The things I think of when I'm alone

Ranting to the void

I feel like sending it all to hell but I have the tendency to not let go. I'm a people pleaser, until recently found out that's what makes me unhappy. Easy don't do what you don't like. Wrong! I've been doing this for years I can't tell if I'm lying to myself. I'm tired.

I'm back. It's been a while, a long time actually. I'm in college now, and I love it. It's the most stress inducing experience ever, but the people here make it worth it. I was doing so good, but depression never really goes away, does it? I just don't have the energy to do anything anymore. Getting out of bed is a daily struggle, eating makes me nauseous, and I cry over the most mundane tasks. I feel like I'm drowning, and I know all I have to do is swim up, but something is holding me down. I'm being pulled back into a tug of war with my own emotions, and I can't quite figure it out.

I have people here that will listen to my rants, but I feel like they don't really understand. They don't know what it feels like to pretend to be happy all the time. They don't know that I force myself to laugh when I'm supposed to, because I haven't actually laughed in years. They don't know that all the smiles I give them are hiding what is happening in my brain. They don't know, and I can't make them understand.

My best friend is 600 miles away from me, and we have fallen out of touch. He made me feel safe. My parents are 193 miles away from me, but they never really knew about any of this anyway. They made me feel like I had something to hold on for. My sister is 75 miles away, she used to say my panic attacks were a cry for attention, until she saw me have one. She made me feel like I had someone I could trust. They are all still there, and I know that, but sometimes I just feel so alone.

I'm back, and I'm trying my best to stay positive, and survive. But sometimes I just think "Why?" Why am I trying so hard? Why am I not dead yet?

I think about death often. I think about how I'll end my life, what I'll do before I end my life, what I'll write to the ones I love.

Perhaps I haven't reached the deep despair that comes with the decision to end one's life. As I grow older, I can feel my depression and anxiety worsen, but, perhaps, I have not reached that extreme suffering that will cause me to not care about the consequences of my death.

I do not believe people who commit suicide are at fault. I do not believe it's fair to blame someone for causing pain to others by taking their own life. It's unfair to expect someone to suffer so that others don't suffer. Selfless, yes, but sometimes being selfless goes too far. You can't give the shirt off your back if that's the only shirt you have. You do have to think about yourself, you did not ask to suffer, you deserve peace.

What does this have to do with my mother? Well, I've thought about it, and I can't commit suicide because I can't hurt her. Sure, you may say then that doesn't make me suicidal in the first place. Listen, I'm not in a contest with anyone. Who's the most suicidal, who's the most depressed, who's suffered the most in life — it's bullshit. I'm not in a competition, I never was. I don't need to validate my pain. For so long I've had to listen to my father talk about how he's had it worse and I need to be grateful for what I have. I am grateful, I understand I have more than others, but depression is an illness. I could have everything in the world yet still be depressed. Being depressed and being ungrateful are two different things. Also, please stop telling me I don't look sick. Please stop telling me it's not a real illness. Please stop telling me others have it worse. I get it, this world sucks and people are suffering.

Honestly, my relationship with my mother hasn't been the best. Looking at past diary entries I've written some unpleasant things about her. I hate how she tells me to "Just be positive," and all that I have to do is think differently when I'm depressed or anxious. However, I understand this comes from a place of love and I can tell she is concerned about me.

When I was younger, we were homeless, and I shared a bed with her. I remember hearing her cry during the night. My mother tells me often that she can't live without me. I'm not sure if this is a ploy to keep me from committing suicide or she actually means it. It could be both.

She's growing older and I want to be able to care for her. I want the dreams she talks about to come true. So, I'm sorry, you can't commit suicide. It'll always be on my mind, but until my mother dies I have to stay alive. I'm hurting, I'm in pain, but I'll push it aside.

I will admit there is a part of me that wants to continue to mature and see what life has in store for me. Even if I'm pessimistic about the future, I'm grateful there is someone keeping me alive to see where my life is headed. Mom, I'll continue drinking coffee with you and listening to your stories.

I love you, mom.