Defective

Remember this exact moment when it comes to worrying about taking time off work for your treatment.

Remember it well because it's what's going to get you through.

Remember this pain you are feeling at being a failed mother.

Remember how much you want to self harm to punish yourself, to try and get these horrible emotions to go away and remember how much you are having to fight the urge.

Remember getting into bed an hour ago, only to get up crying and sobbing your heart out at 1:30am.

Remember how much you want to get better for your daughter.

Remember this feeling of desperation and self hatred and how much you want it to go away.

I cannot live like this anymore. I cannot.

Years ago, I predicted my suicide would happen at the age of 25. I am now 25. It will be the same year that I get treatment. I remember saying it, I remember the emotions I was experiencing... I was going crazy and I knew and said that it wouldn't get better if I didn't get help. The help that I so fucking wanted but fought to get. I knew it wasn't just depression and anxiety that I had. I knew it was more than that. But they fed me antidepressants that I constantly complained about because they didn't help. I always knew it was at the core of me but nobody listened.

I truly do ask myself: would she be better off without me in her life?

I always think about it but more so since I was diagnosed and recently somebody commented on it and I just haven't been able to brush it off. It has stuck. Like the devil at the back of my head, willing me to fail. Is that what people think of me as a mother? But how do they know? They are not with us day in, day out?

And to be fair, that is the only negative comment I've ever got about being a mother - every other single one has been praise... yet, I've grabbed onto this negative judgement and I can't let go. If someone defines me like that, then it must be true. I don't believe people when they say I am "good", I do not absorb their praise. I do not love myself so how could that be true? The "bad" on the other hand... that must be true. I know I am defective, I just don't need people pointing it out. I am trying to get better. I know my faults.

I'm just crying, crying, crying... if I could scream right now then I would. But I won't and I never have - I have a daughter who is sleeping.

She is better off without this defect of a person trying to raise her.

I am nothing.

The Bernard Bert