My Fucking Mess Of A Life

It's back.

I stopped taking them. At first it was an accident because I ran out before my prescription could be refilled. Now I choose not to. It's not like I haven't missed a day before, but even if I miss a day, it takes longer than that for the bupropion to wash out of my system. It was almost a week before my refill was ready to be picked up, but by then it was too late. It was back. When the medication was in my system, it acted as a locked gate for it. It couldn't get to me and tell me all those horrible things. But now that lock had been broken and it was back, filling my head with self deprecating thoughts. The first thing it told me was to stop taking my antidepressants even when I got the refill. 'You don't deserve to be happy. Those pills give you happiness. Even if it's fake happiness, it's still happiness and you don't deserve that. All you do is cause trouble for others and take away their happiness, so why should you be happy? Besides, if you were born this way then God, or whoever is in charge, obviously intended for you not to be happy so why screw with the grand scheme of things? You're not supposed to be happy and that's it. Stop taking them. Don't tell anyone, just hide them away and pretend everything is fine or you'll just be causing even more problems, you fuck up.' It kept going for a long time. It's like it was trying to make up for all the time it was locked away and couldn't get to me. Even if I wanted to take my medication, I couldn't. If I try to think about taking them, it comes to the front of my mind and starts listing off reasons not to. I don't like this. I lost control my own mind, but then I begin to wonder if I ever really had control. I was going through some old texts awhile ago and saw one where I talked about crying on my birthday this past year. I had forgotten about that, but after reading that text, it all came rushing back. It was 11:30 at night, just a half an hour left till my birthday was over. I had had a great day, I hung out with friends and did fun stuff, yet at the end of the day, I was sat alone in a room, crying in a corner because I was thinking of all the times I'd ever been bullied or teased in my life. Instead of celebrating the day I was brought into this world, I was thinking of all the people that had made fun of me for being brought into it. Thinking back on it, that was probably a major red flag, but it wasn't like that was the first time it had happened. After I got diagnosed though, I thought back to all the times in my life where I was sad and crying but for absolutely no reason, or other things usually associated with depression. The number was high, very high. I wasn't shocked, but I was slightly surprised. I realized that no matter how far back I went, there was always something wrong with my life, something making me weird. Until fourth grade, 10 years old, I had no friends and always got into trouble. In fourth grade, my sister had anorexia, which messed up my home life causing me quite a bit of stress for a ten year old, but I had two friends so I could slightly deal with it. Then fifth grade came around. If I could delete any year of my life, it would be that year. I hated it. The two friends I had made the previous year were gone, one switched schools, the other split from me because we no longer had co-ed classes. I was back to being alone again. I remember that and think of the saying "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." I hated that saying. Now that I knew how amazing friends could be, it was crushing to have them ripped away, like my very soul had been lit on fire. I wished I had never met them because I couldn't stand that feeling. In addition, my home life was horrible. My sister was in trouble. Big trouble. She wasn't allowed to go back to school for awhile. She was locked I'm her room all day and I didn't find out until awhile later, but my sad had choked her after finding out what had happened. Due to everything going on, my grades were at an all time low. I was failing all my classes and I getting into more fights. I hated it. The year passed, but my memories never faded. They were burned into my mind. Sixth grade came around and that was the first year I thought about suicide. I didn't do anything, but thinking back on it, that's probably when it started and it's only gotten worse since then, to the point where I'm now being placed in therapy focused school. I need special classes and smaller settings is what they said. I don't really think it matters. As long as I have a demon in my mind, nothing can help me. I just want to leave. I want to go away and not come back.
I just want to die.

8/8/17

And I was doing so well. I've had a couple of situations while on the meds but nothing major. Nothing like now. So yeah that's why a new part was written. It's funny cuz I've been talking to people a lot on this app lately and they will all tell you that I'm a very positive person. Irony is a thing. Ok I'm going to go lie in bed now. Not sleep just lie there. Wow I did not miss this feeling!