A little something I wrote today. This is just based off of my own experiences, but I hope it can help at least one person understand some of what it’s like to live with one or more mental illnesses. Still nothing worse than the mental illness that is Christianity.

Title: Unwanted Visitors

Knock knock
I open my eyes at exactly 8:27am.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is at my door.
Today, I must wear a particular outfit, fix my hair a certain way, my makeup must be perfect….
Everything has to be perfect.
I make my list.

The night comes and it’s time for bed.
I’m so exhausted but I can’t sleep.
Not until I do my full nightly ritual.
Then, after approximately 10 minutes later,
After I click the lock button on my phone in the perfect pattern and check my alarm a total of three times, I rest.

Bang bang!
I’m awakened by a loud noise.
It’s PTSD, just stopping in to drop off anxiety.
I can’t stop shaking. Or is the room spinning?
My ears are ringing like locusts and I think I’ll be sick soon.
I can’t leave the house today.
I can’t even leave my room.

After six hours of being stuck in the isolation of my bedroom, trapped in my own body,
I’m dragged out by a friend.

It’s still hard to function.
I want to go back to bed.
Once I return, I sit patiently, yet eagerly, with my head in between my legs.
Waiting….. Waiting..
It finally comes to an end.
With my heart no longer pounding out of my chest, I sleep.

Silence
I wake up naturally and I feel better than ever.
I’m manic.
The depression will kick in soon.
I ignore that.

Today, I must clean everything in sight.
I go for hours straight.
No food or bathroom breaks.
Just organizing, scrubbing, cleaning, pure joy.
I don’t leave the house, but I take some time to online shop.
I buy a lot.
I can’t even afford it but that’s okay because I used my credit card.
Although, paying it will take away from everything I’m saving up for.
Oh well! I can save it later.
These things make me happy.
I go until I can’t go anymore.
It’s 6am the next day and I force myself to get in bed.
Finally, I’m out by 8am.

“Good morning, fatty”
She’s here.
Anorexia.
And she brought her friend, body dysmorphia.
Bulimia will be here later.
It’s a busy day for us and I dare not leave the house without looking absolutely flawless.
I’m in a rush so I do it anyways.
Okay, but I dare not eat.
And I don’t.
Not until 6pm when I can’t take it anymore.

“You’re so fat and you’re so ugly too.” They tell me.
“I can’t believe you didn’t straighten your hair or wear makeup. Also your nails are chipped.”
“I can’t believe you even went in public today.
It’s a shame people had to see you..
You should just kill yourself.”

After hours of arguing with the two, Bulimia finally shows up.
It barges into the bathroom.
I try to throw up my dinner, but I can’t.
I sob over the toilet.
I do this until I can’t cry anymore.
I go to bed and fight my sore, puffy eyes.
I’m back in my favorite state…. Unconsciousness.

I’m barely shaken awake.
It’s the weekend. I should be enjoying it.
But I don’t.
Depression stayed over.
I lay in bed all day and weep.
My head pounding.
When I’m not doing this, I’m asleep.

It’s a long visit and I want to see my other visitors.
I like them more than depression.
They come in and out but they don’t stay.

Depression continues to linger.

When will I feel better again?
Will I ever feel better?
Will I always be like this?

I swallow another pill and continue to fight.
I feel nothing.