Behind closed doors
Dear mummy, so it’s got to this.
You are staring at your hand filled with sleeping pills. This has been the hardest post to write, you see this blog was only ever supposed to be recording the happy times.
Unfortunately recently we’ve only had the bad. Illness, no sleep, relationship problems. You’ve done quite well shielding me from how you feel though. With a family history of mental health issues ranging from Alcoholism, which lead to your father’s death at 52, to eating disorders and depression. It’s about time something was going to happen to you.
At Christmas it’s always worse. Trying to keep everyone happy, putting a fake smile on, telling yourself that you are happy. Some days you are. Some days you are not.
So, here you are. Sleeping pills & pain killers or writing this post to get it off your chest. People sing about contemplating suicide, but until you actually feel like you can do it, do you fully emerge yourself in the task of planning it. Fantasising on ways that you could end it all. Hanging on window blind cords, driving your car into a brick wall or inching slowly off the motorway. Taking drugs mixed with sleeping pills and going to the kitchen drawer downstairs and grabbing a knife. You’ve thought about stabbing yourself in the stomach a lot, you don’t think you could cut your wrists.
Sleep deprivation and lack of self-esteem has led to this post. You hate yourself and feel others are mocking you and bitching about you behind your back. You feel you aren’t good enough to be a mum, by feeling constantly judged by others. You aren’t good enough to blog because you can’t spell or use grammar correctly. You’ve failed at being successful by being a lowly graphic designer. You’re ugly, fat and hate yourself. Daddy doesn’t listen to you or respect advice that you try to give. Always wanting to be in control of everything and you feel like a spare part. Surely no-one would miss you….except me. I’m the reason you are writing this post instead of ending it all. I’m the reason you are doing this blog, I’m the reason why you are trying to live your life. You are doing a shit job at it mummy and screwing it all up.
What to do…?
I don’t know.