I don't think that it hits you, that you're depressed, for a long time. You just start to fade away, folding in on yourself like a black hole. Closing in with a dark lurking shadow, choking you with dread. Then it hits you. And you think, slowly and quietly at first, "I don't want to live anymore."
You find things to not like about yourself, tiny and giant. The crook in your teeth or your entire body. Never happy with who you are. You put yourself down over and over again, in a never ending rythme. "I know I am because I said I am." - Mary Lambert, in Body Love.
You cry, or feel numb. Like an empty shell of who you were long ago. How long has it been since you felt good about yourself? Since you were a little kid who never cared if your breath smelled funny, if your hair was tangled, and never even noticed that there was a difference between a boy and a girl.
Think back on the little kid you once were, sitting in the mud, or inside playing with dolls in pink dresses. Don't you wish you could turn back the clock? Return to the time when you were a clumsy kid who couldn't even spell their own name. To a time before the pain.
To a time when we weren't obsessed with thigh gaps and flat bellies. To when we couldn't care less about the baby fat that we wore with us everywhere. To when we didn't judge, and no one judged us.
Maybe, just maybe, if we could start over again, we could find that one route with a happy ever after. But we can't. We're trapped here, inside our hateful minds. Crying ourselves to sleep into an already dampened pillow. The make up mask we hide behind slipping out of place, baring our souls to the world. And we go back to when we first realized, "I don't want to live anymore."
YOU ARE READING
The Kianna Times
RandomSo here you have it. Little stories, real or fictional. Rants from time to time, but I'm not a huge complainer, I'm more of a hugger. I've gone through a lot of stuff, not going to lie, and it sucked. I just want to help as many people as I can...
