Written by Cameron | 02 February 2008

Mental illness is a disease of our cognitive centre, the brain. When the brain is not functioning correctly it is difficult to explain to a person that their brain has a disease and this is the problem. When you have a disease in another organ, you tell the brain that the liver has a disease and your brain actively fights the illness. What do you fight with when the illness is in your brain? You can't tell your liver that your brain is sick so that the liver can co-ordinate the recovery, your kidney can't maintain a positive outlook and make sure you take your medication. How do you fix a problem in a word document when your operating system doesn't work. The central processing unit that interprets and coordinates information for the whole body is not working making it difficult to rectify any problems.

A good analogy is when you are at a party and you are really drunk, the other people at the party can see how drunk you are and suggest that you go home, but you are so drunk that you cannot see this. It's not until you wake up the next day and sober up that you realise how drunk you were. It is often the same when you have a mental illness.

For many years I refused to get treatment because I thought that nothing was wrong and this was a normal part of growing up. But it wasn't normal for me to sit in a room with my mates and have my brain tell me, “Go into the kitchen, get a knife and gut the pricks.” It wasn't normal for me to have good cop/bad cop in my head day after day when I knew that I wasn't a violent person and of course, I didn't want to harm my friends. This was happening because I was suffering from Schizophrenia.

Through my work as a Zoologist, I have stood face to face with 7 foot female black bears whilst they defend their cubs, and netted 250kg bull seals, but I have never been as scared as I was during those times. When I was facing a bear I could control what I was doing, and therefore control the situation. During the worst times, I was fighting myself clinging to the slim control that kept me going.

If this continued for much longer I would most likely have lost control, lost my life and possibly destroyed the lives of so many people. Instead, I sought help; I changed my life and cured the illness that was growing inside my brain. I now understand that I was unwell, that I had an illness, and if you speak to anyone who has experienced this, they will tell you it's an illness and it's curable.

The years of treatment were tough, very tough at times, but I had support and was determined to get my life back on track. Along the way I managed to finish my Science Degree with First Class Honours. I gained entry into a PhD program at Melbourne Uni and am now working as an environmental consultant. I was recently engaged to the most wonderful woman I have ever met and have never been happier.

My hope is that in the future, people in my situation will not have to endure the suffering I did, that they can get treatment earlier and not lose years of their life. But, this experience has made me who I am and I wouldn't change a thing. From my experience I can tell you that at the other end if you make the tough decisions and stick to your treatment you can, and will, lead a successful and happy life. When I think what the other side of the coin looks like, if I hadn't got treatment, I know that I wouldn't be here. But with medication and support - despite the stigma - I made it through.

Why does no-one talk about this illness and why are people afraid to admit that they have it?

Why do situations need to get to an irreversible stage where someone takes their life or ends up in the emergency room before they get help?

It is because of the way that society views this illness. It's seen as a weakness, but it's not. You're seen as crazy, but your not. You're seen to have brought this on yourself, but you didn't. Therefore, because everyone is afraid to speak openly and the subject is never raised, you think you're the only person in the world dealing with mental illness. You must suffer in silence for fear of social persecution and because no-one understands. When I was getting treatment I thought that I was the only 24 year old male dealing with schizophrenia in the country. If people can see that countless others are in the same situation, countless others know what you're dealing with because they are dealing with the same thing then we can move this illness out of the closest and into the mainstream. If we make mental illness part of everyday health and education, then treatment and recovery will be so much faster, more accessible and part of everyday life.

The main goal of PeopleLikeYou is to dispel the belief that you must deal with this alone, that you can't tell anyone or that no-one will understand. No-one should be ashamed to have a mental illness, or feel that no-one will understand, because there are thousands of people out there dealing with the same issues. I know this because every time I mention this site, someone tells me about their mental illness, or how they have dealt with friends or family with mental illness, or have lost people as a result of mental illness. You feel comfortable talking, when you're talking with people like you.

Peoplelikeyou.com.au is here to show you that there are thousands upon thousands of average everyday people out there dealing with this illness. People that are not weak, people that are not crazy and people that did not bring this on themselves. They are people with an illness, a curable illness, they are people in similar situations, with similar issues that need support and understanding.

You will soon see that the world is full of people like you.

Written by Linda | 23 January 2008

A Depression story then Hepatitis C

My story with depression dates back to the late 1979, I was in a violent relationship and subject to abuse and physical violence over a 9 year period.  I am often asked why I stayed in this relationship and the answers are simple:

1.You love the person.
2.You think you can change them (which lasts for years).
3.Then comes fright and being scared.
4.You fall out of love and begin to hate.
5.You live in fear, try to leave but you can’t because you are being stalked.
6.Eventually you find a way, plan a route of escape, I left town in 1988.

I managed to get away but I was living with anxiety and depression, so I saw a Doctor who put me on an antidepressant.  I was on these for 6 months, where I commenced on a journey to get my life in order and start over again with my 2 sons aged 4yrs and 6 yrs.  It wasn’t until 2007 that I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  My sons also suffered from a nervous condition.

In 1993 I found a job I loved, helping others find work, this lasted 2 years until two women I worked with decided to get rid of the Manager, and because I didn’t agree with them, they set upon me.  I was subject to workplace violence and harassment, I ended up on antidepressants again, this time I had a nervous breakdown.  I was put on Prothieden and Endep, high doses.  I was out of this world, living in another planet, I couldn’t function mentally, lost control of my life.  My sons ended up confused but tried to help me even though they didn’t understand what was happening to their mother.  I was on this medication for 6 years; I gained weight because of the antidepressants, which adds to the depression.  After 6 years I came off this medication to start again.

The next downfall came when I was diagnosed in 1999 with hepatitis C, I contracted this disease from my ex-husband who was a drug injecting user, from the beatings that he gave me and the exchange of blood I became infected with hep c.  The strange thing about this is that in 1989 I went to the doctor complaining of nausea and being tired all the time.  I just didn’t feel right, she did blood tests but they didn’t show anything, she eventually said that ‘I am just like my mother’ and sent me on my way.  A hypochondriac.  It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with hepatitis C and doing my own research that I found out the symptoms for this is nausea and fatigue as well as depression.

I now find myself trying to live with depression, but, I have played around with different antidepressants to find the right one for me.  I am on a very low dose, 5mg, which I take every 2nd or 3rd day, just to take the anxiety away.  I have chosen not to be drugged up on antidepressants and to try and learn to live with the depression.  I have good days and bad days.  I take each day as it comes and only do what I can on good days.  Bad days I tend to stay home and wallow in my own despair, that way I am not having a negative impact on family or friends and only see them when I am chirpy.

From my own experience, antidepressants are a nightmare, but they should be taken if you need them, depending on the degree of the depression.  When I had the breakdown, I definitely had to be on a higher dose.  For people with a liver disease, like hepatitis C, half the recommended dose is applied, as antidepressants are toxic to the liver.  If any of you need to be taking these, research all antidepressants and find out all you can about them, some have more side effects than others.

Linda

Written by Sonia | 28 November 2007

The 13th of January 2006 started out to be a good day, Friday the last working day for the week.  The day was filled with meetings appointments and deadlines. I remember going out for lunch with my work mates, then getting back to the office, get ready for an open inspection at Mc Laren flat. As I was driving to the property I reflected on the last 6 months of my life and at that point I was happy with how life was going.

4 pm I had opened the property to the potential tenants for half an hour During that time I met a couple, Toby and Sara with their two children. We shared similar investment interest, and continued the conversation as we walked to our cars. After 15 minutes of discussion I thanked them both for attending the inspection and advised to send in application form if they were interested in the house. I got into my car drove to the end of the Dom Street, that's how Friday the 13th of January ended for me, well that is all I can remember.

Waking up from a coma two weeks later in Flinders Medical Hospital was like a dream. My mother explained that I was involved in a major car accident and that I was lucky to be alive. At that point I wanted to know where my car was.

My family has tried to answer all my questions. What happened? Was it my fault? Will the police find the three young guys in that blue commodore?

Will I get better?  I have slowly put together or should I say understood that Friday the 13th unraveled like this. I was driving on the Kangarilla road back to Adelaide when I overtook  motorbike at high speed. This unfortunately had led me onto the wrong side of the road. A few minutes pasted and a blue commodore was seen overtaking the same motorbike and was placed directly behind me. The motorbike witnessed us both disappearing around a right hand bend. He then drove into what has seemed to be a car accident however there were no cars to be found.

He pulled over to be confronted with a voice yelling for help.  Sam was unable to find where the voice was coming from. In a distance he noticed a car coming so waved it down. The car stopped and the driver greeted him with a "Gday what's up mate?" Sam notified the couple that there had been an accident. Before he could continue the female occupant was out of the car, trying to locate the person that was screaming for help.  As she walked across the road she noticed broken glass, papers, and tire tracks leading her to where the car was pinned to a large tree. Sara's Husband Toby followed her to the same spot. They both looked at each other with a terrified look. Sara convinced her husband to go down to the car as the voice has stopped. She feared the worst. Toby proceeded to the car and held on to his breath, as he has never been confronted by death.

The car was a mess it seemed to be upside down cut in half and rapped around the tree. Toby was unable to see how many people where in the car. As he observed the wreck moaning commenced from the car. He began talking to the person, letting them know that the ambulance had been called and that they will be all right.  As he continued talking to the person trapped in the car, he was told by Sam that 30 minutes had already passed with no sign of any help.

Sara once again phoned the Ambulance located at Aldinga, they informed her that they were on the way.  As Sara looked up the ambulance was travelling towards the accident site. Toby, Sara Sam and all the people that had stopped to watch observed a team of six emerge from the ambulance. Toby leads the team to the wreckage. He was asked to stand back, he couldn't help himself. He wanted to know that the person in the car was alive. Sara took hold of his hand as they walked back to their car. As they passed all the broken glass and scattered paper he noticed a business card. He proceeded to pick it up and to his surprise it was the agent that he and his wife had just met at the open inspection.

TO BE CONTINUED....

I truly believe that things happen, good or bad to people for a reason. I have learnt so much about myself since the accident such as appreciating my family. Work doesn't come first. Materialistic possessions don't validate a person. A positive outlook will get you further in life. Relax enjoy and take it easy.

Well I think I am going to write a novel, donate the money to maybe brain injury research, or just open up a rehabilitation centre 'Life without Barriers'. Offering assistants with depression home help return to work, etc., and all the things I suffered.

Thankyou to those who helped me and to those who loved me

I cannot truly express to you the way that I feel, but I will try to the best of my ability. My heart is filled with loving gratitude, for I know how it feels to be love so very much by all of the people that have supported me and my family through the hardest time of our lives. I don't even know how to begin to thank you all.. I just cannot thank you enough! I feel so truly blessed that I have been given a chance to go on living.

To all the, South Australian ambulance paramedics, SA Police, Doctors and Nurses at the Flinders Medical Hospital that have been my saviours, I thank you for the fantastic assistance that you have provided. You are truly marvellous at what you do.

To Mary, Emma, & Sam, I thank you for all your endless support. You have seen me at my worst but I have pulled through, thank you for your loving hearts and support. Good Neighbors are truly hard to find. We have made some fantastic memories together. I love you all.

To all my Uncles, Aunties and Cousins, I thank you all, for supporting me especially Mum and Dad.

To my mum Rita, dad Mario, brother Tony,  sister in law Michelle,  Nephews Mario,  Robert,  Nieces Daniella & Jessica. You have been through the worst emotional path.  I am so lucky to have you as family.  I love you all so much.

Michael.  I am so happy you stayed, especial when you were unsure of how it was going to end up. You are my tower of strength. When I feel pain and not confident you help me get through it all and that's why I LOVE YOU.

Written by Anonymous | 27 November 2007

Sunday, 22 July

In the past weeks I’ve been furiously reading through the first six Harry Potter books, desperate to finish them before the seventh and final book would be released. It was released yesterday and my feelings about it are very mixed. It didn’t take me long to finish it, I couldn’t put it down. When I finally finished it, late last night, I was instantly wracked with grief.

I’d like to think of myself as a huge Harry Potter fan, but not in the sense that I dress up in costumes, or spend hours on the net discussing the book with others, or watching the movies over and over again. But, since the age of eight, I’ve been a huge fan of the books. It was the text, and only the text, that I cared about. It was a story that’s been with me for just over half my life and to see it end was harder than it should’ve been. I’ve never had anything in my life end that I’d been with as long as the series. It sounds strange, talking like this about a book, but I’ve more or less grown up with it.

As I settled into bed, willing myself to drift off to sleep quickly so that the torment would end, I began thinking. I wondered whether the loss of a person felt like this. And then I realised something that bothered me a little. I have lost people. I’ve left schools and friends behind more than once. And I felt very little pain when this happened. Saying my final goodbyes to friends I knew I would never see again hardly fazed me at all. Sure, I could always treat these friends to a phone call, they’re not gone forever, but that’s much the same relationship I have with the book series. Just because it’s finished doesn’t mean I can’t read through them again. So why do I feel so much more for paper and ink than I do living people? People who I called my friends? I think I might know why.

I’ve revered stories my entire life. I read at an advanced level when I first entered school, already onto novels while others were still reading children’s books. I’ve watched countless movies, but whereas many enjoy movies for their special effects or humour, I only enjoy a movie as much as I enjoy its plotline, likewise with computer games. And then I began to write stories myself. My dream to become an author has stuck with me since the third grade. It just so happens, by exceptional coincidence, that I read the very first Harry Potter book that same year.

So then I think about the loves and losses of my life and I realise how hollow I really am. I seem unable to feel very many feelings towards something unless there is some sort of story behind it. Even in real life, I draw stories from everything. I can only fall in love with a girl if there’s the chance for an amazing romance story between us. I only feel fear if I believe that it will enhance the situation, make it more dramatic. Same with anger and sadness and happiness. As I write this I feel strange, perhaps sad. But then somewhere deep inside me, but no so deep I cannot feel it, I am excited. Excited that I’m so complex, that I’m so dramatic. Excited that I’ve become a deeply troubled character, right out of a story.

I find it difficult to feel emotion unless that little voice at the back of my mind is telling me what to feel and why to feel it. I don’t expect anyone to grasp exactly what I am saying or why it’s so dire. The worst of it is that I can’t trust my feelings when more than half of them are fake. How am I supposed to know whether I feel sadness because I am sad, or because that little voice is telling me how fantastically dramatic it would be for me to feel upset.

Everyone has a story, yes, but mine is not meant to be anything other than the ordinary, monotonous tale that countless others endure. I’m not destined for anything grand. Sometimes I worry that that may be part of the reason why I left school. I left to make my story more heart wrenching, or to make it more exciting. Or even just to break the routine I didn’t want my life to be. Yet has the routine changed? It has, but very little. Now I am plagued with guilt at putting my family through what they believe is a terrible ordeal. My thoughts are polluted with worry that I might end up living with them past my welcome, when all my siblings have already moved out. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone, least of all my family. And now my life has become more boring and monotonous than ever.

And what makes it worse? I’ve got no one to talk to. I don’t feel comfortable talking to my parents. Neither am I comfortable bringing this up with my siblings or my friends. So instead I’m alone. Unbelievably alone. And as these thoughts cascade around my mind, I over think them. The part of me that wants my life to be a fantastic story makes it worse, attempting to make my life all the more heartbreaking. And the other part, the part that’s been warped and mangled so horribly over the last few years that all it sees now is doubt. This pessimistic, cynical part of me only aids in the further disruption my life.

…all very dramatic, isn’t it?


Monday, 23 July 2007

Yesterday the rest of my family and I were to visit my dad’s mother, my nonna. He’d had a birthday several days ago and we were going to celebrate it. I’m a lot more comfortable with my dad’s side of the family than with my mum’s. We used to live very close to his family and we’d exchange visits regularly. We didn’t see mum’s family as often, and of late I’ve stopped seeing them entirely. I stay at home when my family goes to visit them, and keep to my room when they visit us.

So I was not nervous at all about the coming function. That isn’t to say that I was looking forward to it. I almost felt it was a waste of time. A terrible thing to say about visiting relatives but somehow I just don’t care. I’d rather be at home doing nothing than visiting them.

Yesterday the end of Harry Potter remained fresh in my mind so I was still in mourning, if you can call it that. I was quick to tell anyone who would listen how quickly I’d managed to finish the book, feigning modesty when I received the compliments I was expecting.

“The new one? You’ve finished it already?” “Bravo! It was a very thick book, wasn’t it?”
I’m usually a different person when I’m amongst my distant family. I’m the centre of attention, making everyone laugh; possibly inspiring jealousy within my siblings with the enhanced attention I’ve always received for being the first born.

Lately, however, I’m more like myself than I’ve ever been before. My thoughts of bitterness that I usually keep on the inside are out on display for everyone to see. I sat at the table, refusing to laugh at jokes made by others and only speaking when spoken to. I ate my lunch in silence. Though it was delicious I gave no compliments to my nonna for her excellent cooking, though that’s hardly worth noting. I’ve never been good with compliments.

At one stage I made a joke, just like I might’ve years ago when I hadn’t yet changed. The joke felt strange, almost unwelcome. I instantly regretted saying it for reasons I can’t explain. It just felt wrong. It wasn’t very funny either, so amongst other things I seem to be losing my sense of humour, which I’m not humble enough to say was incredible.
I didn’t like the atmosphere at all. I can’t explain why. There’s a lot of things I can’t explain. Once food was finished I walked over to the couch and lay down. I eventually pretended to sleep so that I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Why? Why am I so hostile to the people around whom I used to be most comfortable?

Tuesday, 24 July 2007

Yesterday was the first day of school… for everyone except for me. I felt a little awkward, being amongst my brother and sisters while they were getting ready to go. I quickly retreated to my room.
The house became familiarly empty again. It makes the days go longer. I’m becoming increasingly bored. I find myself going to bed early because I’ve got nothing to do, and because of my trouble with sleeping I stay awake for hours anyway. It’s exhausting, trying to get to sleep. I can’t shut my mind off. Every time I shut off the light and get into my covers I know I’ve got several hours of agonizing consciousness.

Today my dad, his sister and I went to their parents’ house again. On the car ride over my auntie said something to me. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Eventually she told me she was only joking. She then muttered to my dad; “you can’t joke with him anymore.”

I’m becoming angry too often now. I get angry at the stupidest little things. I’m getting angry with my family members, with my friends. With everyone. When we reached my nonna’s house she tried to shower me with food, as per usual. No matter how many times I told her I wasn’t hungry she continued to badger me about what I wanted to eat. I’m used to this. It’s been this way my entire life. Why, then, did I get angry? I wanted to shout at her but I didn’t. It would’ve hurt her feelings. How much longer will I care?


Wednesday, 25 July 2007

Today I watched Analyse This. I made sure to watch it when nobody else was at home, because there’s a sex scene in it. I usually do that with movies that might have sex scenes in them because I find it unbearably awkward having to sit through one with a family member close by. Unfortunately my dad turned up earlier than usual. He sat down and watched it with me. Eventually the scene came and although it lasted only minutes it felt like it lasted hours. I felt my face heat up as the female actress moaned and groaned and desperately hoped dad wouldn’t look in my direction. Then he’d know that I was embarrassed, and in turn he’d become embarrassed, if he wasn’t already.

Other than that the day was pretty uneventful. Sometimes I don’t feel anxious or worried about anything in particular. Sometimes the worry is just there. There’s nothing I can do about it. They say that you’ve got to face your fears, get used to them. In a lot of cases this is true. But there are also situations when it isn’t.

I’ve been driving for nearly a year now, yet I still try to avoid doing it if I can. I’m sick of the nerves. I’m not afraid that I’ll crash or that my life is in danger. I’m afraid that I might do something wrong, and I’ll get beeped. Or I might stall the car and hold up traffic. I’m afraid of all those others drivers on the road. Actually, no, that’s not true. I’m not afraid of them, or their vehicles. I’m afraid of their thoughts. Thoughts that may not even be real, just what I’m imagining that they might be thinking. And I went to school every single day. I would take sick days off, just like anyone, but I still attended regularly. This did not make it any easier. Every day of school for me was hard. “Facing my fears” didn’t make it one bit easier.


Thursday, 26 July 2007

I began story writing again today. I’ve had troubles with writing lately because I can’t seem to concentrate and I’m never satisfied with what I’ve written. I usually just backspace the lot of it, or just never continue with it. Because of this I don’t see much progress.

I’ve always been a little afraid of my feelings towards writing. I’ve always wanted to be an author but sometimes I’m not sure if I’m doing it for the right reasons. A well established author once said, “to enjoy writing and to enjoy having written are two different things.” He’s basically implying that you have to love writing. You can’t just enjoy the feeling of having written something, otherwise you’ll struggle as an author and your reading won’t be up to par.

I definitely, definitely, enjoy having written. I like to look over something and think; “wow, twenty pages.” I like to show off things I’ve written to others. So I’m afraid that I don’t enjoy writing. But sometimes I think that I do. Like today, while I was writing I was enjoying myself. Still, it worries me every now and again.
Once again today I noticed my increasing bitterness to those around me. I get annoyed at the tiniest of things. I want to yell at people. Everyone just seems so stupid, so unintelligent. They can’t see the things that I see. Whether this is true or just my imagination shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t hate my loved ones just because I’m smarter than them.

But it isn’t just my family. It’s my friends too. If I can’t stand being around my friends what am I going to do? I’m already well on my way into becoming a hermit, am I just going further down that road? I rarely leave the house; I sit in my room alone, sometimes in the dark. Will I eventually forgo all contact I have with other people?
It would give me a lot more time to write, that’s for sure.

But I don’t want that. I don’t know where this bitterness is coming from. Today my auntie and her boyfriend visited. I felt too weary to answer her never-ending questions. She constantly asks how I am. Sure, she’s worrying about me, but she’s been worrying about me for too long now. I don’t want to hear it anymore and I’ve told her this. Still she asks. She even asks me what I’m thinking sometimes. My thoughts are mine and mine only. If I wanted people to know them I wouldn’t be thinking I’d be talking.

I couldn’t be bothered pretending to laugh at her boyfriend’s bad jokes tonight either so I lumbered up stairs and confined myself once again into my ever so familiar room, without even a hello to them. They left not long after. I heard them call goodbye but I didn’t bother answering them.

I went onto the Internet where I could communicate with my friends over a voice chat program. It didn’t take long for me to become just as sick of them as I was of my family. Always the same crappy jokes. Always the same useless talk. I eventually exited chat with a curt goodbye and that’s when I decided to write this. I’ll be going to bed now where I’ll have hours of tortuous thoughts to look forward to.


Friday, 27 July 2007

Today I read an article on the Internet about Harry Potter fans everywhere feeling the same sense of loss that I’d suffered from. All together this didn’t surprise me. Experts said that it’s normal to grieve for something that’s been in a person’s life for so long. Once again I’d suspected this but was afraid to admit it in case I was wrong.

This doesn’t really make me feel any better. It probably makes me feel worse, more so than it does better. I like to be… special, for lack of a better word. Words of consolation do little to comfort me when they’re full of claims that I’m not the only one going through this. “It’s quite normal.” I don’t want it to be normal. If it’s normal then why did I leave school and no one else? Telling me that plenty of people go through this just makes me feel worse about myself. Am I weaker than them? I’m convinced that I’m not but assertions of how commonplace this problem of mine is does little to help. I am different. Few people have felt what I feel now, or at least few people who think like me have gone through this.

I also went to the movies with my friends today. I enjoyed myself despite my expectations.


Saturday, 28 July 2007

I’ve known for a while now that being happy, even if you have to force yourself, gives you a different perspective on everything. It makes everything seem brighter. But it’s hard to force yourself to be happy. Especially when there are so many reasons to be sad or angry. Or depressed. Depression is anger turned inward. Anger is for those too afraid to feel sadness and sadness is for those not strong enough to be happy. So it all comes down to being happy, doesn’t it?

I’ve got friends coming over tonight. Three of them. They’ll be sleeping over. I’m usually afraid that they’ll come across a spare business card of my psychologist, or they’ll find something incriminating on my computer. You see, they don’t know that I’m going through any of this. It would pain me a great deal if they did.


Sunday, 29 July 2007

After my friends left I settled down to watch a movie with my parents. My mum had rented movies the night before. We got about halfway through when my dad’s sister, mother and father arrived at the house. I had no idea why they were there. They didn’t visit often because we live a little bit away. I paused the movie, slightly irritated at the interruption. This was the type of movie where you really need to sit and concentrate on it to enjoy it so I wasn’t going to continue watching while they were there.

My brother was doing his Italian homework and was asking for help from my nonna. She started speaking Italian in a tone that I’ve grown to hate. Her, my nonno and my dad do it. It’s a tone they only use when they speak Italian. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s almost posh, as if they’re bragging while they speak. And I couldn’t help but think that my brother was showing off by asking for help with his homework. He didn’t need help, he had an Italian dictionary. He was just striving for attention, and I suppose I can’t blame him. I was always the one who received the most attention.

Attention, however, was the last thing I wanted at that moment. That coupled with my annoyance from my grandparents speaking Italian lead me to retreat to my room, as I so often do. I trusted that mum would let me know when she started the movie again. I didn’t feel much like going on the computer and I didn’t feel much like reading so instead I collapsed upon my bed and fell asleep. I didn’t really plan to fall asleep but at the same time I knew it would happen. Today especially was a bad day to fall asleep. Mere hours later I would be attending a barbeque that my godfather was hosting. I didn’t really want to go but I thought that I should. I’m his godson after all, and he seems to be very fond of me.

However, when I woke up I felt incredibly groggy. My mind was numb and I just knew that I wouldn’t go to the barbeque. I cursed myself for falling asleep. I knew that even if I managed to wake myself up before it was time to leave I still wouldn’t go. It’s hard to explain. Very hard. I’d struggled to convince myself to go and now that I had one more excuse not to… I checked my mobile and found several messages from mum. She’d tried to ring me twice and she’d also sent me a message.

Watch movie.
Come on.

It turns out that my dad’s relatives had already gone and mum was anxious to watch the movie before we had to leave for my godfather’s. She hadn’t started it yet and this makes me sad. She was waiting for me. She’s very loyal like that, my mum. She hadn’t been able to wake me up because my door had been locked. So because of me she hadn’t watched the movie yet. If I hadn’t fallen asleep we could’ve watched it and I’d be accompanying me family to the barbeque.

I went downstairs and told dad that I wasn’t going. He simply nodded. Normally he’d respond to me and try to persuade me otherwise. But he didn’t. All he did was nod. Then I told my mum. Similarly, she acted strangely. She just accepted it, almost as if she’d expected it. Normally she’d be a little angry. She’d answer me with perhaps a hint of spite in her voice. But she didn’t. Have they become so used to me letting them down that they don’t care anymore?

I sat in the lounge room with dad. Everyone else was getting ready. We sat in silence for a few moments while we watched TV. Eventually he began his attempts to persuade me, as I’d expected him to earlier. But this time it was different. It was half-hearted, maybe even cautious. I think he expected me to retort in anger. Maybe I would’ve had that thought not struck me. Instead I just assured him that I would not go.

And while I was at it I added another excuse to the list. I wanted to finish watching the movie. He proceeded to tell me that he was meant to bring the movies with him, so they could return them on the way home. But he decided to leave them here and do it later, so that I could watch them. Once again this kindness hurt me more than it did me good. I didn’t deserve it. He should’ve just taken the movies; it would’ve been easier for him. And maybe he would have taken the movies had I told him to. But I didn’t. I kept quiet so that I could finish watching it. It wouldn’t be in my character I play for my family to say something like that. I’m a prisoner within the people I play. I’ve always been, yet it’s a prison I’m not brave enough to break out of.

So they all left. It was night out and I was the only one home. The house’s silence just seemed to worsen my mood. I watched the movie, all the while remembering how I’d not only betrayed my parents by refusing to go to the barbeque, but I’d also indirectly taken away my mother’s chance to watch the movie.

And then another thought hit me, the look on my godfather’s face when he saw my family arrive without me. Me, his godson. He doesn’t have any children of his own, so that makes my relation to him even more significant. I wonder if he’d be disappointed, or if he too would simply nod as if he’d expected it. Just like my parents had.
Why do I continue to let people down? Every letdown to a person close to me is a letdown to myself. My eyes filled with tears but I refused to cry. I just kept saying over and over again; “he doesn’t know what I go through every day.” That excuse does little to comfort me.

Everything’s a mess. I don’t know what to think, what to believe. I just don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. I don’t know what’s going to happen right now. I don’t know what should be happening right now. Should I be making more of an effort? I’d like to, but I don’t know what I can do. I have plenty of ideas of what might help, but I’m too afraid to attempt any of them. But sometimes it’s not just fear. It’s weariness. I’m tied of being nervous. I’m tired of being afraid. Sometimes it’s this weariness that stops me from doing things. I’m not so afraid of going out that I can’t go to the shops, but I’m tired of the fear. I can’t be bothered with it anymore. So I avoid it. It’s too tiring, to be in fear all the time. It seems that I’ve become afraid of fear itself.


End

I’ve written about my thoughts and emotions for a week. I was going to go longer but decided that it’s already as long as it needs to be. Any longer and we’d have close to a novel on our hands. I just need to clarify a few things before I finish;

I don’t think I mentioned much of my brother in the journal. He’s a year and a half younger than me. There’s always been competition between us because of our closeness of age. But since I was first born, I’ve always received the attention. So he’s been jealous of me for a long time. Now I’ve sunk almost as low as a big brother could. It is perhaps my turn to be envious of him, and in a sense I am. But his jealousy has not disappeared. He competes with me still, though I’m not sure why. I’ve also noticed that he’s doing a lot of what I used to do, as if he’s trying to take my place. He’s bossing around the younger siblings, and making sure that everybody is ready in the morning, and that nobody leaves lights on/dishes out, all that stuff. Now, if he’s doing this because he feels he needs to then I’ve got nothing against him. In fact I’ll feel more anger towards myself than to him. But if he’s doing it because he’s still competing with me then I’d be well and truly angry with him.

Also, earlier I stated that I hated it when people tried to comfort me by saying that what I was going through was normal. I suppose I exaggerated that point a little. I just want the truth. If it is true that a certain thing I’m feeling is normal, I’d like to hear it. If instead, however, you tell me this simply to make me feel better then I would prefer you say nothing at all. I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.

And finally, suicide. Everyone is afraid of suicide. It’s understandable. Many teens commit suicide when life becomes just too much to bear. I can’t say whether my life has yet reached this pinnacle. I’m hesitant to say it hasn’t because then it will make my problems seem insignificant. I’m also hesitant to say it has, when there are so many people out there who have it worse off than me. But everyone has a different breaking point and I doubt very much I’ll ever reach mine. I’ve said countless times how I’ve wanted my life to be a story like those that I read and watch every day. What kind of story would I have on my hands if I killed off the main character? In other words I will never commit suicide unless I have a very, very good reason to. And I promise you that this reason will have nothing to do with my current situation.

I believe that’s all. Well, actually I don’t. I’m certain I’ve left at least one thing out but I’ve written all I can think of.

That’s it. The end.