To anyone still following this blog:
I’ve been diagnosed with depression, officially. I’m on my way to getting better.
I’m still absolutely pathetic though…
Oh, how I love you.
Don’t tell me how to live my fucking life.
And stop putting me down.
And stop acting like I’m stupid and can’t comprehend simple things.
A lt of times people think that time with take pain and sadness away. In my case, it makes it worse. I’m a dweller and a worrier. I dwell on things that hurt me and I worry them to death.
This morning I crawled in the shower, hoping to wash some of the sadness and hurt away. I expected to the red, black, blue, brown colors run off of my body and into the drain. I didn’t. But I saw how the blistering hot water ran down my cold, broken, vulnerable, naked body and I broke down.
I have been so sad for so long. Which to some may be surprising considering I “have nothing to be sad about” when in fact, I have much to be sad for. SO much change and so many battles I’ve fought my way through in the past year have torn me down, taken so much away from me. I lost weight, I lost strength.
As I broke down on the floor of my shower, in the bottom of my bathtub, a raw, animalistic cry escaped from my lips. This was not me. This was my heart in it’s own sadness telling me that it hurt, I hurt. I laid down on my side, the way I do when I sleep, and I let the hot water caress and cover my body like a security blanket. But still, it did no good.
I was shaking and cold and hurt. This shower wasn’t helping. I was hurting and I was alone and the only person who makes me feel no so alone in the hurtful world is the one who hurt me. I had no one to go to. My friends are trying to help, but I don’t know how to let them help me. I don’t know what to do.
I’m hurting. And I’m sad. And I’m broken.
And no one seems to care.