Chemicals and the road to hell...
I know logically that it's just brain chemicals. Somewhere in there, my seratonin or some other chemical is just screwed up. I'm getting too much of one, too little of another, but it's all chemical. Life isn't miserable, the sky's not really grey out, and my friends do care.
But that doesn't change how I feel inside. That doesn't make me feel any less hopeless and miserable. I hurt so badly on the inside, and it's like I'm trapped in a prison I can't ever hope to escape from. And I have to keep going. I study for my classes, take tests, pretend like I care about any of it. When really, I don't want anything. I want the cessation of everything. I want everyone and everything to just go away until this passes. But that's not going to happen, and I have to keep listening to every-fucking-one else tell me how THEY would handle things if they were me, or how I should be dealing with it better.
I don't have the guts to say it to these people in life, but on here I do: FUCK you. You don't have a fucking clue what this feels like. To spend every minute of every day feeling like your insides are being ripped open, like a hole in the ground has opened up and sucked you into hell. This is not "laziness," this is not "my fault," and I'm sick to fucking death of explaining myself, or more often-- staying quiet so I don't insult your pretty sensibilities. I have a real disorder. I have been diagnosed, I have been -hospitalized-, and I take multiple medicines -every day- just to try to fix what's wrong with me in my brain. While you're sitting pretty, reading your paper, watching your TV or having happy time with your friends and family, I'm sitting alone, at home, crying in front of my computer and wishing I could make a single one of you understand.
Depression is not pretty, and it is not just a phase those goth kids go through. It is every fucking day for me, and I'm tired. I'm so tired that there are days I don't get out of bed, I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't bathe, and I sure as fuck don't do anything "fun." I hop onto my computer most days looking for ANYTHING to make me forget for just ten minutes that the world is a miserable bitter place, that my friends sometimes don't look out for my best, that people I care about say hurtful things because they do not and -cannot- understand what I'm going through.
And you'd think by now I'd come to terms with this. I'd understand that when the state labels you disabled, when they happily pay for your living expenses, that maybe there -is- something wrong with me, that it's not all my fault. But as much as I try to believe that, I will always think it's my fault. My fault for not being able to handle it, my fault for not being a better, happier person. And in the meantime, family and friends make cutting remarks about how "life goes on even when you're depressed, and you just have to get over it" or, over something as simple as explaining something just may be wrong with me, "Yeah, well, I'm just tired of hearing it." You know what? I'm tired of fucking LIVING it, so fuck you, and fuck your high horse.
I just want to be happy, for once. I just want to have a whole week go by without unexplainedly bursting into tears. I want my medicine to -work- so that I can be a normal human being, and stop hating the people that can't support me enough through all of this.
But that doesn't change how I feel inside. That doesn't make me feel any less hopeless and miserable. I hurt so badly on the inside, and it's like I'm trapped in a prison I can't ever hope to escape from. And I have to keep going. I study for my classes, take tests, pretend like I care about any of it. When really, I don't want anything. I want the cessation of everything. I want everyone and everything to just go away until this passes. But that's not going to happen, and I have to keep listening to every-fucking-one else tell me how THEY would handle things if they were me, or how I should be dealing with it better.
I don't have the guts to say it to these people in life, but on here I do: FUCK you. You don't have a fucking clue what this feels like. To spend every minute of every day feeling like your insides are being ripped open, like a hole in the ground has opened up and sucked you into hell. This is not "laziness," this is not "my fault," and I'm sick to fucking death of explaining myself, or more often-- staying quiet so I don't insult your pretty sensibilities. I have a real disorder. I have been diagnosed, I have been -hospitalized-, and I take multiple medicines -every day- just to try to fix what's wrong with me in my brain. While you're sitting pretty, reading your paper, watching your TV or having happy time with your friends and family, I'm sitting alone, at home, crying in front of my computer and wishing I could make a single one of you understand.
Depression is not pretty, and it is not just a phase those goth kids go through. It is every fucking day for me, and I'm tired. I'm so tired that there are days I don't get out of bed, I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't bathe, and I sure as fuck don't do anything "fun." I hop onto my computer most days looking for ANYTHING to make me forget for just ten minutes that the world is a miserable bitter place, that my friends sometimes don't look out for my best, that people I care about say hurtful things because they do not and -cannot- understand what I'm going through.
And you'd think by now I'd come to terms with this. I'd understand that when the state labels you disabled, when they happily pay for your living expenses, that maybe there -is- something wrong with me, that it's not all my fault. But as much as I try to believe that, I will always think it's my fault. My fault for not being able to handle it, my fault for not being a better, happier person. And in the meantime, family and friends make cutting remarks about how "life goes on even when you're depressed, and you just have to get over it" or, over something as simple as explaining something just may be wrong with me, "Yeah, well, I'm just tired of hearing it." You know what? I'm tired of fucking LIVING it, so fuck you, and fuck your high horse.
I just want to be happy, for once. I just want to have a whole week go by without unexplainedly bursting into tears. I want my medicine to -work- so that I can be a normal human being, and stop hating the people that can't support me enough through all of this.