When I came into college I was grinning and wide eyed and I had the world at my finger tips. 2 and a half years and one suicide attempt and later I don't recognize the skeleton with lifeless eyes looking back at me in the mirror. I've always had problems with anxiety, especially when I felt like I wasn't in control of a situation. When I found adderall, it felt like all my problems dissolved right along with my little orange pill. It was a matter of weeks before I was spending every last dollar I had trying to find these pills. It got to the point that most of my anxiety came from not knowing if I'd have money to get my adderall. I was making the grades I wanted and I felt happy. It doesn't take long for the pills to tell you what you're doing isn't enough and you need to take more. I decided to get prescribed. Over the course of 6 months I moved from 20 to 60mg a day. I now spend my weekends laying in bed sobbing because I pushed away every last friend I had. I'm a hell of a good actor, so I really doubt anyone knows, and as much as o wish they'd confront me about it I know if they did I would never forgive them. I go to the library when I have nothing else to do because my heart aches just laying in bed with nothing to focus on. I snap over the most meaningless problems And my mood fluctuates drastically every day. Sometimes it gets so bad I have to cut my wrists just to feel like I'm letting my body breathe. Sometimes I'll be sitting in class or at work or in the library and I'll break down crying for something as petty as I haven't spent enough time with my cat and I'm scared she's gonna hate me. It sounds stupid but when that's the only person that shows you they love you, that's a really ******* terrifying thought. In gaining the grades I lost everything. I never eat. I never sleep. I exchange more words with my cat that I do any human. My body is covered in bruises and scars and yet I somehow get excited when I notice I lost 5 more pounds or my ribs start to look more pronounced. I'm prescribed lexapro for anxiety/depression, Xanax for panic attacks, trazodone for sleep, and a sprinkle of other medicines that attempt to make me feel Somewhat alive again. I think about trying to kill myself again all the time, but I guess I still have enough guilt from the last time I woke up in the hospital to my moms broken heart and teary eyes that I can't bring myself to do it. I wish I could tell her how hard this is. I feel like I'm constantly struggling just to catch a breathe when it would be so much easier to stop hurting myself gasping for air and let the wind take me.
hightoforgot hightoforgot
22-25, F
Nov 21, 2014