Thesis

1

Have you ever felt like dying? Have you ever felt so hopeless it sickens you? Have you ever felt not breathing is the only thing that can save you? Have ever felt invisible in a crowd of people who all know your name? Have you ever felt like even God doesn't believe in you?

If you can answer yes to all the previous questions then I guess there is a person out there who relates to me, or more like relates to the part of me no one dares/cares to see. I truly think someone out there shares my pain but I do not believe so. You see, to think and to believe are drastically different verbs. I think with a rational mind and rationalization leads me to the conclusion that out of the billions of people in this world I am certainly not the only one in this predicament, obviously. I believe in things based on my feelings, my "instinct" which tells me that I am ALONE in this world.

I am not a stereotypical depressed girl (which apparently means there is nothing wrong with me), I function like a normal, average female who shows "promise" (whatever that means). I am expected to be a proud contributor to society, a kind person who cares for others selflessly, and a good mother to my poor future children and my poor loving future husband. I do not expect any of that to be honest. Whenever I look ahead, I am lifeless, in other words I am dead.

My theory is: The reason why I see know future for myself is because I don't know who I am. Ask anyone from my past or present who claims they knew/know me well and you'll get almost the exact general description from each and every person you interrogate. I see myself in two parts (not as two different people): there is the shell of me; it is a camouflage which means it caters to whomever. If you need a reliable friend the shell is there. If you need a good conversationalist, the shell is there. If you need the girl of your dreams, the shell adapts to your every desire (to an extent). The shell protects the inside because the inside is a frail little thing who is afraid to surface. I am no one special, no one worth truly knowing and that kind of person doesn't deserve a future.

I really want to delve into the discussion of the shell and what its protecting first by explaining how I learned about them. In a psychology class I took, we had a discussion about the psychology of masks and I for one was drawn to this particular discussion. When people have masks/costumes it can be like they assume another identity which allows them to not be themselves for as long as they have on this tangible layer of mystery. Masks hide true selves which made me think about myself, who/what is my true self? I've always been a people pleaser, never could be properly defined, liked almost everything but never liked one thing significantly more than the other. Labels have never been placed upon me other than the obvious race label but even then I was never told I was black or placed in the "black category" just that I was neither black nor white. I never saw my ability to always be outside the lines as an indicator or a problem until I started having panic attacks. Panic attacks are worse than any asthma attack I've ever had, worse than the time I tore 3 ligaments, worse than my spinal injury, even worse than my concussion! Panic attacks come randomly, always when I have an audience, never when I'm alone. My panic attacks feel like someone is deliberately draining the life out of me as some kind of sick joke because it feels like if I don't get enough oxygen, if my heart doesn't stop pounding through my chest, if I can't wake up from this nightmare then I'll die. It's a never-ending struggle because in the act, a part of me feels relieved like its finally going to end (that's when I'm unresponsive, like I'm in a comma) but then I think of the possibility that I am wrong, that there is more to life than so much pain and suddenly a part of me wants to live then I become responsive, scared of death, gasping for air, crying and pleading for help. Then I see them, the terrified people surrounding me taking up my air and begging me to stop scaring them as if my hands are grasping each of their throats. Someone semi-calm always comes and tells me to take deep breaths and calm down and so I do as my shell struggles to put who's inside to bed. I'm clearly physically exhausted from all the dramatics but my shell still manages to smile to ensure those scared audience members that everything is okay. Good for them. I continuously sit there going over replays in my head and realizes two things: I subconsciously tried to kill myself as a joke and I am fake as fuck. I couldn't stand for one moment to be vulnerable, so I put on my mask and pretend like it was nothing then I wonder why people don't give a shit and believe that I am better off dead.