The part of my illness that I hate the most is that I occasionally hear voices in my head. Often they are just that, voices, it’s hard to tune them out and ignore them, but I try my best. Then comes the occasion when the voice sounds like someone I know, it’s not a memory, I know this because rarely is it something they have said out loud to me, rarely it is the actual truth just what the voices want me to believe.
Once again I’m needing to remind myself that I am so much stronger then people could ever know.
A war rages on inside my head, a war for my sanity, for my very life. You see if I let the voices win then, if I’m lucky I’ll be locked up for my own safety, if I’m not then I’ll be meeting the Maker.
I am unashamed of my mental health, sadly so many other people aren’t, or they fear it, they don’t know what to say, or they judge it, tell me I’m weak or that I’m making it up, that I’ve spoken it over myself. So many people have walked away because of my mental health, and the things that my illness has resulted in me doing. People have an expectation of what it should look like and when you don’t fit that box, or when you don’t get better as soon as they would like it’s your fault.
But it’s not. I have illness, and it’s terrifyingly lonely because people can’t see what’s wrong with you, people only see the good days, or the lies you put up to make them feel better. Yes there are good days. But they are so few and far between, or the voices stop you from remembering them, or twist them into a lie, that you weren’t really happy.
The voice tonight sounds like someone who I love but who recently walked away, well they let me know what a disappointment and failure as a human being I was first, but then they left. The thing is for me, it’s not that simple. I remember the words they used, they get added to the arsenal that the voices already have against me.
All I can do is sit and cry and tell them they aren’t true.
I battle with this almost every day. And it is exhausting. I already know how worthless I think I am and hate that this illness has made other people feel the same way. I hate that it makes me feel weak and that I deserve what they think about me. That I deserve to have my friends and family turn their back on me.
But I am NOT weak. I AM strong. I am alive, I am battling self-harm, eating disorders, voices in my head, a body that won’t let me sleep (at normal times,) a sense of almost debilitating loneliness. I am battling myself. It is exhausting. But I am doing it. I’m getting help and dealing with the consequences of some of my more stupid mania induced decisions. I am taking my meds and talking to people. I’m not locking myself away hurting myself or punishing myself. I have gone 5 days without smoking and almost a month without harming, I’m eating meals and going to work.
I am not what the voices and naysayers proclaim.
and what’s more, I have the courage to be honest about it.