TRIGGER WARNING: MENTION OF SUICIDE, SELF HARM

I woke up this morning feeling hopeless and lonely. There’s a difference between loneliness and solitude, you see. The French windows in my bedroom, along with the loneliness, hopelessness, and sense of abandonment, remind me of my time in the US. One of the biggest reasons I returned to India was to be close to my friends and family in difficult times. This year has been the hardest of my life because I relapsed, dug deeper into my mental health issues, and worked through them, only to realize there is still so much more to work on. I can’t keep going. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I’m hallucinating. I’m unable to go to the office. My house is a mess, and my weight has skyrocketed—I don’t even have the courage to weigh myself. I need help, but I have no one. Everyone is busy with their own lives. My family doesn’t want to talk to me because they feel I “disrespected” them by setting boundaries to stop their constant criticism of my weight gain.

I need a lot of help, but I have no one to turn to. My psychiatrist does little besides prescribing medication. My therapist gives me false hopes. He’ll message me tomorrow morning, asking, “Are we meeting for the session today, Meghna?” Every weekend, I consider saying no, but somehow, I end up saying yes. Even he doesn’t seem to care, insisting that this is part of getting better. But I know in my heart that this will never get better. The only reason I’m not jumping from the 15th-floor balcony is the fear that God would keep me alive, just to make me suffer even more.

I am not cutting my wrist because I fear I won’t be able to cut deep enough. I need to accept it now. It’s been 14 years, and it’s never going to get better. My friend is right: my life is good; I’m the one making it harder. I feel like I need people at my disposal all the time. There’s no illness—everyone is just fooling me. This is why they’re all happy and content without me. So, gather the courage today.

Categorized in:

Pain