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Alright, so people have been telling me since I got to college that journaling is super therapeutic. So I did it. Didn’t help at all.

Regardless, I felt like I needed to get these out in the open somehow. I don’t know, maybe that’s the release I need. So here you go: the ramblings of me. And if you didn’t believe the title, there are so many triggers in here. Anxiety, depression, self harm, abuse, eating disorders, you name it. You’ve been warned.

“I’m in one of those moods again. It sucks because this whole week was so nice. I was happy.
See, what I did was I made myself smile. I wasn’t good at it, but whenever I felt myself feeling particularly down I would force my lips into something resembling a grin. Sometimes I would actually have to use my fingers to move the corners of my mouth. But I’d hold it until it stayed on it’s own or I got distracted. And it worked. I started feeling better.

But the problem with “fake it till you make it: depression edition” is it takes a lot of effort. You indulge in sadness just once and it crashes down. You’re even worse off than before because not only are the sadness and anger back, you now have to deal with the fact that you’re a pathetic thing that has to pretend to be happy.

You can blame other things; the annoying girl in women’s choir, the teacher who wouldn’t stop saying the word “anxiety”, the fact that you’re so damn busy all the time. But you know they’re excuses. The girl isn’t that annoying if you’d stop looking for a reason to be annoyed. How could the professor have know that was a trigger word. And you aren’t busy. You put off practicing and spend all day in bed on the computer complaining about how little time you have. See? Pathetic.

But this time it isn’t just depression or anxiety. It’s a pressure. I can feel my emotions pressing against my body. And they hurt so much. My muscles ache, I have a sinus headache, my stomach feels too full even though I haven’t eaten recently. I feel like I need to tear a hole in myself to let it out. Yelling doesn’t work. Singing only helps while I’m doing it. Any breath I take is filled with the pressure replacing itself.

I’m not one for self abuse. I’m not that (brave? stupid?) and I get injured just bumping into chairs. But… I want to be hurt. I bite my finger. It helps. I scratch at one spot on my leg or stomach until the skin under my fingernails makes them too dull to scratch anymore. If I break skin I feel like I’m getting closer. Like I just need to make that hole a bit bigger, deeper. But I can’t get blood anywhere and I’m running out of band aids.

I… I hate saying this, but the first step to recovering is admitting you have a problem. So, I want someone to hurt me. I want someone to hurt me. Throw me against a wall. Hit me. Bruise me. Kick me in the chest so I get winded. So this pressure leaves. Hurt my arms so they aren’t so damn heavy. Break my legs which can hardly support me as is. I don’t care who, just someone. Anyone.

My eating habits are way off. Either I’m not eating at all or I can’t stop. I wouldn’t say I’m suicidal, I just don’t mind testing the waters. “If I starve from not eating today, I wouldn’t mind.” “If I catch pneumonia from not wearing my coat, I’d be okay with that.” “Maybe if I don’t pay attention something will hurt me. A car or a careless passerby. That’d be fine.”

I’m an attention whore too. I plead for people to look at me. I’ll exaggerate my movements and expressions just so someone will talk to me. Take pity on my stupidity. Look at me.

I speak and no one hears. I sing, but they’re distracted. I shout, but no one’s around. So I stay silent. Silence attracts the attention of specialists. They don’t realize that I just need attention. I just need someone to say “you look like you’re hurting.” Even the counselors don’t get it. I went to one. She did nothing but say “Aww, you poor thing!” then refused to listen to anything I said. As though I was the most tortured soul there is. I’m not. I’m not that self absorbed. I’m selfish and lazy and you’ve seen this before. There are thousands of me all around. We’re just too busy waiting for someone to notice our own struggles to see that there are others wanting the exact same thing.

“The sensation that your screaming but you never make a sound, or the feeling that you’re falling but you never hit the ground.” That’s what the pressure is. It’s something painfully unsatisfying. You get the build up, but it never delivers. You never get that release. You don’t like falling, but it’s worse when you never get the satisfaction of landing. The expectation just builds and builds until you can’t take it anymore. And even when you can’t take it nothing changes, you’re still just falling through the air. You can’t force yourself to land no matter how much you plead with gravity. You still can’t scream. Something is stifled and there’s no way to get it out. You can claw and tear at your throat until you bleed to death, but that scream will have never gotten out.

That’s what the pressure is. It’s unbearable.