This weekend was one of the hardest I’ve faced in a long time. Living with mental illness is a challenge that requires strength just to get through the day, and lately, it feels like everyone around me resents me for it. I don’t choose to be this way, and I’m doing everything in my power to be better, but it seems like nothing I do is ever enough.
It’s exhausting.
Some days, simply getting out of bed feels like running a marathon. But even when I manage that, I’m reminded of the million other things I didn’t do. “You’re lazy,” they say. “Other people your age are doing so much more.” But how many of those people are battling borderline personality disorder and postpartum depression at the same time?
Yesterday was especially tough. My mom told me she hates me and called me a lunatic. Those words cut deeper than I can describe. She even said she understands why my partner didn’t want to have a baby with me. Then, this morning, my partner told me he hates me too—over something as small as my not wanting to buy bottled water.
Here’s the thing about the water: it’s not about the money or even the water itself. It’s about the frustration of watching his kids open a bottle, take a sip, and leave the rest to waste before grabbing another one. Yes, they’re just kids, but wouldn’t it make sense to encourage them to finish what they started? To me, it’s a small but important lesson. To him, my stance means I hate his kids—and now he hates me for it.
It’s moments like this that make me feel like I’m spiraling. Like no matter what I say or do, I’m always the villain in someone else’s story.
I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be at odds with the people I care about most. But the weight of my emotions, combined with the words and actions of those around me, has me at my breaking point.
I’m tired of being told I’m not good enough. I’m tired of feeling like my struggles are invalid because they’re not visible or easy to understand. And I’m so, so tired of being surrounded by people who don’t see the effort I put into simply surviving.
To anyone who’s ever felt this way: you’re not alone. I don’t have all the answers, and I’m still trying to find my way through the darkness. But maybe, just maybe, sharing these feelings is the first step toward finding some light.
For now, I’m just taking it one breath, one moment, and one day at a time.
The Fourth Trimester 