Medium

you know, having depression is a lot more than just the stereotypes: it’s more than just the taking pills, talking to your therapist, and always feeling sad. it’s more than people giving you that look when you tell them you have depression, it’s more than people asking how they can help.

it’s all that, yeah, but it’s also just being… down. not sad, but just kinda down.

it’s waking up, blinking, and realizing today is gonna be a day that just feels down. it’s going through that day in a haze, sleeping most of it away: friends are busy, you can’t socialize, so your battery is just drained.

it’s relapsing with something you want to fix, with something you’re trying to fix. it’s not really feeling like you’re the person who’s always smiling and helping others. it’s thinking that maybe today, you don’t want to be that person. it’s thinking that maybe today, you don’t want to hold, you just want to be held. it’s not having the motivation to open up that book, pick up that pencil, put away that shirt, or really do anything.

it’s thinking that maybe, just maybe, things would be a bit better if i weren’t here.

of course, the second i have those thoughts, i panic a bit inside. okay, i panic a lot. i wonder at the repercussions of that: what would happen if i did leave?

would my mother ever smile again?

would my friends ever laugh at a joke again? would my friends feel guilty?

but above all, i think of what she would feel. would she ever love again? could she? i hope she’d be able to.

after all, im just a sad boy who can’t do anything right, who despite all his attempts to fix and lift up… simply can’t. im just a sad boy who doesn’t deserve all this love from everybody.

those meds i got, they make me worried. i don’t know why i’m worried. i’m always worried. what will these meds do? will they make me happier, but less empathetic? will they change me? they told me it’s a chemical imbalance. they told me my sadness is due to a problem in my brain. but if that’s fixed, how does my brain change? i wonder a lot. i worry a lot.

it’s anxiety, and it’s depression. it compounds, like i’m a cursed Twinborn, doomed with an ability that if left unchecked, could go from Savantism… to a cemetery.

i don’t want to die. but i don’t want to be sad. it’s a fine line to walk, between avoiding those thoughts, and keeping that smile up. keeping that smile up is… so tiring.

i’m so tired. i’m just so damn tired.

and i can’t do anything. i tried to save my sister, and she still almost was lost to me. another sister is struggling now, and i worry she will go down a similar path. if she does, i will not be able to recover as well. i worry and i worry and i worry and i try to help but i storming can’t, i scudding can’t.

i can’t do anything. i can’t do anything. what can i do? my words will fade. my emotions cannot be transferred through a screen, and everyone’s too far away to hold close to me.

i can’t cry, either. i think i’ve said that. i can’t cry. i don’t know why i can’t cry. i feel all the emotions, deep deep down, but they never rise. i can shout and scream and beg them to rise and bubble and spill over so i can break for a night… but they don’t.

i don’t know when they will.

i don’t know if they will.

i’m really just ranting, you don’t have to read all of this. it’s not a suicide note, if you’ve been wondering. they’re just thoughts. i don’t like pain, i have too low a pain tolerance.

look at me. too much a pussy to even find some other avenue of escape.

in truth, i am a coward. i speak mightily with my lips, but when told to actually do something, i panic: i don’t know what to do. so i cower in a corner. i sit and wallow and feel miserable as peoples lives around me fall apart. my words fall apart, with all the skill i had in writing them.

i know there’s a God. i’ve felt His touch. but sometimes, it’s just hard to reach out. because of how damn tired i am. who could love me, with my anxiety and sadness and self-doubt? i’m self-conscious, too: i don’t like most of my body. i really just don’t. i wear long pants even though i’m in texas because i don’t like my legs. i don’t ever ever go shirtless, because i don’t like my upper body. i never wear tank tops or anything like that, i don’t like how pale my arms and shoulders are. i’m not muscular.

i’m a bit too flabby for my own liking. and oh, i’d love to fix it, i really would, but i just… can’t.

maybe things would be better if i was gone. i don’t know… i know i’ve spoken of a future, and it’s a future i so desperately want, but dammit i don’t want to burden others in that future if im just like this the whole time.

kylie, if you read this: you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. despite telling you of the things i struggle with, i’ve never shared something like this. this is from the deepest parts of my soul.

and i want you to read it. i want others that i love to read it. not my family, i don’t know what they’d do if they read this, but everybody else can read it. everyone else can know my heart.

no, i don’t like myself.

no, i don’t understand at all how someone could love me.

yes, i look at myself and wonder how in the absolute hell someone can love me.

yes, i sometimes wonder if leaving this world would be better.

yes, i care too much. i care way too much. it only leads to pain. so much pain. so, so much pain.

i am hurting. i am grieving. i am in agony.

how can one love an agonized, troubled, and undeserving being such as i? how can one look at me and say, “yes, i love this one. i really do.”

i don’t really believe you. i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i want to, but i just can’t bring myself to believe. i see it, i see the love, but i just- i can’t believe it.

please, i know i want to. and i probably will. like i’ve said, you astound me, you render me speechless. but i’ve been broken a bit too many times for my taste to really believe anymore. maybe the meds will help.

or maybe i’m just in a bad state right now. my love for you is real though. don’t ever doubt that. my love for you goes beyond my love for myself. but i guess you can put that together because of what you’ve read here.

i’m not sure who this is addressed to. a bit of it goes to her, a bit to others, it’s mostly me shouting into the void, and hoping someone will reach into the void, grab me by the hand, and pull me into an embrace so warm i just… break.

i’m so… tired. i just want a break, i just want to break, i’m just so damn tired.

i’ll see you all when i’m feeling better, cause then i’ll shove this all deep down again, and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.

cause that’s what always happens.