#LetsTalk Depression

I woke up yesterday morning and things felt different. I spent two solid days in bed, destroying any positive thought crossing my mind, losing the last tiny speck of any self-confidence or worth that I had kept to one side, and I started to shake myself to thinking in a way that I usually speak of but never take any action upon. Firstly, I decided that I needed to sort my life out (we all know that). Secondly, I decided that I needed to stop trying to go full speed ahead in life when I am just not able to; and thirdly, thirdly I decided I had to be honest. I had to be honest about my feelings, my thoughts, my friendships, my family and most of all to myself.

I have to be honest because I am losing grip of reality, I’m losing grip of myself and the life that I have built up around me. I'm pushing people away, I'm putting on fake appearances, I'm constantly putting up a front that I know people want to see of me. But I'm tired. I'm so tired.

So, this is my #LetsTalk post. Raw unspoken honesty from the mind of somebody that is exhausted of being and acting as a person that is only a fragment of my whole being.

Since the age of 15, I have suffered from depression.

School was hard. The final two years were especially hard. Anybody that knows me knows that I used to drink and rebel at school. A small select few know it all. A small select few know that I used to be late to school every single day because it felt physically impossible for me to pull my body out of bed because I felt as if life didn't need me to be a part of it. They know that I used to drink to numb out that feeling and to get along as 'normal' in school. They know that I used to get found crying in the toilets, in the park next door, in empty form rooms because my head wouldn't let me get on with things and allow myself to be normal. They know that tendonitis wasn't the sole reason for my wrist supports, and that teachers didn't take me aside to talk about my work. They know that I didn't eat because I wanted to be in control of something when I wasn't in control of myself.

College was hard. Waking up every single day wishing I hadn't. Sat in lessons, staring at words that I once enjoyed merge into a black mass on a board and lose any meaning along with everything else I ever cared about. My drinking became heavier and easier with finally being better associated with 'of-age' people, prior to turning eighteen myself. My friendship group widened, easing my mind and keeping me occupied for longer amounts of time, keeping myself from myself. It was always easy whilst I was getting drunk with people that had no idea. Saving myself from myself. There were no wrist supports anymore, just alcohol. Alcohol, parties, new people, new experiences. I plummeted again. I missed my A-Level exams. I took tablets of which I had no idea what they were. I had a headache. Then I had a fit. I didn't care.

Uni came. I fought against myself as hard as I could. There were days I wouldn't leave my bed. There were days I would lie and wonder how long it would take for somebody to care enough to find me if anything happened. I knew I was clever, I used it to my advantage, knowing that I'd receive good grades just because of my brain. It never made me feel any happier. I'd have super happy episodes, I'd relish them, spend them with friends, go out, do something fun, feel happy. The best times were when they lasted. The worst were when I'd sit and think how nice it would be for those to be my last. I never told anybody. I never felt the need to. I hate being seen as weak or as somebody to tip-toe around. On the whole, I was okay. The days I plummeted, I just accepted that people thought that I was being antisocial or just in a bad mood. It’s easier to let them assume things because that’s how normal minds work. I was happy to be in ‘a bad mood’ to others, it meant I didn’t have to explain.

It got better at uni. It always does for a while. Like a temporary flicker of hope amongst a clouded mind.

Now it's back. I have lost myself again. I am in a mind filled with worthlessness and self-loathing. I can't stand how I look, how I act, how I talk, how I live. I am at a distance from everything I love and care about because of myself and the fear of being judged. I have no words, I have no excuse or valid reason to be this way, but I can't help it that opening my eyes in the morning is an instant disappointment.

I sometimes wish that I could put a bandage around my head. A bandage means hurt, it means something is wrong. It'd mean people would take the time out of their day to ask me if I am okay, because they can see the bandage - they can understand that something inside is hurting. But, I can't wear a bandage. I wear a smile because that's what people want to see, because if they see a smile they don't have to care, they don't have to ask, they can just be as ignorant as they please and you cannot blame them because they don't know. They have absolutely no idea.

Which is why I need to talk.

There has been one person that I have spoken to about my current depression and she pushed so hard to persuade me that I'm not weak, worthless, lower than anybody else, having a worse time than anyone else, or that I have no right to not speak to anybody. Because I'm not the burden that I think I am. Truth is, I just don't feel comfortable with speaking.

So, I'm writing. Because if there's any way I can voice something, it's via words upon a screen.

So, I can relax in the way that I'm not a burden, because you read this far because you wanted to. Whether you care or not is a completely different situation, but you took the time to read and acknowledge it. And that's the biggest step I have ever taken. So, one post marked as unread for you and a huge milestone for me.

If you take anything from this, anything at all, it's to ask how people are and to mean it. We throw 'hey, you okay?' around so much that it may as well be equivalent to 'hey, pineapple toaster nutella juice pie?'. Take the time to care about what people have to say and how people feel. I have found somebody that can see straight through me, completely and scarily so. Honestly, I absolutely hate it. But it's refreshing to finally be acknowledged as not okay when I'm really not, because acting so much is hard. And with having somebody that acknowledges it and accepts it, is probably part of the reason I am writing this right now.

Because it's okay to not be okay. Yes, Jessie J, preach it sister.

I am honestly scared of what will come out of this post, the people that read it, the people that decide that they can't really be arsed with it, and the people that I care about completely changing their opinion of me.
But eight years of hiding behind a mask is enough for me. I'm done. I need to think about myself now.

#Let'sTalk. Because if I can, you can.

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