Bliss

1

          People that haven't dealt with it think that pills and therapy make it go away. They think that when you're depressed you're always sad or something. That's not how it is for everyone. Sometimes I feel detached like there's no point in killing myself because I'm already dead on the inside which while explaining it makes me sound like some angsty teen. The other part of the time I feel like I'm not worth anyone's love or attention. I always feel like I've stopped caring.
            I've never felt like I needed to cut myself. I've felt that the pale skin of my inner wrists aren't the things that I wanted to hurt. It's always been something deeper than that. Plus cutting yourself is hard to hide and my mother and father aren't capable of accepting the fact that I need help. I always have. The earliest memory I have is of me listening to my mom cry into my fathers chest because I had just told her that I don't feel love or happiness. I had told her that I felt numb. She was crying because something from her past that she spent so much time covering up finally came out of the shadows. My grandfather used to suffer from bipolar depression but I learned that I suffer unipolar depression but I did get my grandfather's genes one way or the other. My mother's brother had inherited my grandfather's disease and had committed suicide when I was thirteen. In fact I was the one who found him on Christmas Day, sitting in bloody bath water with both of his wrists slit from the wrist to the start of his elbow. I didn't even scream I just calmly walked away and told my mother that she needed to call 911. I told her that she shouldn't go into the bathroom but she did anyway. I ended up sitting in the living room holding my sister on my lap. She was 6 at the time. Maybe that's what messed her up.