yes I know I’m sorry I was late but I put lotion on right before I left and it took me 20 minutes to get the door open
guys please, I cannot answer all 0 messages
There’s just no reason to lie to me…I’m too understanding. I get shit. I get life. I know shit happens. I know when it’s not that deep.
If I didn’t have depression I’d have fucking straight A’s in every class every semester; the classes are easy and I’m not stupid but I can’t concentrate through the sadness.
If I didn’t have depression I’d have read 3 times the amount of books I’ve read; I would still love reading like I had before depression took away my ability to enjoy anything and everything.
If I didn’t have depression I would be able to sit down and watch tv or sit in class and not feel unbearably sad for no other reason than my mind isn’t being kept well enough distracted from the horrible thoughts and feelings that I work so hard to keep pushed down.
If I didn’t have depression I wouldn’t have these scars on my body or these tears in my eyes or these pills at my bedside.
If I didn’t have depression maybe I’d know what it’s like to be happy.
If you want to kill yourself, kill what you don’t like. I had an old self that I killed. You can kill yourself too, but that doesn’t mean you got to stop living.
Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, “Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.
i had a crush on this guy and i decided to pull a Pavlov on him by offering him whenever i saw him this brand of candy he seemed to really like and after a while whenever he saw me he got excited for a second then you could see his expression shift to wondering the why the hell was he so happy to see me and i swear it was the evilest thing but also the most hilarious i made a guy like me by conditioning him into associating me to a candy he liked
I’ve pretty much stopped caring about everything and I’m not sure how I feel about that