"A lot of people don't realize that depression is an illness. I
don't wish it on anyone, but if they know how it feels, I swear they would
think twice before they just shrug it off."
-Johnathan Davis
When it
comes to depression I have to several things. One is that I have never actually
been "diagnosed" with depression. And through that I have no idea if
I really have depression or not. But there are a lot of times when I get
depressed. But there's a difference to having depression and getting depressed.
I do get sad a lot, but I can tell the difference between just being sad and
having what I call my "depressed episodes" And if you can guess, I
have been having one lately. I've felt trapped in my won sadness. But despite
that I'll try to keep this blog as positive as possible. It's not to make
people feel bad for me or think everything about me is sad, because pity is not
what I need. It's more of an examination of my character and what depression
does to it.
As I've
said before my depression was perhaps at its worst in middle school. I just hated life everyday,
getting out of bed just took so much effort. Because I was just scared of every
damn day and how much sadder it was going to make me feel. And I hated myself,
really hated myself. I became a cutter, and I did it because I hated myself. I thought
I deserved the pain. But somehow I got out of the slump. I became happier, with
episodes of sadness every now and then, but never anything too serious. Then my
senior year of high school came, and a lot of stuff happened. A lot of stuff
seemed out of my control and so I cut again. I'm not sure why, there was really
no thought there, I just wanted something to control. But unlike middle school
it was only once, one singled event. And I've been good since then. I really
have. Until, well, can you guess why I'm writing this blog. Do you remember a
few weeks ago when I wrote about how I feel like I want to cut myself again.
Well, I did. A few knuckles on my left hand have half a dozen tiny, little shallow
cuts. And there are about two one inch cuts on the side of my right now.
A lot of me
told me not to post it in here, not to post my problems on the internet. But
the thing is, I said long ago that this blog was a lighter (by a lot) version
of my journal, and it essentially is. And also, I'm just getting really tired
of hiding parts of myself, particularly on the internet forum where I like to
express myself. What is expression without truth? I mean, hardly anyone reads
this blog. And even if they do and they judge me (or pity) for it, I'm not
really going to care. You see, I know how it sounds. I am a twenty year old
girl in college and I cut myself, doesn't that sound truly pathetic. But I'm just
so fucking tired of feeling bad for feeling bad. Do you get what I mean there?
I don't want people telling me my sadness is stupid, or that it's wrong for me
to be depressed when I'm so blessed. Why does just feeling something make me
wrong?
Yesterday
Teila and I were talking and she told me it's not wrong for me to feel the way
I feel. We were talking about something completely unrelated to depression, but
still, it's been a long time since someone has told me it's okay to feel the
way I feel (In fact, I think the last time the person who told me was Teila as
well). And do you know how good that makes me feel? It's okay to have emotions,
you know? It's okay for me to a damn human being? Because I really don't feel
that way a lot. You know the worst thing you can tell someone who is feeling
shitty? That's they have no right to feel shitty. Unless you have some magical,
complete understanding of a person, you're not going to know how they feel. So
telling someone that their feelings are wrong…is the wrogn thing to do, I hope
you know that.
And the
shit about people doing it to themselves? Really? I know I don't choose to make
myself feel a certain way. I don't care what Psychology rules say or anything,
I would never willingly make myself feel depressed. It's horrible. It's like
everyday just getting up you're weighed down by this fucking heavy thing, and most
of the it you don't even know what it is…but it's there and you can't shake it
off. And it just keeps getting heavier and heavier and heavier. For me,
sometimes it makes me hurt, hurt in places that I didn't even know existed. And
I just cry and cry and try desperately to cling to the little shards of
happiness I have left, all the happiness that the heavy thing crushed. And
other times it's like I have nothing. I am smothered by my depression and I just
feel nothing, and I want to feel something so badly. It's like I can't breathe,
I have nothing. And I just don't want to exist, because what's the point of
existing if you can't feel. Why would anyone ever want to make them selves feel
that way?
And you
know what, I did just cut myself a few days ago, my cuts still hurt, but I'm
okay. Don't you dare fucking feel bad for me! I get sad, bad things happen, and
sometimes those bad things make me hurt myself. But I don't feel like I broken
human being, I just feel like a human being who is lost sometimes. But you
know, I have things that help me get find a way a long again. I have writing
here or in my journal, or my stories. Recently I've started drawing. I have the
books that I read. And recently I've started drawing again, something to make
me feel better. I have a lot of things that I love and a lot of things that
help me get better in life.
But here's
the truth behind it, I have those things and I really love them. But when I'm
having a moment, like I experienced several times this week, a moment where I'm
on my floor crying my eyes out and I feel out
of control. Everything hurts and I want to scream and I have no one that
will ever fully understand. I don't think of the things that help me get
better. I don't have functioning thoughts; I just have pain or nothing. And
that's all I can feel. And that's what depression feels like, you don't think.
And if you do think you can only think about how much you hate yourself and how
much the world would be without your sorry ass carcass. When I'm like that I do
bad things to myself, things like destroying my knuckles or beating myself over
the head I really don't think about the things that make me better. But you
know, a lot of times it doesn't reach that point. I don't get to the point where
there's not some little hope out there, it's just been happening more as of
late because everything is hard. And I can't tell you how it is hard, only that
it is. But I'm okay; I've felt, well not happier for these past few days, but
better. Not so sad, or at least capable of feeling something besides sadness.
And I'll be okay. I can't promise if I will hurt myself again or not, Because I
think something that should be understood about me, even if no one wants to believe
me, is that when I'm like that I literally have no control. But I'm working on
the control. I do need help, though; the world needs to help me along every now
and then.
Fin.
-Keshia
Currently Reading The
Dark Hills Divide by Patrick Carmen
*along with the depression has come a lack of reading, hence
the reason that I am still on the same book*
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