THE ONE WHO STAYED

Depression is a murderer

I had just got home from school.

Just as I was about to open the front door my step mom beats me to it.

My step mom, the woman who took me in after many different foster cares and families declined me as to me being in and out of juvenile/mental homes/detention centers.

No one wanted me after my father passed away, they treated me as I was some creature who wasn't a human but for some reason she didn't. She gave me to much of a chance

"Hi sweetheart, How was your day at school?" She asked.

"Fine" I reply unamused by her happiness.

"Did you want anything to eat?" She asks as I'm already upstairs. I ignore.

"That's ok" she semi yells probably since I'm already in my room.

As soon as I get to my room I open my bag.

The book bag that hides my biggest mistake, my biggest secret and also the only thing that makes me happy. Unfortunately it only lasts a certain amount of time.

Out I pull a syringe and the thing that heals and breaks all. My drug. Liquid Heroin.

I pour the Heroin into my syringe and I poke the needle gently into my skin. Eyes closed tightly I hiss.

"ssss". I breathe in harshly pulling the needle out.

30 minutes is what it takes to kick in usually.

As I wait I sit at my desk in my room and I pull out my journal. I start writing my feelings because that's what my therapist told me to do. 

"Depression is a war, A battle against yourself. Every thought is a bullet. Every movement is a punch. Every word is a stab in the chest. Depression is a thief who once took everything I thought I had. Everything left behind is the things that kept you trapped, right?

Depression is a murderer. The murderer who killed who I once was. I look in the mirror and I don't know who I see.

Depression makes me feel as I am a zombie. Makes me feel as though I am alive but makes me wonder if I'm dead. Unaware of what is happening. Walking dead.

Depression is an absolute nightmare. You wake up in a living hell. You're afraid of .. anything and everything. Everything you touch you feel as you break. When you're scared of anything in reach. Everything is impossible to bear.

Depression is an ocean. A sea of emotion. You're drowning everyday. Depression is a bottomless pit. You just keep falling deeper and deeper and deeper. It never ends. Never ending pain. Never ending struggles. There is no light. No escape.

Depression is a war. A constant battle with yourself. I think I might surrender, for I have had enough. Depression is a game. You either win or die trying. I am afraid to say I am losing this hell of a game. Depression is a murderer"

I close my journal.

Sighing in relief as I finally feel at peace.

The next morning

6:00 in the morning. I harshly awake from my sleep as my alarm rings.

Sleep deprived. Nightmares. Didn't take my medication last night.

I get up out of bed zombie like and head to the bathroom. Grabbing my medication out of the mirror cabinet.

Anti depressants.

After leaving that mental home they sent me back with this medicine.

They let me go since they couldn't find a reason as to why or how I could be mentally ill.

They were thinking I was mentally ill because of how graphic I get when I fight.

I stabbed a guy in the eye with my pencil because he had snatched it from me.

I didn't stop there though. I had reached into his eye and ripped it out.

I just wanted to teach him a lesson.
A lesson I did teach that day.

One year in that place. One birthday. Felt like too many. 6 pills everyday.

I have to take 2 in the morning 2 in the afternoon and 2 at night. 6 hours apart. That way theres never a moment I'm not drugged up.

Although it doesn't keep my mind as pure as they think it does. The other drugs I take do. I just don't wanna go back to that place.

They make me feel as i am a zombie.
They hurt.

Ya know, when something emotionally hurts so bad you feel it physically?

Ya know, that feeling where mental pain becomes emotional and then the emotional pain starts to feel physical and it's hard to tell which type of pain you're feeling?

My therapist asked me when I look in the mirror what do I see and I couldn't answer her. So I've made it my own goal to look in the mirror and tell myself what I see every morning.

I don't think it's me I see in the mirror at all that's why I couldn't answer her when she asked. I don't wanna believe it's me.

I look inside my eyes through the mirror and I see pain. Droopy sad, tired eyes. Sleep deprived.

I used to be so optimistic and excited about whatever there is to be excited for and now I can't even bring myself to imagine anything that makes me happy. Nothing that lasts anyway.

There's nothing. No excitement. No optimism. No happiness. I don't even know why I should be happy. Nothing gives me a reason.

I often wonder why everyone has trouble understanding me.
But yet I don't even understand myself.

I grab the razor out from under my trashcan where I hid it and stared down at it. Wondering what drove me to do this.

Cutting my arms. Deep strokes of a razor in your skin. It definitely is pain and haven't I gone through enough of that? Maybe but when I look in the mirror I see pain and that just feels normal to see.

So I cut a deep line in my arm and I watch it bleed.

I stopped looking in the mirror after a while. I got tired of seeing that thing. That thing that isn't me.

It's depression. Depression was looking back at me on the other side of that mirror.

Depression was the monster I and others seen in me. Depression killed me and now I walk... I'm depression in human form.
I am cursed by depression

Damn maybe I am mental.

My step mom calls my name knocking me out of my thoughts. "Symere! Hunny it's time for therapy!" Ugh right, therapy.

Time skip:

"Alright Symere, can you tell me what's been happening in your life this past week?" My therapist Mrs Luna asked.

I had to think about it. "Don't hold back, I'm here for you." I take a deep breath.

"Nothing. Everything's the same" i say not really wanting to talk to her.
"Okay, well tell me what happened anyway."