Have you ever felt like you're worthless? That nothing you do has any meaning? That no matter how hard you try you just end up hurting people and making the world a worse place? Does it ever seem a kinder option to those you love to just remove yourself from the equation?
I do. Every day of my life for as long as I can coherently remember, I have felt like that to some degree. I would involuntarily replay minor events in my head, picking apart circumstances and mentally punishing myself for the smallest infractions even against legitimately bad people. Even in situations where I was clearly in the right, I could find fault with myself.
After a major betrayal from someone I thought I knew and loved, I fell over the edge. I contemplated suicide. Hell, if I wasn't so afraid of blood and sensitive to pain I probably would have attempted it. Had I possessed a firearm I would not now exist. My brain instinctively tells me that I have a moral imperative to die. And I can't even vent my frustrations. I can't break things without beating myself down even further; shit, I can't even scream in anger for fear of drawing the ire or notice of people I don't give two fucks about.
I live every day on medication because I can't live with the hell that is my own psyche without help. I have already had to increase the dosage once, because I had a particularly horrible day which left me curled up on my bed sobbing, with a desperate subconscious plea for anyone to help.
Today has been another of those days. I felt about to explode in a cataclysm when I finally realized what this was: either I need to up my dose again, or I'm just having a really fucking bad day. Whatever the cause, I'm a half-step away from breaking down in tears or trying to decapitate myself with the butcher knife.
For some reason I have no qualms about sharing this information with the general public; shit, I share this with people whom I genuinely hate because even then my misguided mind can't stand to have them upset with me.
Thankfully, this post is not a plea for help. Not really. I have experience enough to know what I'm facing, so I know to stay away from the sharp objects and to be open about what I'm feeling. I have to gather up everything I can and tell the world to go fuck itself, that my needs come first for once. Every day, even on medication, I continually beat myself down. I never live up to expectations, either the expectations of others or the irrational expectations I project onto others so that my mind can justify more self-loathing and disappointment.
It's days like these, however, that define us. They let us decide what kind of people we are, whether we'll try to ignore our problems and trudge onward, or if we'll admit that we are fallible and human, and try to recover from our inborn wounds. I just hope that this is a genuine philosophical concept and that I'm not sabotaging myself on orders from my twisted psyche. Just like John Nash, I must scrutinize everything. Unlike Nash, however, I have no such easy fix as asking others if they can see what may be a hallucination. Everything with me is locked inside my head, so no observers can help guide me out of the haze.