Life And Death

let's be realistic here

I stopped taking the pill a long time ago, so I can't really start moaning about how could this happen to me blah blah. I know how, you know how, let's be realistic here. The pill didn't sit well with me, I wasn't me when I was taking it. It was a mutual decision in our relationship that I would cease to continue consuming what was making me feel so rotten, physically and mentally. Physically I would spend most evenings feeling like I was about to vomit, I was kept awake more than I could sleep with fear that I would be sick. I would shake, wrapped up in bed but feeling like I was in the arctic. Mentally, well my mental health is bad enough as it is. As a little girl I would get angry, furious, very easily. My fuse is miniscule at times, and it doesn't make life easy. For myself or James. I remember vividly hating my body and who I was before I was even a teenager. I'd stand in my room, inches away from my wall mounted mirror and stare at the monster in the reflection. She wasn't tall enough, anywhere near skinny enough and so much uglier than all the other girls. She wasn't good at anything, had no skills and no personality. Its no wonder none of the girls wanted to be her friend. I'd pick up any object I could find and throw it as hard as I could at the wall. I'd scream as loud as my lungs would allow into my pillow and cry my self to sleep, feeling the black pit inside of me grow each time I had an episode. Nothing much has changed really. These episodes have continued all my life, sometimes once a week, sometimes once a month but I have never been okay with being me. Coming off the pill helped, I've been more like a normal human since coming off it. I've been off it for about 2 years now.

As you can imagine this puts strain on a relationship. James is a saint for putting up with me, and I will never understand why he has and why he continues to do so. I guess some people can see light in a person when the light isn't really there. I make life harder than it needs to be, I'm aware of that, but I'm also the person who doesn't do anything to fix it. I am who I am and unfortunately I don't care to change that, we all die anyway right? I'm not sure if having any of this information is of any use, or any help. This story isn't really a story, it's true and its my thoughts and feelings. Sitting here, with my legs crossed beneath me, sitting on an office chair the same way I would sit in a school assembly, feeling the agony of what I have just done. Right now, its just physical agony but I'm sure the mental agony will come back.