— A journal about truth, control, and learning to ask for help
⚠️ Trigger Warning
This post discusses mental illness, medication, self-harm, and suicidal ideation. While there is no graphic detail and no current intention to harm, the themes may be distressing for some readers or listeners.
Please take care while reading, and skip this piece if you need to protect your peace today. 💛
If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. You can reach out to one of the following UK support services:
- Samaritans – 24/7 free helpline: 📞 116 123 or visit www.samaritans.org
- SHOUT – 24/7 free crisis text line: Text SHOUT to 85258
- Mind – Mental health support, resources, and information: www.mind.org.uk
- Papyrus (HOPELINE247) – For under-35s struggling with thoughts of suicide: 📞 0800 068 41 41, Text 07860 039967, or visit www.papyrus-uk.org
Please don’t carry it alone. Speak to someone. You deserve support.
The Day After Always Hits Harder
I’ve always struggled the day after.
The day after something emotional.
The day after opening up.
The day after doing something brave or heavy or hard.
I overthink every little detail — nitpicking with a fine-tooth comb, replaying conversations and moments I can’t change. My brain goes into overdrive, and suddenly it all feels like too much.
Being Out of Control Terrifies Me
What I haven’t really admitted — until now — is that being out of control terrifies me.
I’m someone who focuses really hard on the things I can control. It gives me a sense of safety, of order, of something to hold on to. But lately, everything has felt… out of my hands. And honestly, I’ve hated every single bit of it.
I wish I could say I’ve been doing everything I can to get better — but that wouldn’t be true.
The Struggle With Honesty
I’m still learning how to be honest — not with other people, necessarily, but with myself. Especially about my illness. About how I’m really coping.
And without even meaning to, I’ve started trying to take back control again. But not in a way that’s helpful. Not in a way that’s healthy.
More in a way that might worry people. And probably should.
The Truth About My Medication
Here it is:
I haven’t been taking my medication properly.
Actually — I’ve been stockpiling it.
Let me be clear: I have no intention of overdosing. It’s not that. It’s more like… a safety blanket. Just knowing it’s there. Just knowing I have something in case.
I’ve done this before. Many times. And it’s always been about control.
When I was in hospital, I had no choice — I had to take the tablets in front of staff.
When I came home, I was trusted. And I broke that trust. Twice.
Now, my mum manages my meds. I get two days’ worth at a time.
14 tablets. 3 in the morning. 4 in the evening.
But lately, I’ve made the decision that I don’t need it anymore.
Which is complete bullshit, and I’ll call myself out on that.
I take my pill box upstairs, tip out the tablets, and pretend I’ve taken them.
Why I Do It (Even Though I Know Better)
Here’s the thing: my evening meds knock me out. I can’t stay awake after them, no matter how hard I try.
And sometimes… sleep scares me.
Not the sleep itself — but the night terrors.
The confusion when I wake up.
Not knowing what’s real and what isn’t.
So instead of asking for help, instead of admitting I’m struggling, I found a way to feel like I’m back in control. Probably in the silliest, most dangerous way I could.
What Control Actually Costs Me
The truth? My mood is the lowest it’s been in a long time.
I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. I can’t sleep. The insomnia kicks in hard without my medication.
But hey — at least I’m in control… right?
Wrong.
So wrong.
This isn’t control.
It’s avoidance.
It’s fear.
It’s survival dressed up as independence.
Why I’m Writing This
So I guess this post is me trying to take control a different way.
By admitting that what I’m doing isn’t working.
By saying it out loud — or in this case, writing it down — and facing the truth.
By holding myself accountable before it gets worse.
Because pretending isn’t helping.
And silence has never saved me.
If You’re Still Reading… Thank You
If any part of this feels familiar to you — please know you’re not alone.
You’re not stupid. You’re not weak.
You’re coping the best way you know how, even if it’s hurting you.
But you deserve more than just coping.
You deserve to heal.
And maybe the first step is just saying it out loud. Or writing it down.
Or showing up here — exactly as you are.
That’s what I’m doing.
And I’m scared. But I’m also proud.
This is my first step forward. Again.
💬 What About Now?
If this resonated with you, feel free to leave a comment or send a message. And if you’re struggling with medication, mental health, or just feeling lost — talk to someone. Please. Let someone hold space for you like I’m trying to hold space here.
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