Dear Teen,
Your anxiety is probably lying to you. It tells you that you are not enough, right? Well, so does mine. So, I guess here we are, relapsing. You are probably just a teen, well, so am I. But that does not stop me from feeling tired, exhausted, and mostly suicidal.
Your anxiety is lying to you when it tells you that you don’t deserve to live. Trust me, mine does too. But I guess that’s what it feels like to be a teen. I am only sixteen, yet I seem to entertain all the voices in my head that tell me I don’t deserve to live. Yes, like most of you, I have resorted to self-harming. I am not proud of it, though, yet I won’t let myself regret it and hate myself because it won’t erase the scars that flow down my arm, leading to my hand. Yes, I was suicidal and stupid enough to act on those thoughts; it led to nothing but regret and something more than just self-hate. I drown in crowded rooms; I prefer to be alone. I hate my friends and switch up on them from time to time so that I can have more time for myself. I isolate. But it’s not okay. It never is.
It’s bittersweet to hear these words, but you are not alone. You need help. Trust me, you do. You don’t have to drown the way I do daily. I would say that feeling sad and having your emotions heightened is part of the art of being a teen. But when days get blurry and emotions feel heavy, you start to feel like more than a burden. It’s something I know I can’t describe. Yet still something I know all too well.
Your anxiety is lying to you when it whispers in your ear, telling you everyone hates you. No one hates you, but allowing those voices to get to you will only lead you to hate yourself. It’s a feeling I can’t describe, but it’s when you start feeling uncomfortable in your own body. When you start feeling like a villain, like the bad guy, and mostly like you will never be enough for anyone. When you start invalidating your own emotions because you were never given the platform to feel anything more than just mercy for those around you.
It’s the moment when you relate to every Lana Del Rey song. When you know that Zevia wrote every song for you, and you are certain of it. It’s nothing taboo. I know the emotion. The feeling of being lost when someone asks you, “How was your day?” because, for you, it was longer than it actually was. You might actually feel like every day is long and ever-ending. So, when the question goes “how was your day?”, you lack a response because it never ends; the torture has been going on for years. That you might feel like every good day never existed, and all you ever felt was this heaviness.
It’s always when the mirror becomes your worst enemy. Every time you look at yourself, you see the person who hurts you daily. The person who cuts you (I know you have been cutting again, hence the ‘relapse’ at the beginning). I know everything you do to your body, and I hope you didn’t. The cuts, burns, and finally the pills. It’s nothing taboo, yet it’s not okay. It never will be. Your anxiety is lying to you, and so is that mirror. The mirror that tells you that you are overdressed. The mirror that tells you that you are too fat or heavy. The mirror that tells you that you are ugly, the mirror that leads to you skipping your meals and dragging your body to the gym. Only to lead you to a collapse that drags your emotions down the drain. I have been there; I know how it starts. Your anxiety is lying to you, and so is that one friend who yells at you to act cool. The one that taught you how drinking alcohol and smoking weed made you fit in. The one that introduced you to the miniskirt you wear daily, but it never made you feel like yourself. The one who told you they were “pushing you out of your comfort zone ” while dragging you to your doom. Friendship is supposed to make you feel safe, like you belong. Not to change you, and not to value your emotions.
The world will never be the best place for you. Trust me, better days won’t come knocking at your door while you drown yourself in pills that are meant to ‘take away the pain’. While it exists only in your head. It won’t get better if you lock yourself in your room, running away from demons that follow you everywhere you are, while you only notice them when people are around. It won’t get better if you sit on that cold bathroom floor every night and cut your arm while aiming for your veins, hoping that death will knock on. Your door every time.
So hey, get you. Smile at that person in the mirror. Tell him/her it’s going to be fine. Talk to your sister/brother about the darkness in your heart. Tell your teacher about the voices in your head. It’s okay. It can only get better from there. Happiness is a butterfly; jump a little higher; it might fall inside your palm.
This was written by our contributing writer, Siwaphiwe Matha.
Image Source: Pexels, Yaroslav Shuraev
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