Histories

I want to say something. Something quick but rather too much.

You want to say that I won't understand where you're coming from. And how angry you were. But did you stop your anger for a moment to understand? Understand what I was going through?

I feel like I'm still dealing with this. Still paying for mistakes I made so many years ago. What was I? 16? 15? No older than that. I was stupid and young. And I thought we all make mistakes like that. Maybe it isn't just you punishing me for this. But I have been all along.

When I was 15 or 16 I tried to kill myself. I was a fucking kid for crying out loud. It was a cry for help. It meant something along the lines of "boo hoo hoo look at me. I'm drowning. Please help." But I was a kid. I didn't know better. I really don't think I did. And I'm not saying it was ok or it was a good idea. Or even that I didn't mean it. But it was a long long time ago. I'm a different person now. I am a completely different person now.

But you bring it up like it was last week. Like "hey, I'm angry that you left the lights on. Oh, and that you considered suicide at 15." It isn't fair.

And it isn't fair that you think everything is so black and white and easy. You have to make these distinctions between a clear right and wrong for you to get through your day, I understand that. But there are so many rights and wrongs and greys inbetween.

Depression is something that is apart of me. It's something I think about and feel every day. Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. When I'm happy and I still wish I could die I think to myself, "If I'm rational now and I still want this what does that mean?" When I'm not happy... When I'm not happy, I think, "Will I ever be?"

Every day I fight it. Every day I'd rather stay in bed. Every day giving up seems so much easier than fighting it. But I do.

Do you understand how far depression can be? So quickly, like nothing. It's like a curtain falls and you can't see where you are anymore. Sometimes there are distinct reasons and other times there aren't. Do you understand how much it hurts?

I don't mean to say "boo hoo, look at me, I'm drowning." Because I don't need any help. I'm not the same child I was before. But it is real. It is a problem. It is something inside of me that has become such a probelm that I don't even see it as a problem anymore. It's just me.

I don't mope very often. I never stay more than an afternoon in bed. I rarely even talk about it. I'm functional. And I don't want you to pity me. That's not what I want. Because I'm strong, whether you see it or not. I want you to listen. I want you to know.

That it isn't as simple as you make it seem. It isn't exactly what you call it.

There's so much stigma and baggage that goes with the word depression. I am so ashamed and guilty of feeling the way I do, day in and day out. Because everyone says it's not ok. And that it's weak. And dramatic. Pick your words easily, because they apply.

I want to forgive myself. But it isn't easy. I don't need you to forgive me. You just need to know who I am.

I am probably manic depressive. I have anxiety attacks a couple of times a week. I have some pretty extreme paranoia. I keep my head above water of my own swimming strength. I am normal. I am sane. I am strong and logical and generally, I am ok.

And for now, you're going to need to accept that.