I am 5'5 in reality but my height mentally would be a 3'4, while my depression's height towers 5 foot over me.
I am as hard as a rock on the outside but as fragile as a snowflake, as I am swept up by my depression, in which we are combined into a blizzard.
my social life has never been much of an indulgence for me, but it is something so much of a treat for my demons.
My family have always wanted me to have a more outgoing personality, but who would want to be friends with me, "over dramatic" is what they call me.
I have heard enough, of all the people saying that you can choose to be depressed or not, and that statement, really boosts my depression's confidence, knowing that I was the one to let it in. And if this statement is true, then why won't my smile help get rid of it.
every day I wake up, dull-eyed, get dressed, not that I want to be bothered with. I skid downstairs, my depression following me, I can only run so far, but it always manages to catch up.
It slithers like a snake, sometimes it will take advantage of my insomnia and find ways to strangle me while I'm down, those are time where I find myself cowering in the corner of a locked room, not finding a shred of guilt for what I did to myself, but instead feeling that I have NOT done enough to torture myself. the crimes that my depression accuses me with makes me feel like a criminal that is standing in of the judge, feeling sick with dread of the punishment waiting for her. Katie was losing this case, as she, herself, has already been pleaded guilty.
I believed all the lies of this wicked being, and look what happened to me, I'm left in this dark room, where no matter how hard I knock or pound on the door, no one is going to let me out. and slowly I start to give up.
Yes. I. Surrender.
I feel like my life is just a circus act, I am walking on a tight rope. The audience, and the ring master is my depression, and all the acts are done by me. but there is no one for me to complain to. I am scared. Yes I am.
Scared of
judgement.
embarrassment.
blame.
pity.
people.
myself.
my depression.
my wrists.
the light.
LIFE.
I know that
"I am not good enough"
" I am not pretty"
"I am not smart"
"I am not sociable"
"a burden to others"
"a disgrace to my family"
"a worthless being in this world".
This time, I can't blame my depression, because it is I, who chose to believe it's lies.