We lost a great artist. Let’s not lose our hope. 

July 22. 00:51 

The night has crept in and once again I can’t sleep. My stomach nauseous from hunger yet I can’t eat. My tempeture 37.0 yet shaking with the cold. It’s been like this for four days. I haven’t showered in 6. I’m currently in a tracksuit and hoody that I’ve been wearing for four days. I haven’t changed. I haven’t brushed my hair. I haven’t brushed my teeth. I’ve downed the paracetomal like a child with Smarties. It hasn’t killed my headache. How can you treat pain in your head when it’s the stress that’s causing it. I’ve spent approximately 18 hours in the last 3 days crying. Or attempting to gag my mouth from the screams and wails seeping out of it as tears stream down my face. I’ve done nothing but move from the bed to the couch and back again. I guess that all adds up to a full blown depressive episode. I can’t stop it. I can’t try take myself out of it. Sometimes I’m safer when in it. 
I’ve smashed my knuckles of the paintings in the house and I’ve broken up glass in my room. It sits carefully resting in my pocket throughout all of this. Made a few scratches and stopped for two reasons. 1) I’ll take it too the point of no concealment and I’ll regret the release when I’m faced with numerous questions in accident and emergency. I’m just out of hospital after 8 days with my physical health. I can’t return and lie when they ask if I’m suicidal. Reason 2) is alot darker. It’s not enough. A piece of glass can’t take away this pain. Bleeding out won’t suffice for the images inside my head. Bleeding out and I’ve lost. It’s not enough and far too much at the same time. The thoughts and urges have me confined to my bed with tears of physical pain trying to continue. The thoughts have me confined to my bed with tears of grief. The thoughts of leaving my loved ones. The haunting of my little cousins faces if their mammmy had to explain I was gone. Depression is looked at as this suffering in which death is so enticing. No my depression is a catch 22 of wanting to make it stop. Not wanting to die. And Then I realise nobody can stop it and I cry because death is my most fucked up fear and yet my most pondered relief. Both at the same time. How can I make sense of that. I can’t. And that’s when I know it’s more than a bad day. It’s the lost spiral of depression eating away at my mind. My bones. My body. My soul. 
So I lie in bed and listen to the train going by wishing I was on the tracks while refusing to be in the bathroom alone never mind leave the house with Intent. It’s depression that’s saving me and killing me at the same time. If I were not depressed right now I would be decisive. Depressions indecision on my life and death right now is what’s keeping me alive. 
That might be the most fucked up thing you hear tonight. Maybe you’ll never get your head around it. And I pray you don’t. It’s only when in it you can truly see the glass so foggy with clouds. Clouds of ideas. Clouds of trauma. Clouds in your mind. 
Two days ago I heard of Chester benningtons suicide. This news broke my heart. This news swayed the arrows in my mind to my own death. Linkin park were always the band I went too in my own struggles.

Many a night I lay in my room at home at 12 and 13 years of age with my head phones on crying to their albums. See when I was a kid or a teenager I was low and so dark. And my family so fucked up in ways. For me to show on surface the pain inside.. I was showing the public that problems existed at home. I was given out too and shouted at when my facial expressions fell back to what was inside my heavy heart. I had to smile and be this girl that I wasn’t. In fact I was forced by their control to be the opposite of what I felt. I had to be happy. Tell everybody how much I loved my family. What a happy life I had. Money covered up what really went on. New branded clothes. I’d such a good dad. So much so I think it was one of the reasons I found it so tough with people my age. There was a touch of jealousy and sarcasm always to their tone when they said such a simple sentence of nice top. New clothes. New phones. Ponies. All I had to do was show it off and forever hold my silence. It’s always been about that. Money bought excuses. Money bought my forced gratefulness. Money was his blackmail. No other kid my age would have been able to imagine the shit in my life. Never mind comprehend it. 

My mother and step dad had a different approach. Their power was control and isolation. I do wrong by them and suddenly I was without my phone. If I didn’t have my phone I didn’t have access to text my friends. If I couldn’t text my friends I didn’t even have the option to say things are not okay. I got grounded alot as a kid. Grounded for the most irrational things. So simple as saying I didn’t want to eat my mash potato. Mam could go off the handle at any minute. Living in a war zone of her flying off the handle at any minute. Any time. Any reaction. You never knew and you could never tell. Guess they binded me to silence when my every move was threading on eggshells unknown to how long you were a prisoner in your own house. No internet. No phone. Not even horseriding at times. I’m writing this quite surprised with just how bad this sounds. 

Anyway to come back from that tangent I had to hide away from a life I was forced to live and linkin park were my saving grace in this time. Someone was writing everything I felt. I wasn’t 100% a weirdo. There songs had so many views on YouTube. It wasn’t actually so wrong to feel this way. Other people out there We’re rating their music. That meant the lyrics they wrote about tying the noose wasn’t actually the most fucked up thing in this world. I wasn’t fucked up. This was obviously real life and it was okay to feel this way. I felt this feeling unknowns to anyone in my life. My mam and step dad were told by the teachers when I was eleven of the word suicidal. Put it this way if they hadn’t been my parents they very well could have a criminal offence for what they did and didn’t say to me. At fourteen years of age my step dad said he wished I died the first time I tried to take my life. I was causing my poor mother a nervous breakdown. Just think for a moment of your younger self. Imagine being told by your parent that they wish you had died the first time you tried to kill yourself. Would you feel like you should try again. Succeed. They don’t want you anyway so you are better of dead. It’s a pretty horrific feeling to take. That’s the thing about the linkin park albums. I didn’t feel so alone in my misery. Other people were feeling pain and they weren’t dead. In fact Chester was writing of such pain and producing song after song. Maybe he felt it but he didn’t do it. He was alive. Maybe I’d hope. Songs obviously helped him. Maybe I could write a song too. Maybe it would stop the pain and that’s how he was able to continue. 
I put so much thought into this as a kid. This band had so much shit but they were a famous band. They had lives. They had hope. They weren’t going to die. Maybe I didn’t have to either. That lost hope hit me like a truck when I heard the news. How after all this time could he end it all. Had he not gotten through the worst of it. See that’s the thing our pain it can’t be measured. When your in it time is suddenly objective. The proof that five minutes has passed can’t take away from the fact that to you it’s felt like five hours. Time becomes a blur on a screen. A screen you check every five minutes but can never take in. Suffering doesn’t get any easier. And time doesn’t always heal. Me and the psychologist sat on Wednesday talking about the popular quote 

“what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” 

My psychologist is renowned in Ireland to be one of the best. Her experience will never be something that can be shown in a CV. I can only imagine the stories she has to hear and the wounds she has had to try and heal. We agreed that pain doesn’t always make you stronger. We’d have been happier to not have had to suffer in our lives. I joked that pain only makes you poor having to pay for so many therapy sessions. We got a bit of a laugh out of that one. 
Chesters death not only broke my heart but showed me a different perspective. As much as we can try and put things off. Avoid and hope they’ll disappear. It’s never that easy. We cannot rely on our suffering to give us strenght nor can we rely on time to erase our past. Some issues we have to tackle head on. Materials doesn’t make our life easier when internally we are fighting a different battle. Money may buy all the therapy in the world. That doesn’t matter. What matters is taking something worthwhile or productive from our therapy. I used to think one day I’d wake up and everything would have changed. I’d be an adult and free from the home. That would mean I’d be happy. I’d turn 18 and move away I’d be happy. I’d party when I felt down and I’d make myself happy. I could go for a run instead of trying to remain calm under school rules and it’d be easier to be happy. 
It doesn’t look hopeful that it will always get easier. Hell knows it may get harder. We have to stop holding out on our hope that things will change. You have to make a choice to make a change. If you can’t change the circumstances be the change you want to see. Life is fricking hard. Really hard. But one thing so important to remember is perspective. When struggling with a battle be it physical , mental or emotional we can’t always see the rationale. Did Chester bennington know before he took his life just the impact he had on millions of us around the world. Or his purpose. His talent. His legacy. More than likely not. That’s the really sad Thing about it all. So while I can’t sit here and tell you things will get better or that your depression will go away I can say that mental health is a battle every one will come to face. It could be addiction or anxiety. It could be so many things under the sun. But it effects your cognition whether you’ll be aware of it or not. And it’ll effect your rationale. And that’s why as human beings, as sister’s or friends or as a society of life we have to stick together. We can’t do it on our own. And sometimes that’s where the problem lies. Depression makes you feel so alone. I know that. I feel it now. But I know or I can try to remember these thoughts in my head they are not all true. The world isn’t better off without me and I’m not worthless. If I fail to remember them Things that’s when I have to reach out. When I have to find solace in my friendships and truth behind depressions lies. That’s when I know I can’t do it on my own and I’ve to reach out. 
Whatever chances we have of surviving this world. There alot slimmer completely alone. And being alone with your own thoughts 24/7 could be the reason you think of giving up in this life. 
Try remember when feeling isolated and alone. When feeling hopeless that if you can’t find hope in your circumstances or life reach out to your people. Let them show you the hope they have for you if you can’t see it yourself. If you can’t see the wood from the trees grab a different set of eyes to help see for you. 
Just don’t do it alone. 

I know I can’t make it alone. And that’s okay. And people will let you down from time to time but people can always build you back up. They can help carry the weight and they can help you see light when darkness has overcome you. 
We all need a friend and we all need somebody from time to time to help us or just be there with us. 
We All have worth in this world and we all have a gift so precious that is our life. We only get one. It’s our duty to live it. 


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