I do not wish for many to know what I am going through. I do not wish for many to understand me.
People who do not understand, do not understand.
People who do not understand, do not fathom.
Do not fathom that depression, is none but slow death.
Is none but slow death, in the midst of living.
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I have always felt quite sad, quite wronged, that I were to pay for the mistakes that were never mine. Scolded and shouted at behind closed doors, behind the doors, which any protector may sit behind.
I was left alone time and time again. I needed help within my childhood, then teenhood, yet no one was was to show. I need my brother, and I needed my sister, and I needed those who hurt me to help me from those who hurt me.
One may not fathom how a family may work together to destroy family, in my case, it was not intentional.
You see, this is what hurts, I shall keep my mouth shut and my tears for only I to see, as the hurt was simply projection of hurt, it just so happened I was the only screen that was well enough to be projected on, and when I broke, they told me well it’s your fault.
You see, you reach a point where help is not what you wish, and the thing that you wanted for so long is the thing that you now run away from.
You see, you start being attracted to toxicity in all its kinds as it was what you grew up around, yet you wear out your discipline so you could stay away from those attractions whose magnet is so strong.
Depression, it sometimes comes in waves, and it sometimes sneak up on you. At this point I can tell when depression is about to settle, I can look at myself in the mirror and see the yellowish-white skin from the nutrition I am not able to keep down. I can blink and feel the bags under my eyes lounging. I can see the increase in the pills I probably should not take, but provide ample comfort for the cost of my health.
I think people do not realize, that we do not very much matter to us. We once did, we once did. Our health was once worthy of care, but how are we to adapt when care for us is redemption of our parent’s rejection?
I do not believe that we are born with closed hearts, we are born as we should, and so, I do not kill my heart out of nothing. Sometimes, we need a rest from others as they stab and stab and stab. And while we never give our hearts to ourselves, we shut it down for a while, for the wounds to heal, just a bit.
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I have been losing myself a lot in my thoughts lately, I would be physically here, but mentally, I would be somewhere else.
I remember, when I was younger, I had always wondered if I truly always over-reacted.
Was truly the right way to deal with our imperfections and mistakes as simple humans to shout, to be sat in a corner then be told what a bad boy I had been?
I remember growing up calling myself trash and feeling like I was treated like none other than a dog.
I remember trying to talk about it a lot, explain the way it hurt, why, and what made it hurt. But somehow people around me always found a way to push the blame away from them and onto me. I never saw that as the right thing to do.
We need to know and acknowledge something about kinds and teens: they have minds too. Their brains aren’t flawed or inept. They can think and form opinions too, just because they are not identical to ours does not mean that they are wrong.
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I now am an older sister, I have been for 16 years, and to be quite frank, the responsibilities that are within my schedule are those identical to my responsibilities towards those older than me. There is a difference, though, there is respect.
When the days of my speaking out what my brain would think existed, I would get rather invulnerable about my opinion when the topic of respect was thrown around.
“The young is to respect, and shall not be respected.”
“The young shall listen with no questions asked, no complaints.”
I would feel the lava within my chest bubble up so fast, you’d think I had a degree of the sun within my bones. Though, I carefully spoke as to not sound loud, as to not sound angry, but rather sharp, sharp with belief, sharp from experience.
What about those youngsters whose responsibilities are those of adults?
What about those youngsters whose hearts have been broken from adults?
What about those youngsters who are human?
Isn’t being human an enough fact to be deserving of respect?
From there I learned that people often remember and acknowledge the pain that was given to them rather than the pain that they cause. They do not realize that scars do not cut as deep as we wish, they do not cut as deep as we believe they shall cut, they do not cut as deep as they cut us, they cut as deep as they cut, and that is never something that is to be predicted, it is always something to known after it has been done.
So, when one tells you how much it hurt, do not argue love, just believe them and try to talk. Oh, dear, please, I beg of you please talk it out, please do not let your ego stop you from talking about what happened, do not make your ego worth more than your relationship with others.
Do not see people as things, do not see them as numbers. DO NOT SEE THEM AS NUMBERS, DO NOT SEE THEIR WORTH AS NUMBERS, AND DO NOT SEE YOURSELF AND YOUR WORTH THAT WAY.
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I have been listening to podcasts lately, and one thing that I learned is that you cannot change others, you cannot choose how other people treat you or think of you.
You can only change you, you can only stop living for show, and see the peace that comes about, I do not promise happiness, I guarantee peace.
-Yellow
