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Medium, I am depressed.


I can’t get out of my bed most days. Today, I did. Yesterday, I did. But lately, I haven’t been able to. I hope I do tomorrow.

I have been this way before, more times than I want to admit. I remember feeling inadequate at age 12. I remember feeling sad, and then numb. I was so lonely.

I remember wanting to die at 15, when I first got my heart broken. That was terrible. That happened again down the road.

I remember taking pills at 18, getting sick from a miserable attempt to take my life. That was 2012.

And in 2016, I remember sitting on a hammock for six weeks straight, drinking my summer away in a state of deep depression. I was so anxious that I barely ate. I could walk anywhere and make eye contact with anyone. I went to a coffee shop today and noticed the same thing. It’s 2018.

I have regressed.

Some days, it’s so painful just to walk. It’s hard to get up in the morning, and it’s even harder to fall asleep at night. I’ve been having nightmares the past week. I don’t know how to stop them. I’m trying so hard to pull out of this. I’ve been told it’s easy, that it just requires doing it.

It’s not that easy, Medium. It’s really fucking hard.

My anxiety is so crippling that I question everything. I don’t trust hardly anyone and it feels like everyone is looking down on me. Actually, I know they are. I can already feel my “friends” fading away.

It’s interesting to see who shows up when you need it most, and who turns away.

I’m sick.

I know I’m sick. I know I need help. I can’t afford help though. I don’t know how to get help when I can’t afford it. I feel like I’m going to die.

My spirit is dampened. Some hours, I feel empowered. Others, I feel numb. Still, there are certain hours where I feel everything at once, and then nothing at all.

What is wrong with me?

I’m scared.

I don’t know how to stop this. I don’t know what is happening to me, or why now. It always does this… it always creeps back in. It’s been a tried and true pattern for years. I live with this, Medium. I live with this pain every day.

I’m scared nobody will ever love me. I am scared I am too much, too sick. Too emotional. I don’t even love myself. Sometimes I do, but it comes and goes. I mask my self-disappointment with accomplishments, but lately I haven’t been executing.

I have lost the will to try. The stigma from writing this guarantees I will never find a job. I will never have a happy relationship. I will never experience the beautiful things because I am mentally ill. Everyone thinks I am too unstable.

I am too unstable, thus I am undeserving of joy.

I’m really scared, Medium.

I’m sad.

My heart is so sad. I feel like I have let everyone down. That I have let my son down. My friends. My family. I have disappointed everyone so much that it’s really hard to wake up and see them. Talk to them.

It’s hard to breathe.

I think everyone expects me to end it. I can’t tell if I should or if I should keep trying. I don’t want to suffer anymore.

Somehow, I have survived this. Somehow, I have escaped sadness. But every time I try to think about how, it eludes me. I think it came down right to the decision of actually ending my life, and something screamed DON’T DO IT in my head. I haven’t reached that point yet this go-round.

I’m in pain.

It hurts. It feels like I’m being hit with a sledgehammer to the chest, cracking every bone and shattering every structure of skeleton I have. I just want it to stop. I just want to feel normal. To be healthy.

I have been here before, in this exact place. This is the third time in my life.

How many more times can I go until I fold?

I’m depressed.

And I know nobody cares. Or maybe everyone cares too much that it’s too painful to talk to me. I don’t blame them. People don’t like sad people.

I can’t wait until I am over this. It always requires completely starting over and vanishing from the last life and making new friends. I will have to do that again. People never look at you the same. They always talk behind your back, and you never bounce back in that circle. The stigma is real.

Medium, I am depressed.