i don’t know

I don’t know why i’m here.

Except i do, i’m here because apparently it’s a worrying thing when you take too many sleeping pills and you’re found crying at the top of a multi storey car park. And apparently saying, “No, i’m fine, honestly,” isn’t a believable statement when it comes down to it.

But i don’t want to tell the group this, i want the group to like me, i want them to look at me and think, hey, that guy seems alright, why’s he here?

I want- wait, fuck, do i have a police record now? Can i just call them up and ask them straight up? “Hi, it’s the boy from the other day, just wondering if i need to add the other day to my CV or not.” At least Tesco never called the cops on me whenever i used to freak out about forgetting which milk to buy.

Oh shit, someone was talking to me, they’re asking how long i’ve had depression for and i don’t know what to tell them, I can feel happiness, hell i smiled at people yesterday, i joked around when someone asked for my lighter. I don’t feel constantly low, constantly angry at myself sure, constantly upset with myself, self centred depression? Is that a thing? What even is depression, i’ve freaked out over the online symptoms but what actually is depression, do i have it? Why is it when i’m at my most honest i feel the most scared?

I remember pushing you down this hallway, no one is talking to me now, i remember eating eat natural bars in the rain outside your room on my own, sneaking you outside for cigarettes, trying my best to smile as much as i could when i was around you to make the situation seem as not fucked up as it actually was. I don’t think i loved you, well i did, but not in the right way i don’t think, i think i used you a lot so i didn’t have to stop and think about myself, as long as i had you and grandad to focus on then i didn’t have to stop and think about myself, and that was selfish of me, but then i think i’ve always been selfish.

I miss you a lot though, i still think about you a lot and i want you to know how much i appreciate you as a person and how i really, sincerely hope you’re doing okay. But i just can’t talk to you, and i’m sure it’s the same vice versa, because i can’t trust myself.

I can’t trust myself with anyone.

I miss aly and holly, i miss the fuck out of beccy, i miss moggins and jon, i miss sbfc and emoji therapy hour, i miss theodora and lara, pergl & jordy, i miss not talking to beth about how sad i am, i miss talking to tim like a friend, i miss it not feeling awkward whenever i do actually talk to anyone, i miss esme and her mum like a hole in the chest, i miss everyone.

But i can’t speak to them, for one thing because i’m in a room full of people while being really rude, but for another reason because i’m not better yet and i’m disappointed in myself. I want to show up and hug everyone, i want to show up to the ball in the prettiest dress and swirl around like nothing happened. I want to be a fucking butterfly, straight up butterfly. Because i can’t be around people, i will disappoint them, even though most people have the lowest, and i mean straight up lowest expectations of me, i will disappoint them because i can’t feel myself getting better.

Because i don’t even like myself enough to understand or care about the fact i’m alive,past the kind of cursory nod that is smoking, and i know that’s a hurtful thing to say, but like i’ve said countless times, i love everyone, but i hate myself so, so much, i have to be punished, i can’t be allowed to have a life because to have a life would mean i have to inflict myself on other people, and other people don’t deserve to have to put up with me because other people deserve good things, and it’s weird, acknowledging that, but i feel like it’s the one true thing that i’ve learnt from my breakdown, that i don’t deserve to live.

Does that make any sense?

It does to me, well kind of, or at least it’s how i think it works, but then i don’t understand life or anything, and unlike i used to i don’t claim to anymore.

I hate myself for trying to be normal for years, for taking it out on other people, for not caring about myself in any way. Which is the most cyclical thing in the world isn’t it, hating yourself for not caring about yourself. I don’t understand how that one ends, i don’t understand how any of this ends, i understand how i want it to end, and i understand how wrong it is to want it to end like that.

Maybe, i’m just an overly emotional, depressed, crying in the milk aisle, wanking to kill time, lazy, good for nothing, scared, emotionally repressed, selfish asshole, maybe i’m being harsh on myself, but it still seems like it’s less harsh than inflicting myself on other people.

I think i’m wrapping up here, apparently i’m going to get home visits.

I don’t know how to feel about any of this, but then i never did and i doubt i ever will


Author: angus macnaghten

cynical and cyclical, hit me up, ajmacnaghten@hotmail.co.uk

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