Living with Depression

First off, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not here to call you stupid for wanting depression. I’m not even here to take away your blade and tell you that you’re making one of the biggest mistakes of your life. No, that’s not why I’m here at all. I’m simply here to make you a deal. Take your happiness and throw it away, then once you’re done grab your family and friends, sit them down, and stab them all in the heart, sound good yet? Well last but not least give me your life. Just take it and wad it up into a ball and set it on fire. Who needs life right? It’s nothing but a burden. Finally you’re ready, go to the psych ward and check yourself in and cry. That’s it just cry. Tell them that your family hates you and all your friends left you. Show them the cuts on your arms. Tell them all of this but forget to mention why you’re really here, to get that diagnosis. To finally be able to say your depressed and have a doctor‘s note to back it up. Doesn’t this sound wonderful? Aren’t you excited to finally be labeled depressed or “emo”? What? Are the stakes too high? Are you not willing to risk your family and friends? Is it you’re boyfriend, the one who you swore to stick by for the rest of forever? Are you worried about what he‘ll think when you don’t show up to school for a week or two? Well sweetie, don’t worry he’ll be okay. He’ll find someone else. He’ll be happy. That’s what you wanted right, for him to be happy?

You’re reading this and thinking to yourself “she’s crazy. She doesn’t know anything about me.” Well sweetie that might be true, your life might be a living hell. If it is then this isn’t for you. This is for the girls without the broken families, the girls whose dads will do anything to see their princess happy. This is for the girls like me, the ones who have everything to lose.

I remember when I first saw an “emo” kid. I was at school and saw this boy, black hoodie and skinny jeans, his hair was straightened over his face and I was almost positive he was wearing eyeliner. I wanted to be like him! He told me he wore his hoodie to cover his arms, I asked why and he showed me. All up his arms were cuts some fresh and others scars. At first this repulsed me. Why would anyone want to hurt themselves? Then he explained. The pain on the outside was bearable compared to the pain he felt inside. Don’t think I’m knocking this boy. He really was depressed. I never stuck around to hear his story but I did hang around long enough to want what he had. He had attention. People talked behind his back, people wanted the boy with the dark personality.

So, I did it. One day I picked up a safety pin and drug it across my skin. I remember feeling horrified at what I’d just done. I panicked and threw the pin away. The next thing I knew I was shopping for clothes and was drawn to a story called Hot Topic. It was perfect it had everything! I bought a studded belt and band shirts, black skinny jeans and eye liner and went to school. Harmless right? Just another wanna be kid. Well that’s how it started. Next thing I knew I was playing with lighters and hanging with more “emo” kids with real problems. I began to feel sad that I couldn’t connect so; I made stuff up about my life at home. I lied like the Devil about everything. Even my favorite color green turned to black. I got so caught up in my fantasy self that I didn’t see me tearing my family apart. My parents would argue about my style my dad saying it was just a fad and my mom saying I really had problems. Boy was my mom right. I started finding myself more and more addicted to anything sharp or hot. I would burn with glue guns or cut with pocket knives. It didn’t matter, anything to fit in and “be cool”.

I was cool. So cool that I was in and out of treatment centers all the time. Boy was I popular. Doesn’t sound bad does it honey? Well hold on its just getting good. Many burns later I realized how bad I was hurting my family. My life was a wreck. I could no longer sleep for all the tears and I barely ate. Finally I decided to go straight.

I didn’t think it would be that hard. You know just lay down your knife and dress lighter right?

Wrong. The pain I got from cutting became addicting. And before I knew it I couldn’t keep from wanting to hurt myself, pain was my drug. And the clothes. Ugh I remember trying to be all happy again and dressing ‘more preppy’ it was terrible nothing matched. I looked happy but inside I was chaotic. I use to sit in my room and cry myself to sleep. The only relief I knew was from pills. I would steal pills from my mom. Mostly antidepressants, but some time sleeping meds. It was terrible.

The road to recovery is long my friend and still I have those days I want to die. I’m on meds now. My meds. I take three. All of them to keep me sane. Sometimes I fear I’ll be on them my whole life. The scars? Yeah I still have them. And because of them I can’t wear certain shirts or socks. I regret ever meeting that boy. I regret a lot of things, like trading my loved ones for my own selfish wants. Hind sight is great but it doesn’t change anything.

Now that I’ve given you a taste of the real side of depression It’s time for you to make that choice. Do you really want to alter your life forever? Well, now it’s up to you. So make your move. Just remember. Depression isn’t all fun and games.