Day 32: It's not your fault

Good morning readers,

I’m not gonna be pleasant today. So if you’re here searching for a bubbly post, you should turn away immediately. In fact, you might as well not visit this blog again. Not that it’s never gonna be something happy, but it is a good depiction of my brain, which, like my room, is a magnified version of what you find inside a dumpster. Sure, I’ve cleaned it a few times here and there, but what do you expect from a seventeen years old boy?

TRIGGER WARNING: This post is about depression. It is a sensitive topic, and it has the potential to bring up traumatic past experiences. So, for the second time, I’m asking you to reconsider your decision to continue. Done?

For anyone that is left, here we go.

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If you’re a regular reader, you should have known by now. If you’re not, well, you’re about to hear me reveal a big confession. Drum roll please? *drum roll* *ba-dum-tshhh*

I have suffered from depression. I had depression.

Yes, I said it, loud and clear. But it wasn’t always that way. I didn’t always have the courage to accept that I had problems, that I couldn’t go through it on my own. I didn’t have the courage to reach out and ask for help. However, it got to the point where it was destroying my life, literally, and that was it. I couldn’t do it alone. Not anymore.

I am very glad with the people that I chose to trust. I couldn’t appreciate them enough, but I would thank Alena, Robert and Tiffany to all play a role in getting me through what I was in. Now, I’m just relieved with the life I’m having and I want to separate myself as far as I can from that period of time. I want to cut that three years out of my life, to never relive or remember what it was like. I want to wash off the scars on my arms and the destructive thoughts in my head. And I’ve been trying, and I’ve done a good job of doing it. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t just sit here and type these words and refuse to talk about it. I can’t just mention it like an abstract thing and chase my thoughts off of it. I can’t just pretend nothing serious happened and that I just got over it. I can’t do that anymore, not when I see people around me dealing with it. I can’t run from it forever, but I can harness its negativity into something useful, both for me and people I love.

So I got asked yesterday, what is depression? How does it feel like?

Gosh, I hope you never have to know how it feels like.

Because even I won’t know how exactly it felt like.

It affected everyone in a different way. Different, and twisted way. You’re trapped within your mind and you try to fight your way out, but you never can. You’re locked in your thoughts but you never can reach the key to open the door. You try to never have time alone. You try to exhaust yourself. You’re scared that if you start thinking, you’ll see the darkness surround you so deep you can’t escape. It’s a vacuum and it’s sucking you in. You try to keep company, yet you’re afraid of people. So you text people, not to share what the hell is going on in your heard, because you don’t even know what is going on there anymore. No, you text people to keep your mind off of that hell. But they don’t know. They rarely ever do. You’ll look like an annoying and pathetic ass in their eyes. So they stop replying. They stop talking. They tell you to “get over it”, to stop “being dramatic”. Then you go back and wonder to yourself what the fuck is wrong with you. You shut yourself down from everyone and everything. You yell to yourself “Why can you motherfucker get your shit together for once?” You start to force yourself out of it, but you soon realize you can’t. It won’t pass. It’s like you trying to chase a car with a broken leg. It hurts but you force yourself to continue running, until one point, you collapse.

Your mind’s blacked out.

Your thoughts emptied.

Your body exhausted.

Your spirit dead.

All the photons in your life sucked out.

Darkness…

Chances are that I would never tell my whole experiences. I won’t be able to recall all those times I had to bite my arms to sleep, all those nights I stayed up and watched “Ridiculousness” to force myself to laugh, all those moments I plugged myself into music just to hear some noise that is not my brain talking. I won’t be able to recall every dark, twisted story I wrote. I won’t be able to recall every sick nightmares I had. I won’t be able to recall all of it. But what I can recall, is how I got over it, how I got better, how I made progress and more importantly, how I got help. I know I will have to live with my depression forever. I know I have to meditate, to relax, to reflect, to have time for myself unless I want the feeling creeped up on me again. But I got better, and I think it’s time to help people who haven’t. It’s not my fault. It’s not anyone’s fault that their minds are betraying them. It’s not a shame or an embarrassment. It’s an injury, and like many injuries, it shouldn’t be treated different.

Gosh, I wish you never have to know how it feels like.

But if you do, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT.

And I will be here.

You know where to find me.

                                                                                                                                                      Love,

                                                                                                                                                      Denny