I feel like I’m drowning again. Its like, beneath my struggling feet, in the darkness of this murky lake, psychosis is waiting to grab me.

I’m paranoid, I’m anxious, I’m avoidant and I’m angry. I’m so fucking mad at myself. I’m pretty sure I threw myself in this lake in the hope I’ll die eventually.

I’ve never been good at handling stressful situations. I’ve always been afraid of daily life. People, leaving the house, being told what to do, having to fit in and put my distress aside are things I find almost impossible. This of course makes holding down jobs, making friends, doing my shopping or going to uni very difficult.

People don’t understand the full crippling effects of mental illness until it’s them and most people claim to have depression and anxiety, because they felt down once, but fail to note that not everyone is cured after a visit to the GP and some Fuloxotine.

Almost 5 years in therapy and almost 6 on drugs that actually help, and I’m still suffering. I’m not better or worse. I’m just suffering differently.

I used to be explosive, a daily self harmer, obsessive and depressive with periods of harmless highs and short psychosis episodes. Sometimes I miss the unpredictable nature of it all because at least then the depression had an end insight. At least then I still had friends and left the house. At least then I had release.

Now my depression never ends and instead of mania I have constant anxiety, no confidence or bubbles exist in me. I have no release because self harm is bad, anger is unacceptable and my poetry is too dark. I’m alone and defective; placed on the shelf of has been.

I am an empty vessel living in a world that doesn’t accommodate me. It wants victims to the system. People who comply and perform but I just can’t. I don’t know how to function. I’m not functional anymore and I don’t t think I ever was or will be.