Depression, anorexia and back to health

I stopped my slight medication as soon as I had made my mind, and left. But this medication wasn’t for my lungs or chest. I shall say I had been for two weaks, resting in a psychiatric hospital, though by my own volition and I could leave when I wanted, which I did, after being disgusting seeing human beings being stripped away of what made them, them. At that time I had no real prospect of a future, no ambition, no certitude either. And no one to rely on.

After my baccalaureat, I tried a higher literary class, which was foolish to the utmost as I passionately hated anything literary, and still do. But I had my first encounter with ancient Greek, and for that I am glad. My health and mental state getting worse (from finding no real friends, boyfriend or girlfriend), I lost the motivation while my grades weren’t that bad, mid-year. I then tried an English class at the nearest university, since I was very good in English, having I believe, the best grade in this matter. I loved traduction. But I didn’t have more motivation and to be honest I did that to keep the scholarship on social criteria. And to calm my parents, which I still was living with. When thing got even more impossible, with them or between them to be precise, I went on living alone in a university accommodation.

In maybe three months maybe, I couldn’t or wouldn’t leave my room, or the bare minimum. And it got to the point where I could barely physically do it anymore. It was then, that I got back in my parents’ house, then to the hospital. And quickly after I left.

My first reaction, when I saw him at the train station was “Is that it ?”, in the most hurtful way possible, to someone who was already so full of love and gentleness. It felt like a knife stab, I have been said this enough the time passing, to not even attempt to make an excuse.

But to my defense, I remember having been in a really terrible mental state, and it would take a whole month to not be in that state 24/24. I had been said to have “schizoid tendencies”, along being bulimic-anorexique (more on the bulimic side, fortunately). Now a better word is “Asperger”. Though it doesn’t talk much to whoever never felt that way, never knew what it felt like lacking any empathy or ability to connect to people on a fundamental level. Feeling nothing, while craving for love and knowing it, is no better than being dead.

But one month after, I was quite healthy, I had taken on more weight (muscles), and could run again. I don’t remember how much I ate, but it was something to behold, at least compared to previously. Though it was hard on me, I could hardly do anything other eating and sleeping.

For the first time in a year, I had found a purpose, and goals to set upon myself, and loving hands extended to help me stand... though I would spit on these repetitively.

When you'll read this, pardon me, my love, you do have to ressent me, for I hate myself more than I could make you understand it. You own me, however many times I would and probably will again pretend the opposite.