I never really thought of myself as depressed.
Hell, my family certainly didn't talk about mental health. But even as a child, I've just always felt different, like there was a separation between me and the world. Imagine being an observer of your...
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A guy once asked me, "Why are you so sad? You weren't molested, neither of your parents are dead. You have a job, you're in school, and you have a roof over your head."
And logically, I see everything that he sees, but I don't think depression breeds rationality.
And some days, I'm fine. It's the other days that worry me.
The days when I fall.
And as I sink, it's as if death is logical. There doesn't seem to be anything that will fix the hole inside of me, and it feels as if it will always be that way.
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My darkest moment is not one that I speak of often. But this is about honesty.
I don't remember a specific trigger. I felt alone all the time, and I couldn't find a way to feel happy again. And even now, I question, was I ever happy?
I swallowed twenty before bed, and I remember waking up the next day actually disappointed that I was still here, so I took more. I didn't feel the effects of what I'd taken until later that day. I just remember being in so much pain that I couldn't stand. I laid on the cold, tiled floor of the school before having to be wheeled out because I couldn't walk.
Long story short, I spent the afternoon throwing up my means of escape.
The worst part is, halfway through what I thought would be my last day, I remember thinking, "You know what, today really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."
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