5/10/15 1:26 AM
I sympathize for my parents and my sistr. They want to help me so badly but they can’t. I can barely help myself yet alone find ways for them to help. I don’t know what I need. I feel as if nothing works. Or it’ll work briefly then my whole world just collapses again. My sister blames herself too much for my problems and for not being able to see them throughout our youth. I hate when she does that. I constantly remind her that it isn’t her fault; she could have never known. I hid my cuts and my pain so well. My artwork was dark but, it was easy to pass off as just being a moody teenager. I try to send my parents articles though. Articles about how to talk to/deal with people who suffer from depression. Sometimes they don’t realize how much their words hurt because I handle things differently. I honestly view myself like glass; each stone thrown leaves a crack which eventually leads to my demise. I want to be strong, I try to be strong. I try so hard to be the daughter, sister, aunt, and friend that I need to be. Sometimes I have to make memos on what affections to show or how to act like I’m capable of loving everyone around me. Sometimes I have to act like I am somewhat of a normal human being when I’m basically just a body made up of sadness. I have to keep notes of appropriate responses to certain situations because I handle things in odd ways. If someone is crying, I have to remind myself to grieve and be supportive towards them. If someone is excited, I have to fake excitement. When my parents say they miss me, I have to lie and say I miss them too. In reality, I miss no one. I can’t. I try too hard to run. Missing people just hurts so I became numb to it. If someone says they love me, I lie and say I love them too. I don’t love you. I don’t even love myself. I don’t love you because I can’t trust you. I can’t love you because the people you love the most hurt you the worst. I don’t love you because actions speak louder than words and you can’t show me the love you supposedly feel for me. I have turned off my feelings for others; it made me too vulnerable. I love my nephew to death but I hate being near him now. Because I feel as if I’m toxic and I don’t want to ruin him. I want him to remember me as his fun and happy aunt. I don’t want him to remember me as the aunt who would hide in her room all day and lock everyone out because I couldn’t bear the presence of more people looking at me with pity. I can’t bear to see him watch me as I cry randomly. I can’t bear for him to see my scars and ask me what happened? “My dog scratched me.” “I’m clumsy and fell.” “I don’t even remember how I got those cuts.” I remember, I’ll always remember. I can look at the scars and relive that day mentally. I can see what I was doing, I can feel how I was feeling, and I can appreciate the sensation from each cut all over again.
I wish I knew more people that battled depression. I want to talk to people that can relate to me. I want to understand. I want to not feel alone.