Another night, another time to lie awake staring at the ceiling with your thoughts dominating your every move and breathe. You sit up on your double bed and peak at the empty left side. You turn your bed side lamp on and stare at the wall for a while, you stare at it, you stare at it you feel nothing. You want to feel something. You long to feel something. You climb onto the floor and pull a little silver box from under your bed and open it up, you see your only hope of feeling again – a blade. You hold it to your skin and breathe in and you drag it along your arm. A sigh of relief. You look down and a second later blood spurts out. You smile. Then you realise what you have done. Broken the promise you made with yourself to never cut again. You cry. You weep. You grab a towel and hold it against your wound and weep. You pray that when you lift up the towel the wound will disappear and it will all be a dream. You weep harder. You rock yourself back and forth. Holding your arm against your chest. You ask yourself why you are so ‘fucked up’. You answer these questions stating your worthlessness and unlovable character. You cry yourself to sleep and wake at 8am you hear that post has just come through the door. You go to collect it and see ‘did you know 1 in 4 of us will have a mental health problem in any year? Sometimes it’s the little things you do that make a big difference. It’s time to talk. It’s time to change’.

I am officially what we call a ‘champion’ for Time To Change. Which means we volunteer our time to making a difference to mental health discrimination, allowing people to see that they are not alone and help is available. I’ve ordered many leaflets to post through peoples doors and I shall do so tomorrow. This story is completely fictional. But it’s pretty incredible right? Maybe even somewhat plausible – a simple piece of paper could open up someone’s eyes and world and help them get better?

Well it’s a difference I want to make.


3 thoughts on “Today…

    • Obviously I’ve extracted feelings and moments from my own experiences but this is not my experience. I just wanted to write about the harsh reality of depression and self-harm for people to understand why and what it is like. I am sorry that it was painful for you to read but I want you to know I wrote that for the right reasons.

      • I understand. It was well-written. My heart went out to you, and once I realized that it was fictionalized, to the protagonist. I can be a bit too empathic at times. Permeable boundaries. Soft heart.

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