So Much Potential

1

There have been many occasions where I've found myself in the position in which I can sit on my ass and comfortably say to myself "I am a hypocrite." This is because I understand what I am, I understand there are things I can't change, I understand some things are out of my control and I understand that sometimes laying with your back to the water and allowing the current to take you wherever the wind desires is necessary. The fact is, understanding and accepting are two very very different concepts. The problem many people have is that these concepts are just as easy to confuse as they are to contrast. I've made it a habit of confusing the two, which is why I've grown to hate myself and allow my past to attach itself to my back. And I, admittedly, carry it with me everywhere I go.

I tell myself it's alright. I tell others it's okay. I tell them that accepting the past and present for what it is, is the only way to move forward. The issue with this is how can I, a psychotic, anxiety-driven, depressed, suicidal teen with no direction, mental issues, and who doesn't talk about her past nor has dealt with or even begun to "accept" herself, be able to tell people to accept theirs? How can someone like me have the audacity to tell the people around me to shed the tainted and scarred skin they wear while I hide behind a cloak to cover mine. Scraped and bloody and stuck together by a couple of Band-Aids and the hard headed will to simply "ignore" the sting. What do I know about acceptance? I know as much as the definition on google can tell me when the mere word "acceptance" is entered through the search engine. Only way I know how to deal with things is by shrugging it off and pretending the problem doesn't exist. Not the best approach, my therapist believes, but that's how I've always dealt with things. It's what I'm comfortable with.

I can understand what's wrong with me. I can understand that I'm not okay and that this isn't healthy and that I'm far worse than I put on. I can understand that pretending that everything is okay isn't okay and I can understand that there is nothing wrong with asking for help but I never do it. Out of fear, the same fear that has always controlled my life. What I don't understand is why I do this to myself. I don't understand how to accept this. Like how does one move on. How do you deal with baggage and... is it too late? For me now. Is it too late? For someone who is so accustomed to the weight of the world on their shoulders, how would they be able to adapt without it?

People who have never been touched by the dark wouldn't know how it felt. That's why depression has become romanticized bullshit in the eyes of society. It's not their fault, though. You can't expect anyone to know about anything unless they've actually experienced it. That's why people roll their eyes and pass judgement without knowledge of someone's backstory. But for people who have been through some shit and haven't figured out how to move on, it becomes a comfort. A place of belonging. It's like a cool air passing through your lungs. It's also an irritating itch on your skin, an ache of loneliness, and you feel like someone is holding your heart in their fist, squeezing it. It's intoxicating and once you're in too deep, it's addicting and you think you'll never stop feeling like this. Sometimes, you do recover but sometimes...you lose yourself. Because the person you are in the dark isn't the person you want to be and the person you are when around other people is the person you're pretending to be. Then you're left with the question of, "who am I really?". You want it to stop. Then every time you have help available it's easy to feel the need to sabotage yourself because the depression feels nice when you're sitting alone in your room with the lights off. Just you and your thoughts to keep you company. The taste of your tears and the music playing lowly behind you. Depression can be bliss in the right setting, and it could ruin your life anywhere else but you don't really care. Depression is being okay with the world crumbling around you because you would rather live in the dark moments anyways. It's quiet. It's cold. Me, I find myself often blaming my pain, my sorrow and my inability to move on and be happy on my demons. But maybe I'm the monster. Maybe I'm addicted. I understand it's not okay, and that's one thing I can accept.. And that's how I live with myself.