opia; matty healy.

12%

'Who am I?'

I write:

'Yesterday I spent the morning wallowing in self-hatred. Hatred of each and every aspect of my life. My friends, my past, my family, my present. Every small thing I could think of, I hated it, and I spent a lot of time thinking about the burning anger I had towards it all. Now I question: who am I? Really, who am I? I'm hypocritical, right now. I told Matty I couldn't take his problems and that he couldn't share them with me, that there was no hope for a friendship between the two of us. I've known him for a week, and already I don't doubt that he's told everyone else how much of an asshole I have been.

Yet, despite this, I sit here thinking about walking down the road and knocking on his front door to apologise. I know I will, because this stress is only a symptom of the depression I used to let lead my life – not to be confused for the other way around. It still lingers somewhere, and I don't think it will ever leave. It leads me to make irrational decisions, such as screaming at Matty in the night and pulling away from a boy I think I may like – really like – because I feel pathetic and weak and dumb for crying in his arms.

Each day is a new day, I must repeat this to myself, and let myself know that I am not weak, or pathetic for any action I take. Sometimes irrational, yes, but it is purely a progression of past depressive symptoms resurfacing. I am stronger. This is a new country, a new world, and only a new day, yet I am stronger than it all.'

I place the pen down, taking a deep breath to allow myself a moment of re-reading. The letter is not for anyone in particular, but more-so a short letter to read over the next few months. It's a reminder of who I am right now, and about where I want to be. Yesterday, I was not myself, but after a cry and a good nights sleep, as well as a few deep breaths, I'm beginning to feel more like my optimistic self.

The first step: apologise to Matty. I realise this will be difficult as soon I as I am on his front doorstep and knocking, waiting for the sound of footsteps. I knock again, waiting for a few minutes before I start to turn around. This was useless; Matty would never accept my apology despite any optimism I might convince myself I have.

And yet, his voice is unmistakeable from behind me.

"Hey," he breathes and I turn around, "sorry... I was debating with myself whether to let you in."

"I can understand that," I tell him, taking a step closer.

"I felt bad letting you walk away."

"I feel bad about everything I said yesterday," I say, feeling the tears welling up at the bottom of my eyes out of pure anxiety.

"I find that hard to believe, you sounded quite sure of yourself."

"I've had practise," I tell him, "this whole we can't be friends thing. It takes time to perfect."

Matty lets out a breath, stepping aside before he speaks: "I think it's cold outside."

"Thank you," I say quietly as I step past him and into his home, "I have more to say."

"Couch," he nods behind me and I spin around to walk into the living room where we, along with our other friends, had spent the night watching movies last week.

I sit and he follows suite, although I speak first: "I was being stupid. Very irrational. I have a long history of shitty friendships, I'm insecure and my parents barely speak to me anymore. There are a lot of things wrong with my life, and at the time I couldn't accept that we both might be going through some shit. I was consumed in both the idea that my life was fine, and that my life was worse than yours, as if you have no idea the extent of shit I'm going through. So I'm sorry. Your problems are important, and you've made a bigger effort than anyone else, including myself, to be friends with me."