HER MIND

Isolation

I isolated myself from the people I called friends, retreating into a shell of excuses such as "I am busy" and "I need to clean the house." I then began making excuses even to people that cared for me. Each excuse was a way to distance myself from my loved ones, a way to create a barrier between them and the growing despair I felt.

I convinced myself that by isolating myself, it would be easier to take my own life. The fewer people I surrounded myself with, the fewer people would be hurt by my death. The thought of causing pain to others was unbearable, and so, in a misguided attempt to minimize the damage, I withdrew further. I hated that these were my thoughts. The isolation seemed like a twisted form of protection, a way to shield my loved ones from the weight of my struggles.

By pushing people away, I believed I was sparing them from the burden of a problem I didn't even know how to describe or articulate. The feeling of loneliness was painful, but it seemed necessary to prevent causing more distress to those around me. The hunger in me for that vibrant child to come back intensified, and the only solution at that moment that I had forced myself to believe in was to end it all. The idea of ending my life seemed like the only way to escape the pain and to somehow, in a twisted way, restore that lost part of myself. In my darkest moments, I clung to the hope that by ending my life, I could somehow bring back that little girl who had once been full of life and spirit in another life.

It was a desperate and distorted form of wishful thinking, driven by the belief that the only way to escape the suffocating despair was to erase everything. I convinced myself that maybe, in some unexplainable way, taking this extreme action would bring back the happiness and energy I had lost. I hoped that the lively child inside me would come back as a result. My mind was on a battlefield, a relentless war between the desire to get better and the crushing belief that I would never truly recover because no one could help a broken version of me. The inner struggle continued without stopping. One side wanted to find healing and hope, while the other side was filled with despair and doubt. The struggle was intense as each side battled for control over my thoughts and feelings.

In those moments of intense struggle, I knew deep down that I needed to seek help or at least speak to someone. The need for support was undeniable, a crucial step toward finding relief and understanding. Yet, fear and apprehension held me back. I was terrified that reaching out would be misconstrued as merely seeking attention and that my genuine cries for help would be dismissed or belittled. This fear of being judged or misunderstood created a paralyzing barrier, making it difficult for me to take that crucial step toward seeking the help I desperately needed. The weight of these emotions was overwhelming, and I was acutely aware of how they were affecting me.

The constant turmoil within me felt like a storm that threatened to consume everything in its path, and I was afraid that if I didn't find a way to manage it, the damage would be irreparable. The idea of my emotions causing harm to myself or others was a constant source of anxiety, and I worried about the potential consequences of not addressing them. The battlefield within my mind was a place of profound conflict, where the desire for recovery battled against the pessimistic belief in my inadequacy. I was caught in a vicious cycle, torn between the hope of overcoming my struggles and the fear of reaching out for help. The struggle was not just about finding a way to get better but also about overcoming the internal barriers that kept me from seeking the support I needed. 

I was terrified of myself, unable to reconcile with the person I had become. I reached a point where I felt really bad about myself and started to hate the way I looked inside and out being me felt haunting. I spent more days consumed by thoughts of my death than by any visions of my future. My mind focused on dark thoughts instead of positive ones, which made me feel constantly emotionally distressed. In these dark moments, I often wondered how people would react to my death. The questions haunted me: Would they view me as selfish for choosing to end my life? Would my departure be met with a sense of relief or indifference, leading to the painful thought of being easily forgotten? The fear of how my absence might impact others was a heavy burden, adding to the weight of my suffering.

The emptiness inside me felt like a deep void that I couldn't fully understand or express, adding to the confusion and distress I felt. The sense of missing something significant was a constant reminder of how disconnected I was from the joy and purpose I once knew. It was as if a crucial piece of my identity had been lost, and I was left searching for a way to fill the void that remained. I found myself in a turbulent emotional state, torn between my fears, concerns about how others would respond to my potential passing, and a deep sense of something crucial being absent. Each thought of death was intertwined with a sense of deep, existential questioning and a yearning to understand what had gone wrong. The struggle to navigate these emotions and thoughts was a daily battle, one that left me feeling profoundly lost and unable to find solace or clarity. I had love in my life, but it was a love that was not directed towards myself. Despite having people who cared deeply for me, I often felt intensely lonely in my solitude.

Their affection and support seemed to dissolve into the background when I was alone with my thoughts, leaving me with a profound sense of isolation. The difference between the love I received and how I saw myself made me feel even lonelier, even when I was in caring relationships. The pressure of being perfect was a constant, heavy burden that weighed me down. The expectations placed upon me, whether self-imposed or from those around me, felt overwhelming and unrelenting. The constant pressure to meet high standards and achieve perfection made me feel inadequate and stressed, overshadowing the positive aspects of my life. It felt like the demand to excel and be flawless was draining my energy and adding to the internal struggle I faced.