I refer to my depression as the dark. My dark place. It’s the only description that seems to do it any justice, because my mind can go to a very dark place.
Every time I come out of “the dark”, and I feel happiness or
hope again, I have the bad habit of feeling invincible. As if I have conquered my mental illness for the final time and I won’t ever have to go though it again. This is setting myself up for disaster, every time.
After my first post, I felt invincible. Being completely honest about who I am was something I had been wanting to do for a long time, although I didn’t always know that. Most of my adolescent years consisted of wanting to be perfect. To be liked by everyone. I really believed people would look down on me if they knew the truth, my truth. When I had the intense conversation with my Grandmother that I wrote about in my first post, it opened my eyes to a lot of things. One of them being how often I was secretly craving those around me to know my truth. I started looking back Continue reading
The sense of empowerment that came to me after I published my first post was overwhelming. I have truly never felt so proud of myself. The next day, I smiled a lot. I smiled at how far I have come. My smile got bigger and bigger as people started reaching out to me, commenting on the post, writing me personally to say how proud they are of me. Each person who has said “I had no idea,”(I truly thought they knew by the signs I was giving) told me they were proud of me. I have made so many changes in the past couple years. I have done so much I never thought I would be able to do. Being honest was probably one of the biggest steps I have taken yet. And I am already addicted to this process, as I type even now I feel happiness. Usually with depression and anxiety can come addiction. Addiction to ANYTHING that will bring you a break from the hurting. For the first time in a long time, I can be addicted to something that will better myself. I have always enjoyed writing. English was always my favorite subject in school. I guess I just never had too much to write about. Now I do.
A few months ago, my best friend lost someone very important to her..to suicide. Continue reading
I have been living with my Grandmother for three years now. She is someone who has been apart of my life since the day I was born. Someone who has always loved me. Someone who has always supported me in any way she could (emotionally, financially). Someone who has always been a phone call away. During a heated conversation we had yesterday I came face to face with the fact that she doesn’t know me. Let me repeat, we have been living in the same small townhouse for three years now, practically living on top of one another, and it is not the first time we have lived together. My current room (which I share with my boyfriend and dog AND a rabbit) is the same room my Mother and Father stayed in when they first brought me home from the hospital. I lived here again for a short while during elementary school. Flash forward to my last six months of my Senior Continue reading