6 months ago, I quitted my job. That was a great, high-profile, well-paid job for a 23-year-old like me. I still don't know what pulled the trigger.

One morning, I woke up and felt like my whole life was a mess. Except for a relationship, I had everything a young girl would dream of: happy family, friends, a job with great salary, admiration, a lot of men around trying to please me, endless parties and music (I'm a writer in the event organizing field). I'd been happy with my life until that morning, I woke up and couldn't even breathe. Things turned upside down. I knew it, because it had happened to me twice before: once when I was in highschool and once when I was 2nd-year in uni.

For summary, those previous times I just cut off all the communications and stayed in my room doing nothing but sitting in the dark for weeks. I knew something was wrong with me, but not sure what it was. Tried to kill myself a couple of times, (un)fortunately it didn’t work out. After those periods, I came back to myself, full of energy, fun-loving and outgoing and fearless. So I thought that was just me so immature and irresponsible, and if I tried my best to live positively then that wouldn’t happen again. Never ever. Until that morning.

Since then I just couldn’t do what I’d been doing anymore. I couldn’t focus on writing (even for work of entertaining myself), couldn’t eat, couldn’t feel anything but irritated or just blank. I couldn’t get out of bed even though I didn’t have the need of sleeping. I’d had some issues with sleeping, I’d always had nightmare everynight in about 4 years, that there’s always someone chasing and trying to kill me. I was scared at first but then I enjoyed those nightmares because of the various interesting storylines. At that time I couldn’t get up because I felt like there’s always something I hadn’t finished so I must stay in the dreams, and not mention that those dreams were much more interesting than real life. That was it, I moved out of my reality to move in the dreams.

At work, I didn’t want to communicate anymore. I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with depression. Medication helped at first, but when I stopped using it, things just got worse and worse. I spent more and more time sleeping, while I knew I had a lot of things undone. I drank a lot of alcohol everynight and got a lot of dates and sex, trying to regain my feelings but nothing worked. I felt like an empty jar, where the biscuits were taken all out. 3 months after that morning, I quitted my job, tried to gather myself up by traveling and meeting new people, but all I felt was guilty of running away. I talked to some close friends but never felt like anyone could understand, so I stopped being a bothering. I came back to my bedroom and advoided all kind of communication and slept and kept hoping that I would feel better in the next morning.

About 2 months ago, I decided to feel better. I couldn’t wait anymore, I must do something. I stopped drinking and smoking. I went out dressed up, met friends, joined some courses. I even dated a man that I thought I wanna spend my life with (which was really not me, I have commitment issues). Since then, I’ve been struggling with the need of crawling back to the nest, with the thought that I am such a loser and I will ruin my life and everyone’s lives again. I KNOW that I am not a loser and I can do whatever I want to, but there’s always a voice whispering in my ears ‘hey babe you gonna screw everything up again. You’re a shame.’ My boyfriend knows that I’m depressed (he just doesn’t know how serious it is), so despite being busy at work, he keeps checking me up and tries to talk to me as much as he can. However, anytimes he’s not there, that voice keeps telling me how stupid I am to think that he really cares about me, how pathetic I am to cling to a man who showed up in my worst time and mistake that for love, that he will soon get fed up of me and leave. I keep being disappointed for the tiniest things, crying for the most nonsense details and being exhausted to resist the urge of telling him let’s stop I’m not capable of doing this don’t let me ruin your life. 9 months from that morning, my jar is now filled, but with poisoned gas.

I told my boyfriend that I’m going back to work this September. But being alone for months makes me so low self-esteem, I’m scared that nobody needs me anymore. I told him and my friends that I’m okay now, but still cry every night for feeling useless and hope that I won’t wake up tomorrow.

I’m still trying. I don’t know what to do, but I’m still trying. I’m not sure what I’m expecting when I write these lines, maybe just telling somebody what I really feel. I don’t know. But if you still read until now, thank you. I’m thanksful from the bottom of my jar and wish you peace.