I used to be afraid to say things like, ‘anxiety’ and ‘depression.’
My whole life, I’d been told they were sins. Only those people in the medical commercials dealt with them.
So, when I was asked if I was depressed in middle school, I said no. “No, no, no, I’m not sick, I’m just a little sad.” I lied and lied.
But, sadness isn’t tearing yourself apart. Sadness isn’t crying yourself to sleep every night. Sadness isn’t hiding in the bathroom and feeling sick. Sadness isn’t pushing away people. Sadness isn’t the overwhelming numb and loneliness.
“She’s just shy.” I hid under that crutch for years. “She grew up, and changed to a shy human being.” I believed that lie.
I lived for six years hopelessly. I broke off friendships. I have communication issues. I prepared myself for no future. I lost all my drive, and my grades showed it. I stopped dreaming somewhere along the line; told myself I wasn’t good enough at anything. I stopped hoping for love to find me.
I gave myself over to terrible things. I self harmed and I formed addictions. I fight them every day, and they win.
And then–my grandpa passed away…and I felt like I lost everything. In the months that followed, the boy I loved left me, my friend and I had a huge fight and called it quits, and I lost the boy I considered a brother.
I isolated myself in a corner. I talked to few people. I opened up less and less.
A guy preyed upon it. He fed me lies and dark, dark thoughts. I dabbled in things I’d like to leave out. He was other half of me, but the hideous side I’d tried to hide for years.
The poetry grew darker and darker. That would save me in the end, I guess.
I hated myself. Nothing helped. The pain was unbearable. So, I started to take pills to help me fall asleep. It helped some. It got harder to wake up and harder to function. My heart was drowning. My soul– it felt dead. One day, I planned to take too many. I had them in hand. The guy promised we could runaway together soon so I shouldn’t; I postponed it. Those pills are still in reach.
My parents found the poetry. They found a lot of it. Ambushed me. Forced me into therapy (that or they would take me away, and that caused me to panic.)
And the lies I had hid behind came crashing down. Diagnosed with major anxiety and major depression.
My parents are overprotective now, more than they were. My siblings make ‘mental’ jokes. My friends that know, I like to hide from them–I’m ashamed of who I am. My best friend, is there for me thank God.
The youth pastor, suffered from minor anxiety, and apologized. My heart tore in two, and I stopped going to church. Because, how I was supposed to feel loved in a place that thought people like this were ‘weird?’
And, I still self harm and feed my addictions. Just because I’m in therapy doesn’t mean I’m miraculously better. I love someone I shouldn’t. I think about killing myself. I suffer from panic attacks. I sometimes cannot sleep, and other days I sleep for too long.
But, I’m getting there. I hope one day to smile again with genuineness. I can’t even remember what it feels like anymore.
I didn’t write this so people can feel bad for me. Screw that. I wrote it to raise awareness. I wrote it to the people who need help and aren’t getting it, because they’re believing some stupid lie society has fed us.
Just because you’re suffering, doesn’t mean you’re crazy. You’re as human as everyone else.