A More Personal Approach

Explaining my Depression(sort of)

Oftentimes when I try to justify my actions it all just sounds like an excuse. When people wonder at my messy room, I say I am just lazy. The truth is the mess reflects the one in my mind and I hardly notice it. And when I notice the mess, I physically don't have the energy or motivation to clean.

A common misconception is that I am just sad. In reality, I am literally drained physically and emotionally of who I am. It's not just sadness. There's emptiness, denial, confusion; there is a loss of myself as a person. When people don't understand this, it all begins to build and fuse together into a wall intended to protect me. But this wall will ultimately collapse on top of me and kill me.

I hate when people mix up my anxiety with my depression. Sure, I get anxious. But when you assume that I am scared of everything and that's why I'm not getting out of bed, that pisses me off. I cannot get out of bed because even thinking of having to deal with another minute of bullshit is too exhausting for me. It's funny how there's pride in having mental illness; it's like if people were to pin me with a problem, at least get it right.

I hate that people hold the same expectations they hold for a healthy person, for me. A healthy person doesn't flop out of bed in the morning(which is in fact late afternoon) because their legs refuse to move. A happy person doesn't look at taking a shower after a week is a triumph. A capable, self confident person does not spend hours going over where they went wrong. Normal people don't forget to eat for heaven's sake.

My friends have never personally seen this side of me so I cannot blame them for not noticing anything. This also seems to show that I've grown really good at hiding who I am. Maybe that's my fault. Who the hell am I kidding, of course it's my fault. But that's not the point I wanted to convey. What I want to know is why does my dad, who sees me cry and skip meals, not see how bad things have gotten?

Let me set this straight: he knows something is up. He's not careless. What angers me is that he is utterly clueless. I haven't slept right in days but when I finally fall asleep from exhaustion, I am in the wrong. I haven't eaten the whole day because I couldn't get out of bed, but eating at midnight is a crime. It's like he only sees the abnormality of my schedule as a sin and not the cause of such strange actions. Why does he never question why I'm doing what I'm doing? Why is it that all he seems to be able to do is say that I am too scared to face the world.

Here's the hard truth, dad: I am hurting. I am hurting beyond anything that may be comprehensible to you. You say you care but do not know how to help. That's acceptable. But why aren't you looking for ways to help me? Just click a few letters on that precious phone of yours. Just ask some search engine how you can help your child with her depression. Fuck. Honestly that's all I can say because your parenting skills are ridiculous.

I didn't mean to for this to turn into a rant but I suppose these meltdowns are also something I should mention. 

I lose my mind sometimes and just cry for days on end. And even if it sounds like I'm blaming everyone else, the person I am blaming the most is myself. If anyone dares say I don't admit I have a problem, I will blow. Wait... that's what my dad did. God I sound so petty right now. 

I tell myself that maybe I shouldn't write after a breakdown because I can't seem to compose myself, but this is the best time to write. This is the one moment when every word is raw and true. This is why I write.

I suppose if I wanted to sum up this chapter I would say: I know that I have a problem, but no one has the right to make it worse for me. So what if I have a problem? Why does anyone have the right to hurt me more? That's just the way I see it.

And maybe one day I will hate myself a little less. Maybe everyone will hate themselves less. My dad said not to pin "my" issues on others by saying "we are all hurting", but I know for a fact that I am not alone. Some people are better at covering up their scars than me, but the self loathing and pain underneath is all the same. This is our society whether he sees it or not. This is the world that we have to grow up in. This is the world we were handed.

I'm not sure what our parents wanted us to do with this world;but saying we fucked it up when they handed it to us broken, that is something I can never accept.

I know that it isn't fair, but I think this generation has a responsibility to fix society. I have driven myself mad thinking about it but if I were to go truly insane, it would be so the next generation is not like us.

I realized that I did not quite explain why I am depressed but this is getting long so perhaps another time I will go into the reasons for my agony. In truth, I don't even know all the reasons. Perhaps writing it all out will bring some clarity in the future. For now...

xoxo,

~fatsotheawesome🕊