of the depression. It is almost like it has come full circle and I am reliving past emotions and feelings. I am supposed to be getting better! I am supposed to be coming of meds! What the fuck is going on?! Am I better or am I worse?

                I can’t voice these thoughts and worries to my mother because she is depressed and has more than enough on her plate right now and I could try and voice them to a psychiatrist or counsellor but I just can NEVER be honest with them (even though I promised myself I would try and be honest this time around and tell them everything on my mind). Friends? My closest friends, don’t get me wrong, are lovely…but they aren’t precisely smart in these types of areas. PC people? They have enough problems of their own and no matter how HARD and MUCH I try…I will always put on a fucking façade. I am just too used to not acting as myself. I am too used to being closed; to keeping up these walls.

                I bet I will freak out and DELETE this post out of fear of the honesty in it as soon as I post it. The only reason I am managing to post it AT ALL is because I know no one reads it. How am I ever going to have a true friend? Ever be loved or love anyone (I don’t just mean romantically there, I mean in all ways)? I can’t ever show the true me to anyone. Hell, I seriously don’t know who the true me is…

1)       Schizoid, uncaring, sarcastic, assertive, degrading, narcissistic, smart, quick-witted, likes solitude, ambitious girl?

2)       Fun, laid back, easy going, push over, friendly, smiley, apathetic, lazy girl?

3)       Lonely, sad, depressed, self loathing, crazy girl?

I just don’t know…there are so many options. I’m confused and right now I am fucking terrified! :(

 These are two of my favourite quotes. I spend a large portion of my time searching for quotes by famous philosophers, theologians, writers and - most prominently - mad men. After all, insanity and genius come hand in hand.

From those two quotes, I can deduce that to depend on no one other than yourself, you are powerful. How have I deduced this? Well for the slower people out there, I will explain in detail: According to the great Paul Brunton, solitude is strength and depending on people is weakness. Seeing as strength equals a powerful personality which equals power, solitude = power. Sir Francis Bacon describes those who like solitude (self imposed solitude) as either a wild beast or a God. A God is seen as omnipotent, therefore being in solitude makes you powerful. A wild beast is something cruel, heartless, untamable and uncontrollable. All of those characteristics are things feared by mankind. When people fear you, you have a power over them. Therefore solitude is power.

being wholly independant = power (more…)