As I sit here in the early hours of 2016, I can't help but think back to January of 2015. I had finished my first term at university in the December and returned for my second on the 19th. I spent that Monday and Tuesday in bed, barely even moving to use the bathroom.
But on that Tuesday night, I made an emergency call to my eldest sister.
I was so suicidal that I couldn't stay at uni. I went to the student services and dropped out on the Wednesday, packed up my room on the Friday and had my dad come and help me move out on the Saturday. I was back home in Wales by the Sunday.
My mental health reached its breaking point at the beginning of last year. If I hadn't dropped out, I would not be alive right now. I was thinking about hanging myself in the stairway or throwing myself out of my window. The floor was concrete and I was on top floor. If I was lucky it would have killed me. Or I could have just not left my room, allowing myself to become dehydrated and starved. No one would have become concerned because after October, the people who lived on the same floor as me stopped being concerned about not seeing me. I was a hermit - I went to Monday lectures, Tuesday and Friday lectures were touch-and-go, and the only time I was seen out of my room was to catch the train to my granddad's place or return from there. If no one saw me for an entire week, it didn't concern them. One time I was in my room and someone came up the stairs and shouted "is anyone up here other than the girl opposite Charlie?" Because they just assumed I was always in there, with the door locked and no social interations.
Now I sit here, seeing this January begin. My attempt at sorting my mental health tapered out because I didn't want my mum or others to know, so I stopped taking the anti-depressants that the GP at the uni's health centre had prescribed to me. It's not been my best choice but as of now, I'm around my cats and while they don't help my health, they do help keep it under control -- enough so that I'm not actively suicidal, so that I can pretend I'm okay and hey, only dropped out because I hated the course.
Anxiety is not cute. Depression is not fun.
They ruined my life. Almost ended it too.
In September, I'm going to be starting university again. A different course, a different institution. I know things that I didn't know when I previous went - I know to seek help straight away, I know that the first night there is really important, and I know, without a doubt, that I will never drop-out again. Even if I become that suicidal again.
The past year has been really slow. Some people don't understand how much being on the brink of suicide can mess with your mind, to the point where you just can't do anything for such a long time. So directly after returning, I was in bed for most of my time. When June came around I applied and got a job that I ended up having to quit after a day because even though it was a part-time job, I would have had to become the financial provider for my mum and my sister. And the job would not designed for that. So I'm still unemployed and I think I probably will have to be until I start uni again. A job at uni has no effect on my mother's income - even though all my finance is assessed based on her income.
2015 just reminded me of how much of a failure I am.
I want to say 2016 will be different but I don't know how much I believe that.
Here's hoping that my second attempt at university will be better than my first.
Here's hoping 2016 will be better.
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