ghostbird
Member
- Aug 16, 2023
- 25
In February I OD'ed. Somehow survived despite taking well above a lethal dose because my body just refuses to die apparently. I've honestly lost count of how many times I've attempted, but this one was by far my most serious. I was unconscious for three days and my parents were told I probably wouldn't wake up. I didn't even know that I nearly died, my parents only told me recently. To me it just felt like the best nap of my life lmao.
Since then, my life has changed completely. I dropped out of uni, I moved back in with my parents, my psychiatrist changed all of meds, I've been exercising regularly, eating healthy, generally taking very good care of myself. I lost 20kgs. I'm doing everything right, everything they tell you to do. Everyone is so fucking proud of me.
But I feel the exact same as I did in February. I don't feel any less depressed, any less suicidal. I have now been saddled with the label of 'treatment-resistance depression'. I fear I will feel this way forever. And if that's true, then forever won't be too much longer.
This might sound dumb but I'm honestly mad at modern medicine for keeping me alive this long. It has saved my life twice now, both completely involuntary. Once, in childbirth (I was born premie) and now twice with that attempt.
I don't matter. I'm just one speck of dust on a planet that's also a speck of dust in a galaxy that's also a speck of dust among a universe that is dying. Every day I think about all the poor people who die who wanted to live, and I wish I could take their place. Why couldn't the cancer in a poor kid's body go to me instead? They don't deserve it, they don't want it. But I do. I wish I could bear all the terminal illnesses in the world. It's so unfair. I have nothing going for me, no future, nothing to live for. And yet I continue to live, despite my best efforts for that to not be the case.
Since then, my life has changed completely. I dropped out of uni, I moved back in with my parents, my psychiatrist changed all of meds, I've been exercising regularly, eating healthy, generally taking very good care of myself. I lost 20kgs. I'm doing everything right, everything they tell you to do. Everyone is so fucking proud of me.
But I feel the exact same as I did in February. I don't feel any less depressed, any less suicidal. I have now been saddled with the label of 'treatment-resistance depression'. I fear I will feel this way forever. And if that's true, then forever won't be too much longer.
This might sound dumb but I'm honestly mad at modern medicine for keeping me alive this long. It has saved my life twice now, both completely involuntary. Once, in childbirth (I was born premie) and now twice with that attempt.
I don't matter. I'm just one speck of dust on a planet that's also a speck of dust in a galaxy that's also a speck of dust among a universe that is dying. Every day I think about all the poor people who die who wanted to live, and I wish I could take their place. Why couldn't the cancer in a poor kid's body go to me instead? They don't deserve it, they don't want it. But I do. I wish I could bear all the terminal illnesses in the world. It's so unfair. I have nothing going for me, no future, nothing to live for. And yet I continue to live, despite my best efforts for that to not be the case.
