Rewiring

Written 6th October 2016 

It is a constant battle for me to remind myself; constantly attempting to rewire myself; to do something as simple as putting on my seatbelt. 

For so long I was so suicidal, I searched for the end of my life in any way. The obvious things were hidden away from me, removed entirely from the house or locked away to keep me safe. But the little things? The every day rare possibilities; those were what I desperately clung to whilst still planning on how I would get hold of the things I really desired. 

So I never wore a seatbelt. I wouldn't watch when I crossed the road. I'd perch, precariously over large heights to gaze solemnly, dazed and entirely out of it from always starving myself. Anorexia was my slow suicide. 

The few things I've mentioned may sound pathetic, and you may well be thinking, if you were that suicidal then, basically, why aren't you dead? That may not be the case, but I know this is a common thought for those misunderstanding suicidal thoughts and behaviours, as well as my anxiety manifesting. 

In many ways I'm grateful for my anxiety and self esteem that was plummeted through the ground for so many torturous years, because I was so sure I would fail that I didn't fully try. I'm grateful for my kind nature and passiveness, because I just couldn't imagine what my parents would do without me there, even though I always promised myself (and often still do) that I was a huge burden to them. I thought I was so much of a burden already; imagine the hassle of finding my body, carrying my monstrously huge frame, and paying for a funeral I didn't deserve.

So as I get in the car now, and really honestly forget to put my belt on after so many years of wiring myself not to, it's hard to change. My mind flits to the realisation that I don't have it on as my parents are putting on theirs, and I am instantly reminded of all of my years of suicidal turmoil. 

All those endless begging texts and phone calls from my few beautiful friends and boyfriend to just continue my life for one more day. And I have to debate it. Do I click that seat belt into the buckle? Am I worth saving? Worth keeping safe and protected in the event of a horrible accident? 

And the answer, I know now, is yes. My motivation may fade, my depressive states and suicidal thoughts irregularly coming back, but the answer is always yes. I am worthy. I deserve to live. Some important questions asked by many of my various therapists over multiple years, are "why? What makes you different to other people? What have you done to make you *insert very derogatory term here*" 

And I'm speechless. I try to rack my brains and my words won't form. Because there isn't anything I've done. There isn't any reason that I am entirely different to other people who I respect and care for endlessly. I am just a teenage girl who undeservedly developed multiple mental illnesses. It's not my fault. I didn't choose this. 

So I put on my seatbelt when I remember. And you should to. You should go against all of those tormenting, vindictive voices in your head telling you that you are a worthless burden. That tell you that you are a waste of space and everyone would be better without you. That no one would notice if you were gone. That you're fat and disgusting and any other self depreciating term. 

Because I promise you darling, you are infinitely worthy. You are endlessly deserving of your place on Earth, you are loved, you are cherished and people are happy to help you. That everyone would notice you gone, you have touched so many lives. That you aren't fat, and if you were, it wouldn't make you any less stunning and loved. 

You deserve life. I deserve life. 

I love you and you need never ever feel alone.