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Everyone supports mental health until you want to blow your brains out

I wrote this during a depressive episode, one of the worst ones I’ve had since my bipolar diagnosis. Since 2020, when I was hospitalised and diagnosed, I have been on medication and in therapy, while also actively working on limiting my struggle with bipolar.


But shit happens, and sometimes an episode hits out of nowhere, unwarranted and unexpected.



I wrote something I decided to share, then decided to take offline again, because I understood the depressing and angry undertone probably wouldn’t make anyone’s life better. But now that I can see objectively again, I do want to give you an insight into my brain when I’m severely depressed - even if it's just for someone to relate and know that they aren't alone in their struggle.


So here goes:


I feel fucking let down.


Everyone supports mental health until you want to blow your brains out.


I feel let down by the people who say they love me and care for me but fail to check in during times when I no longer have the power to reach out. I feel even more let down by those I have reached out to but who failed to understand and support me.


I feel let down because I fell on my head and had a concussion, and people cared more about that than they will ever care about my struggle with mania and depression.


People are there for you as long as your pain is bearable, as long as you are able to put your feelings into words and as long as they don’t have other plans.


But the second you’re no longer within the socially acceptable limits of sadness and you aren’t a functional human being and can’t end every conversation on a positive note with a “things will get better” and “I’ve been through this before”, you’re on your own.


The second you are tougher to tolerate than how good people feel about themselves for being there for you, it’s over.


People are there for you when life is tough, but as soon as you say you want to end it, it becomes a little bit too uncomfortable.


I know, because I’ve been with chronically depressed people, and it has the power to destroy you. Especially if you are mentally unstable yourself.


But jesus fucking christ don’t tell me you’re there for me when you don’t understand the depths of mental illness, when you’re not ready to face the fact that I spend half my life wanting to die, and that mania doesn’t just make me fun to go out with but is a reason I’ll end up in a psych ward without my actual mind again.


I am so exhausted of having to explain myself, of people caring more about a hole in my skull than the death wish I chronically carry with me, and the way illness you cannot physically see is also, apparently, not to be understood.


I’m sorry my mental illness can’t be fixed with self-care and mindfulness, sorry you don’t like the idea of taking pills to survive, sorry you don’t believe nor understand the concept of psychiatry.


But trust me, my mind is working hard enough on trying to take me out, and I don’t need your useless contributions on top of that.

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