Читать книгу Out of the Well - Lisa Eskinazi - Страница 7

‘You’re a bad person, you were meant to die years ago, you deserve punishment, you are useless, you’re never going to amount to anything, cut yourself bitch.’ This is what it was like to be in my head. I don’t want to stay here, and if I do stay here I’ll die. How would I choose to die? This way of thinking is strenu-ous and I’m tired. I can’t eat, or think or feel. All I can do is sleep and hope that I don’t wake up. I don’t crave anything. I am just floating around the earth looking for a place to park.

Let me start by saying that I have always been different. It’s something I have felt inside, even growing up.

I led a happy and privileged childhood filled with family outings and my parents adored me. I remember my summers were spent playing with the slip and slide in the backyard, having picnics at the beach and going to Gasworks Park. But, despite the good times I can always remember a strange, dark feeling inside me, like a sense of dread. I felt it strongly, but I now realize that others must have noticed it too.

I felt sad a lot of the time, sad about the way the world was, sad about animals in cruel situations, sad about the way people were mistreated. I think it begins with the fact that I over think and analyze more than my friends do. People have always told me “You think too much” I seem to examine the ins and outs of everything. I take things the wrong way and I am overly sensitive. I was also scared and isolated in my childhood years.

Because I was so often on my own, I spent too much time thinking and I came to some odd conclusions. For example, whenever I thought about the suffering in the world I would be overcome by a sense of guilt and feel responsible for it all, as if I was the only one who could change anything. I convinced myself that if I was well enough and used my initiative, I would be able to fix everything.

But I hid all of this. I wanted to appear normal. I longed to be part of a group. I longed to belong.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to have fun. I remember growing up in ‘The Pink Palace’ (the name of our house when we were growing up). I used to play dress ups and Barbie’s and listen to The Bangles. I used to laugh free and hard and look forward to the rest of my life. I didn’t know what I wanted to be but I thought I had a chance. I had my whole life ahead of me.

In primary school I received high marks. I was okay then. I had no idea that in a few years time I would be bullied, bashed, attempt suicide, be locked in a psychiatric ward, receive ECT (Electric Shock Therapy) become a prostitute and homeless and finally come out the other end.

I was medicated, locked up; ostracized, and then I finally became acclimatized to the situation. And then I began to exist. And it was like waking up from a deep sleep and I could think and feel and talk again. And life was too beauti-ful. I never saw all the opportunities in life so clearly before. How could I have been so numb?

Mental illness is unpredictable and unforgiving and it is numbing, unrelentless and enveloping. While I found ECT extremely helpful during my worst attack of depression, there’s still the residual fog and memory loss it can bring.

I didn’t write this book to complain or to receive sympathy. I wrote it in an attempt to educate the public on the issues of homelessness, mental illness and victimization.

I dedicate this book to all people who are being bullied and who have been bullied. May you find some hope and comfort!