Tear in my heart

Hi. My name is Kiara, and I suffer from depression.

This isn’t the easiest thing to admit to myself. It’s been something I’ve been battling since I was 15. I’ve spent half my life thinking I could just tip toe around it and ignore it and everything would be better. But time and time again that has proven unsuccessful and on many occasions blown up in my face. Well, really I’ve been the one blowing up. I think depression can take many different forms and unfortunately the form my monster always seems to take is a ferocious one.

If you’ve known me long enough to see this beast, I am sorry.

If you’ve seen it and you’re still around, thank you for believing I am more than these random outbursts.

The people who aren’t around anymore, the ones I’ve pushed away, I carry their memories with me. The lack of their presence forever haunts me.

This only feeds the depressive beast inside me.

I’ve recently been forced to deal with my problems. Yes, forced. Court ordered. Details aside, I got a DUI back in 2013 and when something like that happens you have to go through a series of classes and evaluations. One of which is a drug and alcohol evaluation with a psychiatrist. Although she deemed me as “a low probability of having a substance use disorder,” she suggested I “attend individual counseling to address her familiar and psychological stress.”

So, now if I don’t attend counseling, I will go to jail.

I go back and forth on how I feel about this entire situation. On one hand…I am depressed. I should obviously get help. But shouldn’t that be my decision? Shouldn’t that be something I choose and not something I’m forced to do?

All I do the whole time it cry. I’m crying now. I cry all the time now.

I hate crying.

Not because it makes me feel weak. But because it fucking sucks. I hate feeling this way. I hate the thoughts that come up that start this stupid water factory on my face.

I was 16 the first time I tried to commit suicide. I tried to OD on pain killers but all I did was make myself super sick for a while.

I just wanted the pain to go away.

I still carry that pain with me. I don’t think it will ever go away. I’ve tried turning that pain in to something positive. To a point, I think I’ve succeeded. But it will always be there.

When I changed my major my freshman year in college to psychology a good friend of mine told me something that I will never forget, all psychology majors are just trying to fix themselves. True or not, it made me think more about why I chose that route to go and if what she said was true, what was I trying to fix?

My name is Kiara and I have issues with my family.

I love my family. I love them all so much. I believe that’s why it hurts so much to be so angry at them all.

I tried so hard when I was growing up to be everything I thought they wanted. I made good grades, I was involved in my community, stayed out of trouble, I was in every extracurricular activity I could possibly be in, I didn’t date or party or really have a social life outside of church or school to speak of.

But I never felt good enough. For any of them.

My name is Kiara and I have abandonment issues.

Whenever people hear that I’ve never met my biological father they always have one of two reactions. One is good, one is bad, neither is real and neither really matters. I could care less about the guy who shares my genetic code. If I meet him, cool. If not, there have been enough father figures in my life who have screwed me up way worse than the fact that he was never around will.

I swear I’m the poster child for daddy-issues.

There’s the one who saved my life. The last one I ever called Dad. The one who almost moved us to OHIO. The one who moved us to Granbury. The one I hate. The dork. The one who went to jail. The one who might stick.

These titles represent the families who have been thrown at me. The fathers, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, sisters, grandparents, friends, etc. I constantly wonder how anyone expected me to turn out functional. I have been constantly introduced to family after family expected to love them and create relationships with them just to have them ripped from my life.

I found a man in my life who I finally thought would always be there for me the way I wanted a father to be, and he was. Until he wasn’t. I fight that pain more and more since I chose him.

I don’t think I even know what the word family really means.

I desperately want to.

My name is Kiara and people scare the shit out of me.

I’ve always surrounded myself with strong personalities who are wild and crazy and fun loving and enjoy life and being goofy and who everyone loves to be around. But I’ve always been the quite one. The awkward one. The one people forget. I walk in to an establishment by myself and it always takes people a little bit to figure out who I am without my entourage of personality around me. Not that it makes me entirely happy to play this role, it’s just who I am. My mom even told me to grow a personality once when I was younger. I try my best to reach outside my comfort zone, it’s a daily struggle.

People scare the shit out of me. I don’t know what to do to make it stop.

I can walk in to a bar with my boyfriend, the same bar we’ve been going to for years with the same bartenders and the same crowd we’ve hung out with, and if he leaves my side my heart starts to race. My skin gets hot. I start to sweat and I start searching for exits because god forbid I am left alone with people to have any kind of actual conversation that might lead to a real friendship with the potential to have a horrible ending.

What if they don’t like me? What if I say the wrong thing? What will we talk about? I’ve known these people for years why is it so hard to find something to talk about? Small talk is awkward. We should be past this stage. The silence is even worse. I can hear my heartbeat ringing in my now bright red ears. It’s getting hard to breath. I can feel the heat radiating off my chest. I fiddle with the napkin in my hand until there’s nothing left but little shreds of paper everywhere. Do people see me freaking out? All I want to do is hide in a corner until this feeling passes.

I’ve gotten better. The panic attacks are fewer and when I’m scared I still try to move past it.

But the idea that I could get hurt again, even one more time, is almost too much for me to bear right now. I hold everyone at arms length because as my history has proven, everyone leaves. I’m so scared to open up and let people in that I chose not to. I hide behind the people I know will protect me, even if they don’t realize they are doing it.

My name is Kiara and I’m depressed.

I’m sad.

I’m angry.

I’m sad that I’m angry and I’m angry that I’m sad.

But I’m trying to get better.

I wont let this state of mind define me.