Invisible Monsters

Hypocrite

Dear Diary,

So I saw Mr. Jenkins today. I swear, he's like the dad I always wanted. The dad I needed when I was 14 and my confidence was down in the shambles. I'm happy every time I see him with his big ole mustache and round tummy. It's a comforting sight to see.

After having a little bit of chit chat and attempting to make me laugh (he succeeded in getting me to chuckle) he asked me how I've been doing.

I want to say that I'm fine but I know that's not entirely true. But I feel as though I complain too much, even though in here that's what I'm ALLOWED to do.

I'm so fucking stupid.

I tell him things are...bleh. Okay I guess? I don't know. It's like I'm neither okay nor bad. I'm just mellow, right in the middle. But I feel nothing on the inside. A hollow feeling? No, it's more like nothing. I feel nothing.

"Anything happened this week?"

Yeah. I helped a friend out in need. She's suicidal, just like me. She's going through some things and it's plummeting her mental health. She comes to me because she knows I won't tell anyone else about what she's going through. Her parents would get on her ass about her feeling sad all the time. I don't know why though...she needs help.

I know, I know. I'm not giving out a name. I'm only telling Mr. Jenkins the general stuff, no specifics, no snitching. Just telling him what I did. That's all.

"I understand. You felt as though she might get in more trouble if her parents found out about her being depressed and wanting to end her life. Sometimes, we try to help others but instead we make things worse for them. So even though the first response is to go tell a trusted adult, not every situation is black and white. Sometimes, all someone needs is someone to listen and be there for them. And that person was you."

Yeah I guess. I mean, I know from experience that the "trusted adults" in my life didn't react the way they were supposed to when I was suicidal. In fact, it made me feel even worse and making me want to harm myself more. They began to tell me about how basically they had it worse and that I have three things that a lot of kids want and don't have: warm food, two parents, and a roof over my head.

Jeez, thanks guys. Great talk.

"A lot of black parents say that. As if having all those three things will stop you from having mental illnesses like depression. Please. So tell me; what did you say to your friend?"

I told her stuff that I couldn't tell myself. That she was beautiful and worth it. That she was worth everything, and no matter how hard life hits you just remember that I'll be here for you ever step of the way.

Sometimes people just need to hear that they have someone in their corner.

When you deal with this type of stuff alone is when those voices get louder. And they sound even more convincing.

"Did you believe the stuff you told her?"

To her, yes. She was gorgeous. Inside and out. And extremely talented, I may add. Yeah, she was very well-rounded. I was envious of her, but I still rooted for her success. I love her like a sister. She's very important to me.

But to myself specifically? No. I despise myself. I question my existence almost everyday. I don't believe that I will make it to the mountain top, no matter how much work I put into myself. I don't believe I'm worth it, for I'm full of problems and trouble. Too many layers to peel. I'm not worth it because I'm worth nothing. I am nothing.

Don't even get me started on the beautiful part.

Does that make me a hypocrite? Telling one that they'll overcome depression when I myself have not even made progress in the right direction?

How can I help someone else when I can barely help myself?

"Akeea, I know this sounds like a cliche, but sweetheart you are beautiful. Yes you are."

Am I? Am I really?