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Are You a Victim ?


  • Are You a Victim ?
    Posted on August 09, 2018

    When I left a grand for each time that I heard the phrase "somebody has it worse than you," I probably would not be composing. I would be on a island somewhere with no internet without the arseholes and living like a king dressed like Robinson fucking Crusoe!

    Yes there are individuals who have it worse than I do, however there is nothing I could do to them if the damaging wave of my own mental disease frees me up and awakens my helpless mind against the eroding rocks of my destroyed life. Consider that for a moment. As analogies go, that's almost just like beating a homeless person to death with a bag full of cash. That's actually not far from the present tone from which society sets its own criteria.

    Nonetheless, it's not that the world depresses me. It does, but it's not the reason for my illness. Some folks are just constructed incorrect. Their biological contraptions aren't made to last or they suffer faulty wiring. I guess that the latter is me and as a result I probably care more than I need to once I have it in me to take care. But melancholy for one is not just about feeling awful. Most frequently I feel nothing whatsoever besides a continuous feeling like I am being crushed gradually to death.

    And the amusing thing about living with anxiety and depression is that what breaks all at once, both the brain and your body suffer exactly the same aching sense of despair and the longer you live with this, the harder it's for messages to get back and forth between the two. I am a zombie.

    I am barely more than thirty and I've lived with it because my last years at high school. Until recently there wasn't much that didn't function. Most of the time that I felt as a warm corpse, wearing down the heinous novelty of getting up so much of my mum's money, patience, time and space. And on the better times I felt as though I had been twenty five to thirty years older before my time.

    Merely to give you a good idea about what I've lived together because my mid-teens, I've been suicidal on and off; thankfully mostly off, in terms of urges. Some days your brain has a voice of its own and your feelings look utterly alien. If you do not do what that voice says, it is going to try to find a way to behave without your collaboration and that's a scary thing - particularly when it shows you exactly how helpless you are against it.

    Then you will find the passively suicidal days where it isn't an urge or a voice but less or more a feeling of fatigue so great you don't possess the will to rationalise from the irrational. You just sort of shuffle around, accepting that it's not likely to finish well, and you let it eat at you as you have not even the capability to create choices. You might die and not give a damn and that would be no big loss.

    Hearing about folks who have it worse doesn't make me want to fucking grin. If you feel otherwise, then mommy afton - obviously the wrong guy got ill!

    Whether this account of current events seems disjointed or dispassionate, please let me assure you this is not my goal and it certainly is not laziness.

    Admittedly it's a bit of a weird one, but hey, that is Eve; my beautiful human being of a sister!

    I could inform you about that which made me such a way. That might have a whole university study in itself in psychology and medicine, but because my immune system became perilously near non human as of hospital and late evaluations resulted in the discovery that the same went to most of my other hormones.

    I could barely get it up to get most of my thirties. Each the antidepressants left my behavior pretty unpredictable and sometimes harmful, so we had to attempt to find another route. Testosterone treatment made me violent too, so gradually I simply slunk back to exactly the identical routine of living in a darkened corner to not drain anymore of mum's savings, whatever was abandoned.

    Eve did not just hate to see me like that. She was terrified. Five years ago among her closest friends, out of the blue, threw herself into oncoming traffic. That place Eve to a depression but the pills worked for her. I was not bitter in any way. I was thankful that with all the mourning process leading around coming from the funeral, she managed to recoup within a matter of weeks. However, in all honesty understanding that she desired me shut and actually being able to help her made me feel someplace closer to ordinary for a while.

    All my life I've only ever cared for Eve so far that I could tell her I love her and believe that it means something. I tell mum the exact same but - and this might seem strange considering - she's just mum. We have grown up with a regular of times and places when it was polite to say "love you, mom..."

    Together with Eve, I inform her when I sense it and she does the same. We've always been so close. Some think we have always been closer than most siblings, in spite of the fact we rarely hang out socially (I am the only person as you can probably imagine).

    So I could not bear to see her so angry, realizing that there was nothing she can do. However, being that I struggled urges I did not want and refused to take, I needed to be brutally honest with her at some point or the other. Her friend might happen to be helpless against her own battle, but for whatever the reason, she dropped the ball. Not that I phoned her selfish for it. But it wouldn't have been selfish to ask for help either. Eve owed nothing.

    What mattered to me was that I be there for her at which many other family would continue to keep their space and to wait for communication to occur rather than to guide her through her mourning. As part of me wondered, when a buddy might have such effect, then what could I've done to her had I took my own life?

    We spent some three months leaning on one another, phasing in and out of awareness through the dark days and poor weather. I let her cry on my shoulder until I had been moist with saltwater, until the mourning itself became too much. Soon it was the perfect time to let go and to move on for her sake.

    But she wasn't happy about leaving me, as she placed it. I concurred that it was not fair that she could recover so easily and that I could not, but what would we do? We might have been peas in a rabbit but she was the ideal one. She said she'd do anything for me.

    Putin let's down on these military distribution drops we asked for. So I wasn't likely to be a millionaire anytime soon. I asked her to stop being so clever and go get a job in KFC therefore she can bring me chicken each evening. To be honest, mommy afton ( redirected here - ) she wouldn't have satisfied the top and cover anyway, not after I have seen her at a bear onesie.

    Eve is five years younger than me and includes a couple of extra pounds, however in all the proper ways. She's the very best for cuddles, which I never got enough of, until I get into where this story's led. She is well endowed (F cups I believe) and kept her coating of hair and left it work to her benefit.

    She's a hot brunette, likes to put her hair up and retains a light tan throughout the year and she has the sexiest grin and pretty brown eyes that have never been off limits to me. I love her dearly and it's always hurt me more to know that they are wasted on this stupid disease.

    I often feel like she must do it for me, and worry that she's left feeling she neglects me when out her and proud love for me just doesn't do the trick. I am a terrible brother!