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Bad, Mad and Sad

Being depressed has made me feel bad, or perhaps being bad has made me depressed. I have been treated like a naughty school girl by some. I feel I have ruined everything. Upset people without that being my intention at all. I have tried to express my feelings but hurt others in the process. I feel like a bad person. A person who couldn't possibly be loved or wanted or ever be considered to be good. I can't forgive myself. Being picked up by kindly police who were adamant I wasn't a criminal they were just keeping ME safe kind of added to the feeling of being a waste of space. A bad person. A person who could get better if only they tried. A person who has choice over her behaviour. A person who obviously can't be trusted especially around children. Mad. Perhaps I am mad. Being on a psychiatric unit can make you feel that way. Locked doors, cutlery used under supervision, 15 minute checks on your wellbeing. Your clothes being searched, your shoes taken away. Being handed a piece of paper saying mentally deranged people found in a public place. Yup. That's me. Mentally deranged. Who would trust the opinion of a madwoman. Sad. All the time. It's more than sadness. It's a complete lack of hope. More than grief it's a total emptiness. It crosses over with the feeling of badness. I am sad that I am so bad, that I've hurt people, that people don't like me or trust me. That I failed in everything I wanted to be, mother, wife and nurse. I grieve with sadness the life we had, the life my husband and children deserve. The friendships I had which will never be the same because of me. Depression is all these things, and if rational, none of them but instead an illness. A lonely terrifying illness.

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