The diary entries stopped after the 12th.
At least in the same format. I stopped talking about the “event” or my “feelings” (yuck) entirely after that last entry.
To people who would see my diary, buried in layers and layers of folders on my ipad, it would appear that I got better. It was all pink and there were song lyrics and screenshots of music videos and all the words were about my hobbies and passions.
I got significantly worse almost immediately. The reason I had stopped was because I was convinced that I was being stalked by not only every single person I talked to EVER, but by websites I went to. I thought everyone was going through my devices, search history, messages, everything. I would have complete meltdowns over this at least twice a week. I stopped showering entirely. I had to cut my own hair every few weeks because I was refusing to brush it and it was getting so matted it formed an impenetrable ball of yuck on my head. I almost wasn’t able to cut the matts out. I am still suffering from my own neglect today. My tooth snapped in half a few days ago because I wasn’t taking care of them for over a year. Even though I am very careful with my dental hygiene now, the damage was already done. I can’t hold my bladder anymore from when I was refusing to go to the bathroom because I thought there were cameras. I was hallucinating bugs all over everything every single day. At one point I thought I was the armored titan from Attack on Titan, and that I was covered in roaches, and I was contemplating on the most effective way to end my life and repent for my sins against humanity. I was fifteen, and also not a grown European man who can turn into a buff giant.
The only reason I even kept writing is because my paranoia was so bad that I thought “they” would know that if I stopped, it was because I knew. There was nothing to even know. There was no “they”.
My first therapy appointment was in a mental hospital where I spent all day hanging out with a bunch of people who were there on probation, not there for mental health, who brought it to my attention that I was in fact not being normal. The day I was admitted, I had to take a drug test. I cried in the bathroom for close to thirty minutes because I knew I had to do it, and now “they” had my dna and they were going to clone me or something. I didn’t know why I even cared, it’s not like evil clone me would be able to fight, she’s made out of pee.
I think my point with this post in particular is to tell you to keep an eye on your friends and loved ones. I’ve been told that I’m more agreeable and fun and less of a general nuisance when I’m starting to spiral again. My most recent break was in March. I stopped taking my medications entirely for weeks, without anyone knowing or able to tell, until my mom found out because I answered the door when she came to wake me up for school at five on a Monday. I had stayed up for two days straight because I thought there was a sniper outside my window and if I slept, he would kill me and my family. I told her this and she immediately sent me back to the therapy program. Thanks mom.
I think another point I’m trying to make is to bring awareness to paranoia. People joke about being “schizo” a lot, and while kind of funny, I don’t think we should do that as much. I am not formally diagnosed with schizophrenia. A schizophrenia diagnosis can mean a lot for people. There’s a lot of stigma. It’s not even in my file that I experience hallucinations, severe paranoia, and delusions, I have to tell each of my providers individually. Schizophrenia is most likely in both sides of my family. Most mental health conditions are genetic (to a degree).
I am mentally ill by definition.
I have an anxiety disorder that I’ve had my entire life. I’ve had panic attacks as long as I can remember. I have chronic stomach issues because of it (among other things). I have a depressive disorder. I cut my hair two months ago because I have bald spots due to me ripping out my own hair that my long hair’s weight was making super visible. I started ripping my skin off when I was in third grade. I don’t wear short sleeves or tank tops out anymore because I don’t like my scars. I used to rip multiple layers of skin off my fingers to remove my fingerprints in an attempt to make me untraceable. I would go through multiple day long periods where I had to wait for them to heal because touching anything at all hurt and throbbed. I would do it again as soon as I was able to touch my own hands without wincing. I have to put stuff on my nails because if I don’t I will rip them off. When my rabbit died, after all the healing I did in therapy, I screamed that I was going to hurt myself while I banged my head against the wall over and over again. I don’t remember any of that.
I also don’t remember last week, when I was doing homework with my mom and sister, and started ripping out my hair. I don’t remember banging my head again either. I was only told that I did this the next day. It certainly explained the headache, though.
People like to glorify mental health issues a lot. I see it the most on Instagram and TikTok. I see people talking about bed rotting like it’s just watching Netflix at 2 pm instead of washing the dishes. I used to not get out of bed for days at a time. I didn’t shower for months. I stopped eating. I was severely underweight until last year, when my antipsychotics made me gain fifty pounds.
Healing isn’t linear. You can be totally fine and then one insignificant thing happens (like a two week vacation) and suddenly you have half of the baseboards you originally had. You can also get better for weeks or years or months, and then get ten times worse than you ever were. Brains are weird, man.
I don’t expect anyone to read this far. I don’t blame you for not wanting to. I stopped writing this to go watch reels because I was getting weirded out by myself. Do not worry about me I swear that I am okay as of writing this. Never been better. Here’s a picture of me at this very moment to prove it.
See, I look great. My complexion is so smooth.
Check on ur unwell friends if they suddenly get super nice and happy. chances r they are not. Take care of them (and yourself)
call or text 988 for immediate help, they can help you more than I can.
this turned out way longer than expected,,,girl i be thinking.
