13 June 2016

Say it.

I miss the ability I once had to confide in others about being depressed. 

I guess it's been so long - on and off, soaring highs and dark lows that are so, so low - that I'm exhausted. I'm exhausted of confiding. Exhausted of waiting for someone to save me... to change me... to heal me. 

I always hope that doing 'fun' things would work - chocolate, hanging with friends, losing weight or dating a new significant other. But nothing does. Not for very long. Not for long enough. 

So I search, but searching isn't enough. 

I dig, but never deep enough. 

I drink, but alcohol swoops me up and flings me back down.

I want "I was depressed" to be a thing, but it isn't. Never in the past tense. Never for very long. 

I miss the girl who called her bff at 2 a.m. to confide and cry because she knew that he'd be there for her.

Maybe I feel like I should have outgrown her feelings by now, but I haven't.

And now I envy those who get on Facebook and Instagram with the strength and bravery to say to the world "I am depressed. Please help me." It twists my heart into knots because I want to but I can't. I can't. It's like the years - the past decade - have sewn my mouth shut with a tight selectivity so that I can giggle and be witty and do my job but I can't say the things I really want to say.

Maybe in a way, this is me finally finally saying those three sickening words.

But then again, maybe not.