I’m so used to being in the wrong, I’m tired of caring.
Loving never gave me a home, so I’ll sit here in the silence.

Do you know how hard it is to live, when every inch of your entire being, your mind and body is just fucked, exhausted and done. I question myself everyday, is it worth it. Well you are going to say/think of course it is. Obviously, life is worth living. My life is worth living. I have so much good in my life. A million reasons to carry on. But I am asking you now, how? How do I do it? I mean other than the obvious ignorant answer of: “Well you just have to!” Life is shit, I know this and I’m not so deluded to think that it is just my life that is shit. It isn’t but shit, fucked up things have happened my entire life and I am trying to say that I cannot cope anymore. That is my issue, not the acceptance, I’m pretty accepting that this is my life now. What I cannot accept is that I have to accept it and get on with it. Why can I not be sad that this is my life? Why can I not hate it? Why do I have to want to carry on with this all? Why can’t I just give up?

And it’s over, and I’m going under. But I’m not giving up, I’m just giving in. 

Giving up. What a dirty, tarnished phrase. No one can ever give up anymore can they? We all must just power on through, struggle, muddle, get on with it, live to face another day. How fucking exhausting is that? I am 28 in 4 weeks, for the most part of my life; since my diagnosis of Type 1 Bipolar when i was 11, I have struggled through. This isn’t a joke illness, this is classified as a severe mental health condition. But that’s okay with me? I mean I’ve had long enough to get used to it haven’t I? Does that honestly mean I have to be okay with it? Because I’m not actually, I’m really not okay with it at all! I hate it. I want nothing more in this world than not to have this horrible illness. I take medication everyday that makes me feel sick. Sick if I take it, sick if I don’t, withdrawal symptoms if I don’t take them, darker thoughts if I don’t take them. The risk of mania, or a depression episode. Nothing will ever cure me. This isn’t something I can get over or even get used to, because it is constantly changing. I cannot predict what stupid move I’m going to make next or where my fucked up thoughts are going to take me. But I cannot, i must not give up..

If you haven’t guessed already, by the tone of this post, I am angry. I am feeling pretty sorry for myself. Do I even need to go into it anymore? I wonder if I am even allowed to feel sorry for myself anymore. I mean, I’m not denying that I do have so much to be grateful and happy about. But does that mean I have to forget all the shit?

Why can I not admit defeat and give in? 

This week, I had to make one of the hardest decision, I have had to make in a long time. My future, my families future has changed, yet again, because of my fuck ups. I had to quit my teaching career. With a very heavy heart, I had to admit that I simply could not do it. I had no fight left in me. I could not take the criticism, the knocks, the pressure, the uncertainty. I couldn’t fight for my position anymore. I was hysterical, crying like I haven’t in a very long time. Admitting that enough was enough. It is fine, it wasn’t for me and I was miserable at best, most of the time. I had forgotten who I was. At school I was this timid little mouse that could not and would not assert themselves. HAHA you’re thinking, if you know me at all, you know this is not a true representation of me. I class myself as a bit of an extrovert. I love meeting new people, friends often are annoyed at how I will just talk to anyone when out, I will make friends with strangers and buy them all a drink. I love being center of attention. I hold my own pretty well. I love a good debate (constructive argument lol) and asserting myself and my opinion on varying topics. But at school I was a different person. I kind of feel sad for my colleagues that never got to know the real me! I’m fun haha! But in all seriousness, who did I become? Why did I let it get too much? I mean I had a rough year with it. My own physical health took a massive battering. My mental health, well WOW, what a roller coaster ride it has been with that! Everything with my Mum, it all just got too much. I don’t think anyone who has been through this journey with me would argue that it was okay to admit defeat and give up. And that’s fine. I can give up on that. Just nothing else now.

Many people would call me selfish, a coward even. I’m not shy about talking about my mental health or the dark places I have found myself and that’s okay isn’t it? I mean we are all promoting our mental health and the struggles we face, day to day. So here I am. I’m not sure if this is me crying for help, admitting to myself how messed up I have been or just asserting myself and validating my voice and feelings. I guess it doesn’t matter either way.

All of those pictures above are of me (obviously) happy, sad, suicidal, surviving, living, plodding on, trying to validate myself. Trying to be somebody. Each one tells a story; now there are too many to go through every story, but all of them have a common thread. They are photos of me struggling. In one way or another. But would you ever know or believe that? I am not saying all of this to make you feel sorry for me, I am trying to make you aware. I don’t know who I am half the time. I put on my makeup, I do my hair, I take a selfie and add some motivating caption and to be perfectly honest it is all bullshit. Because at best, I am bitter and lonely in a world where seemingly I have everything to be happy about, my whole life ahead of me and so many reasons to live my life. So why the fuck do I want to give up? Because I am tired, lonely, bitter, sad, confused, fucked up, paranoid, bordering mania or depression most days. I am never just normal and stable. I am always fighting some battle and that isn’t life is it?

I struggle to believe that people, you even, understand. I’m not trying to put myself on a pedestal or elude that I think I’m better than you or worse than you even. But I cannot even explain how tough I am finding life right now. There are many versions of ‘Becka’ I am sure all of you have met a few of them. I do not know which one to be. The strong Becka who looks at life with optimism is fighting the dark Becka who continues to throw dark thoughts around, but I fight her off. Or the weak Becka, the victim, again this Becka fights off the dark thoughts, the positive thoughts as well, that version of me in constantly paranoid and thinks the whole world is against her. What about the depressed Becka, this one cannot function, cannot breath or move or think without crying. This Becka is dangerous, but only to herself. Then there is the manic Becka, the fun loving wild Becka. You cannot predict her next move or word even. This Becka is the most unstable. The one I love the most. This Becka is the one that makes me feel alive! But I cannot maintain her. This Becka, without a second thought would destroy her own world.

That’s why I take my med’s right? To curb all of this. All of these versions of myself? You don’t know how tempting it is just to be me. I know it cannot last and I would end up destroying myself, one way or another. But I am telling you, begging you to hear me when I scream, I am lost, I am confused, I don’t know who or what I am anymore. I have been medicated properly for the past 6 years. This version of me, I don’t even know who they are anymore! Don’t panic, I’m not going to go rouge and stop taking my medication. I know I have responsibilities, I have a baby, that needs me. That’s the reason I don’t give it all up. But I can’t tell you how exhausted I am from suppressing all of this.

I don’t really know what my intention or drive for this post was. I feel at best I have rambled and switched conversation in each paragraph. But over all, I hope after you read this (if you do)  you realise that makeup, fancy hair, tears, smiles, scornful looks, the victim persona, the outgoing, fun loving, tough talking Becka. Right now, whichever one I am or I am supposed to be.

They’re lost.

BeingBecka x