i can and i will

I want to go. 

But i can't. 

My friends tell me to do it. 

My therapist encourages me. 

I want to do it.

But at the same time I don’t.

I know I wont go.

 I could go. 

I could still be there in time if I leave the house right now. 

If I just go now, nobody will now that I struggled 8 hours 

to make the decision whether to participate in that event or not.

I had all day to prepare myself mentally, but I still chicken out.

I’m so frustrated, 
i snap at my best friend and punch the nearest object. 

It’s a wall. 

Could have been worse, it could have been a person. 

The blood streaming down my hand feels good. 

It shouldn’t, but it does. 

It feels like power, like control, something i've been fighting for every second for years now.

I look at the blood dripping down my wrist and then wash it off.

I take my phone out of my backpocket und type in a message:

“sorry, I can’t make it, something else came up smiley face, heart emoji”

I turn the phone off because I already know that I wont like the answer. 

I go back to my bed, lay down and cry.

It’s always the same.

I’ll make plans.

I’ll be excited and hopeful. 

It will be fun. 

It will be great. 

I’ll be able to do it this time.

The day arrives, I fail.

I don’t know which part of me it is, that keeps me from enjoying my life, that makes me a coward and a terrible person to be around, that chains me to this f*cking house and makes me a prisoner of my own mind.

I just can't understand it.

I probably wouldn’t even panic outside. 

I probably wouldn’t hate hanging out with people. 

It probably would be fine. 

And even if I’d get a panic attack, they would be understanding and supportive 

and I wouldn’t die or embarres myself too much or anger them or disappoint anyone but myself.

- I can tell myself that, but I just can’t believe in it.

It’s not just those obvious things, it’s everything going on on the inside.

I can look like the most calm and content person, laying in the sunshine 

and at the same time there’s a war going on inside my body.

No matter what I do, I’m just not able to enjoy it at all. 

I keep worrying and thinking over every single detail that could go wrong 

and the fear eats me up alive. 

I’m so tired and exhausted, because I can’t shut my f*cking thoughts off for just one minute. 

I’m having the worst headache, because the stereotypical darkness in my head is so heavy, 

and the migrane won’t go away, because every little bit of light, every bright thought, is blinding me.

I’m so angry at myself for letting other people down and for not being able to get my shit together and my butt out of my comfort zone 

- I can’t change it but neither I'm i able to accept that.

I’m so embarrassed and uncomfortable with myself and with what that illness does to me,

and I have no idea how to tell new people or old friends about my problem.

So I just cancel everything, go to bed in the middle of the day and write about it on the internet.

I’ve met this boy who asked me, if i want to go on a date with him and i said no. 

He asked me why and I lied. 

I couldn’t tell him that I’m suffering with panic attacks and that I’ve reached such a low point,that I just can’t meet almost strangers in a cinema or restaurant, because i would lose my shit and make a scene and I would scare him of.

I could see it in his face, that he tried not to look hurt or angry, because I just said no without any good explanaition. 

I know, I don’t owe him anything,but I liked him aswell and I really wanted to go out with him... 

just without the going out part. 

At the same time I didn’t want to invite him to my house, we just met and no, I’m not scared, but yes, I feel like it’s common sense not to invite strangers to your bedroom, when you're not into that kinda thing.

Long story short, we exchanged numbers and I searched for a believable excuse, something like that I 'm afraid of meeting a stranger and that I wanted to first get to know him a bit more, just to get some time and he replied, that he wasn’t such a fan of this idea, because he would rather get to know me face to face and see if the chemistry works, than via text. 

I get that, I totally understand that. 

But I was too scared to tell him the truth, that I wanted this, too, but that I just couldn’t do it right now or any time soon. 

I didn’t want him to judge me based on my mental illness, I didn’t want to be that crazy girl, I just wanted to meet someone without the panic disorder between us.
Depression is so much easier to hide, it's not less scary or exhausting to live with, but it is a quiet agony. It numbs and makes me stop caring. Panic makes me care way too much and makes everything louder.

He wasn’t angry and he didn’t just left, he was kind and nodded and asked me if I was also scared of other things and in general an anxious person.

And this hit home.  

I wanted to answer with "no", with a very clear, loud "no", because I wasn’t - 
I have never been a fearful person, I would have always describes myself as brave and adventurous.

But then I looked at myself and the last 4 years from a different perspective: barely making it to school, all the therapies and meds, leaving uni, coming back home, missing appointments and cancelling dates with friends - because I was so scared...or better said: ill.

Maybe I am wrong. 

Maybe I’m a coward, maybe I’m the biggest coward that there is.

But does it count, that I’m just afraid of things, because I have an anxiety disorder?

How do I know what’s me and what’s the illness?

Or is the illness,  after all this years, finally such a big part of me, that it doesn't even matter, if Lilian is calm and lion-hearted, when Panic!Lilian – who is out 23 hours a day  - isn’t?

How do you even messure braveness or fear?

Is it braver to stand up for yourself, to admit defeat, to know your limits, to push yourself to go to the supermarket or is it brave to climb a mountain and to travel the world even if you're not scared of heights or the unknown?

Am I even braver, because I deal with my fear every waking hour and don’t let it kill me?

Or am I a bigger coward, because I’m not scared of anything in particular, but of fear itself?

Is panic all that I’m made of? 

Is there nothing left of ‘me’ anymore? 

Or is this me and everything I pictured in my mind was just wishful thinking?

Which part of my is who i really am,which is the diseased part that i need to cut off, which part is who i aspire to be, will i ever be 'okay', and is there any part of me, that isn't sick yet?

Am i more than an illness?

Could i be someone without it?

Will i ever be more than that?

It didn’t felt like that much time at all.
I still feel the same as before, but different at the same time. It’s so hard to explain.
What you experience at the place where I experienced my experience, is not even remotely comprehensible if you weren't there.


I know what everyone expects me to say now:
I feel so much better. Everything makes sense now. I feel like somebody finally understood what my problem was and even though I can’t be ‘cured’, I’m able to handle it now.
I’m gonna do things. I’m gonna do all the things. 
Not today and not tomorrow, but eventually. 
It will be painful and stressful and much more effort than I want it to be, but I’ll do everything I always wanted to do, because I deserve it and the demon inside of me won’t stop me. Not this time. 
It’ll make me slow down and boycott me and oh boy it’ll make me suffer. But I’ll get through it and I will do it nevertheless at some point.
I’m not healed. I never will be. I didnt even rip off all my old, blooddrained band-aids, I didn’t dare to open up enough to let every nightmare out of my system. The poisen is still in me. And it will kill me, but not today and not tomorrow.
I used to say 'i’ll do it tomorrow’, I can’t do it today’ and now I’ll say ‘I’ll do it today,’ ‘there must be something I’m able to do today’ and i will say 'yes' and do it.
i'm full of new found hope and maybe my life won't be perfect, but it is worth living and it'll be the best life it can be.

That’s what you want to read.That’s what I want to write.
But the truth is:
I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared of being alone again, of being on my own, of moving out and fail doing those small things. I’m afraid of walking into the kitchen at 2am and opening the fridge and then closing it and sliding down to the floor and just suffering from existing with this ungraspable fear and loneliness inside of me.
I don’t think  I can do any of the things other people do, i don't want to feel the way i feel anymore.

It’s so…complicated. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs at nothing, I’m crying hysterically at nothing, because there is nothing in front of me, that scares me in particular, it’s everything mushed together. 
The great big ordinary. The daily life. Life.
It would be so much easier to accept my fears, if I had to face something scary and recognizable dangerous, a dragon, a monster, an operation, a trip, something that feels…more real. 
Something that existed not only in my head.
It would be so much easier, if I could just point on the big angry dragon beside me and say: 
'Sorry I seem to be a bit messed up, I’ve got this big mighty dragon I have to fight any minute now, excuse my shaky hands and my teary eyes.'

And they would understand and nod and maybe smile or in the best case scenario say: 'Oh I had to do that myself, I’ve got a bit of time on my hands, let me help you.'

But there is no dragon or event, there is just boredom and emptiness everywhere. 
Nothing makes sense to me. Why would I want to move out and go to university and force myself to find the courage somewhere in me, scrape it from my insides, to get a job and do the groceries and got to bed early and to leave the bed again and eat? 

It’s all so pointless. It’s so exhausting and I just can't do it.
‘Oh, that’s just depression talking out of you right now, life’s not that bad.’
Thanks. I know. Everybody knows. No matter what happens, if someone broke my heart or I can’t understand humanity and why we all have to fight eachother, everybody always answers ‘It’s just the depression, it’s not you talking, your mind is not in the right place’. 

What does that even mean? 
Does this sentence change everything? 
Am i better now that I know that’s just an illness that clouds my judgement? What if my mind will never be 'in the right place'? Does this make everything i think worthless?

Maybe you are wrong. Maybe all of you are blind, because you can’t see what a shitty place this earth is and how absurd our behavior is.
Nobody seems to get that. Everyone is so busy thinking about their love life or their job or what to do tomorrow and i‘m sitting here like a stranger. I can’t relate to any of those thoughts.

I’ve always put everything off. I’d find friends next month, I’ll start studying next year,i'll shower tomorrow, I’ll leave my bed later- I hoped that inbetween now and then something great would happen. 
The magical moment. 
The stay in the clinic seemed to be that magical time where everything would be okay and I’d be so much better after that. I thought I’d go in there, broken, tired,almost dead, and come out newborn, full of energy and motivation, with a new mindset and positivity.

It obviously didn’t happen. 
I didn’t even expected the full recovery, I just thought maybe I’ll learn some new technics to calm myself, just anything to cling on and not to get blown away by desperation
. 
Yeah.
And here I am now. 
It’s not the same at it was before. I’ve lost hope. 
There’s nothing to look forward now. 
That was my chance and it didn’t bring the change I wished for
.
I know this blog post leaves such a bad taste in your mouth, at least it does in mine, but I don’t want to pretend. “Tumblr” - here used as a representative of the spirit of this generation - states things like:
’Go get help,tell them how you feel, ask for help,show them who you truly are, seek help and that’s the first step of recovery, you’ll be okay!'

Maybe that’s right. But it’s only half the truth. 
Of course, getting your diagnose and treatment is a big, important part, but it’s not a guarantee for anything. 
You can take meds and see a therapist every day and still feel like shit and not get better. Some of us will never get better, because some mental illnesses are chronic and not just temporary.
Most of the time you won’t find a trauma that caused that crack in your brain and without an actual reason it’s hard to find a solution. 
You can treat the symptoms, but without eliminating the trigger, you’ll never be "free”.

It sounds harsh and like something a frustrated teenager would write, but i'm not frustrated nor a teenager anymore. 
That’s the way it is,at least from my perspective. You can sugarcoat it, but that’s just lying to yourself.
Sometimes all the help you get just isn’t enough.
You have to be strong enough and motivated enough to fight against it every day,you have to find the will to not give in and find happiness in in the small things of life, find every day something that makes you keep going - or you just give up.

I don’t know what to do now.
What’s expected of me, what I want and what I need, are three different things. 
I don’t feel better and I’m so fucking afraid of keep on living, I have no clue what to do or how to handle anything -

But I guess I’ll just carry on with life.