Ada

Her name was Ada. Her life was a series of unfinished books, unfinished cigarettes, the vogue kind, and half finished meals. She was clueless of both her sanity and future. Everyone appeared to be concerned but Ada couldn't understand why. Why would people care? She had grown to be a lifeless blur, a soft guassian blur. The kind that blurs behind her mothers stance. The kind that worries endlessly. Ada was a writer, a writer of pages about her own personal suffering. But Ada was a perfectionist. Ada's room was sheets of white crumpled on the floor. Torn pieces covered the oak floorboards where her father had ripped the carpet apart furiously. Her life was a mess just like her mind. 

She was the girl child of her parents insanity. It seemed she had inherited their bizzarity. She obsessed over her insanity. She longed for the answers she never wished to hear. Her thoughts killed her insides. She wanted answers. Never did she hear the three words she dreaded to hear. All she heard was 'unstable' over and over splurging out of Dr Road's mouth. 

It all started when she was eight years old when her parents went their separate ways. This time has always stuck in the young girls mind. It was her first experience of rejection and this was where it all started. The very day her world fell apart. The very day her father leaked the tears of i love you. All throughout the years she heard the words i hate you. All the judgments she felt from her fathers dismay. Her childhood was full of glee but as she grew her mother then turned a blind eye. Her mother sat in denial all these years. It was only when Ada first decided to die that her mother realised there was a serious concern. 

So this story begins with the day Ada's life took a turn for the worst. She was only 14 when her perfect life came crashing down like the twin towers on 9/11. 

My name is Ada and i'm 18 years old. I am diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, this being generalised anxiety disorder, the disorder of hell. Not that i'm even sure if there is a hell or if i'm already living in hell. It sure feels that way with my hellish mind. Some days it feels like this monster has taken over me and is destroying anything and everything that get's in his way. Or perhaps I am the monster that is living inside. Now without sounding like a happy go lucky school girl I do enjoy life, some aspects anyway, I have some friends and I love to write. So here is me telling you my darkest secrets. Now I should be honest with you all and tell you that yes I do press the self destruct button all too much but I am working on that button. I take sertraline once daily but I don't find it helpful in the slightest. This is my journal and this is for you to all understand why I ever decided to tell the truth. 

I forgot to mention that I am also diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and severe depression. The three are my deepest darkest secret. It all started when my parents divorced a fair few years ago. Tequila tears ran in rivers from my glassy eyes. A broken girl at most a shattered mirror. A year of bad luck for every sin I stole. 

Ada's head reversed into the picture of her past. The all too many secrets eating her away inside. The secrets destroying her one by one unleashing their dark force upon her. The many men taking her like air from a drowning man's lungs. Her heart raced, her breathes shortened like pebbles in the sea and her mind wandered like the wind. It was all so new to her, the flashbacks, the thoughts, the evil workings of her mind. All of it, every second her mind raced she grew to be more afraid. 

Her brain transformed her into the evil of her past. Images flashed in her eyes, voices screamed in her head, her body shook with anxiety and her heart pumped panic. All the memories she so desperately wanted to erase were swirling back. Jumping from every corner of her cranium. She was scared, what was happening to her?

Tears sprinted off her cheeks creating puddles on her delicate skin. Her body froze like icicles on a winters night. Her jaw hung like an old picture on a rusty nail. She was afraid of the unknown. Tears leaked out of her solemn opal eyes and suddenly she was in a fit of tears shaking in hysterics. 

Thrown back into reality she let out a sigh of relief as she felt the warm summer air flowing through her delicate hair feeling the pressure off her shoulders as she takes a deep breath looking around her hearing the sound of birds singing seeing the white clouds drifting though the blue sky slowly.

Life began when I was twelve years of age when my parents divorced after my father slept with another woman. Being so  young I felt betrayed by my fathers sin. I could never understand his cruel decision. This was the first time I saw my father cry, I saw his sorrows in his tears. My life became a puzzle broken into a thousand missing pieces. I became the workings of his own personal mind game. Him and my mother. Life became hard and grueling to get through; each day became a real mission. I became a depressive stone of black. Over the many years reaching until I was about sixteen my life was quickly running out of time. My emotions were gone, I was nothing but a bleak boat sailing to sea. Being so young I thought my life was normal that this happened to every teenager but fortunately I was wrong, I was living my own personal nightmare. I became severely anxious to go to school, thought everything would end with a bad outcome and that people would always be talking about me. I took my problems inwards, it destroyed my self esteem. I suffered the secrets of my parents. I was living in hell. I began overdosing on nurofen tablets when I was fourteen not knowing what I was doing only that I needed to hurt myself and that it would take all the bad away. I did this with drink and drugs also but no one ever knew. 

Life took a turn for the worst in December 2012 my first ever suicide attempt. I had always had thoughts but never acted on them. I was always so afraid but I summoned up the courage to end it all. I had got so upset and depressed that I couldn't see a light out. I made suicide to be courageous, dainty and pure in my own mind. In reality suicide is a cowards way out, it's giving in to your problems. I've realised now that I have someone to live for, that being my younger sister. I would ruin her if I ever tried again. Even if I was gone, I couldn't ruin her. She's too perfect for that. 

Suicide is a complex word. It is a state of you that you never thought was there. You never thought you would get to that point. To the seven letter word that destroys you, that takes over you. It quite literally holds you so tight. It gives you ombre glasses blackening society out. You begin to believe in it. You think it will be the thing that saves you from this dark abyss. You glamorise it thinking you are brave, that you can do something right. 

Anyway so here's the point that I tell you that my suicide attempt was unsuccessful. I was so upset that it hadn't worked. I truly believed that if i took too many pills that I would die but i'm telling you now that it does not work like that honestly. It's never easy to kill yourself. It's not as easy as you would all believe. I've tried overdosing too many times and it does not work because you either throw up afterwards or you are found unconscious.

I ended up in a psychiatric ward three times, once when I was suicidal to the point of writing a letter and planning every detail. The second time after the large overdose and the third for a silly attempt. I will tell you now psychiatric wards are not pleasant places to be. It is seen as a last resort when you're mentally unwell. My experiences included screaming at nurses, trying to find objects to self harm with, succeeding in that and really being in a bad place. Now everyone in hospital is in a bad place obviously, they wouldn't be there otherwise. However that place wasn't all bad. It allowed me to understand my emotions, speak to nurses, make something pretty in art and got me out of the worst place I had ever been in. Being suicidal is never a good place to be. It hurts everyone around you. 

Yet I continue to feel suicidal over the stupidest things. It's pathetic really. I feel that my emotions are not valid as I was constantly told when I was young by my father that I had no reason to be upset. I simply cannot control my emotions and I know that's BPD's fault but it's still something I haven't completely come to terms with. I know that i'm medicated to control my emotions but honestly I don't like the fact that I am on pills to function. 

Now its 2014 and i've now had 7 psychiatric admissionz in the space of a year. It's a terrible place to be but I am now at the point where I want recovery and I will achieve this! I've had flashbacks like terror taking over you. Every inch of your body taken over by the evil inside. They destroy my soul with every urge going. During these i've been restrained, injected and sent to the 136 room. I gave myself black eyes to the point I wasn't even able to open them. I don't want this for myself ever again. 

I want to live, study, go to the gym, and do volunteering. I want a life for myself; this is where the story ends for now but maybe in the future I will carry on.