This is an excerpt from my online journal. I may regret posting this, but right now, it needs to happen.
Please don't think any less of me if you read it.
SICK SICK SICK. I’m sick of it. My mind is being taken over by devils. 7 devils. Ignorance, pain, sensitivity, esteem, disbelief, anger and grief. 7 devils are poisoning my mind. I write this stuff down because I can’t say any of it. I can’t admit to the lowliness of my existence. Honestly, I hope no one finds this until I’m dead and gone. I’m tired of everyone telling me that I’m sick. Depression, anxiety…what are they? Why do they think they belong within my body? I didn’t invite them. They burrowed in my calmest places and poisoned my zen. You know why I’m sick of being sick? Because as much as people seem to care… they don’t do anything about it. They let me pop a couple pills and assume I’ll be fine as long as they keep their distance and let me be. I’ll be fine. I just gotta work through it. I need my space. Well I realized last night that I can’t be alone. I ran into my mom’s room in hysterics and collapsed. I honestly don’t remember exactly what happened. I think I said something about hurting myself, and then the breathing started. The short gasps. “I’m going under. I’m not giving up, I’m just giving in” I felt like I was in what Flo calls “the arms of the ocean.” I couldn’t breathe. The next thing I know, I begin blacking out because I wasn’t getting the oxygen I needed. My muscles started seizing up. They began to tighten and I could feel my whole face twitching as the muscles struggled to function without air. It was the oddest sensation. I felt like I was having some sort of seizure. Well I’m sick of it! As I lay there in my mom’s arms, I thought of how I got this way. I’ve grown up a strong and happy girl. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to. I read my scriptures every day. I pray constantly. I am humbled to my knees every day. And yet the one thing that I know would make me happier and anything in the world is no closer to being safe in my grasp than our economy fixing itself. And you know something’s wrong when you have to make comparisons between your mental wellbeing and the government.
I AM TIRED OF IT. I want to just grab all this crap in a bag and go dump it in the Willamette River where it will decompose and create a new sort of mutated fish. Why can’t I just be happy? And it isn’t for lack of trying. I’ve tried to find new hobbies, I got a job to keep myself busy, I get out of bed each day and tell myself to find something worthwhile. But before I even get out of the house the darkness descends. To describe it wouldn’t do the feeling justice, but it feels as if heavy led begins to fill your body and forces your legs down and moves you back toward that miserable spot on the couch where you want to lay for the rest of the day. And I feel responsible for my family’s unhappiness. I wish I could be the big sister that Nate and Robert want me to be. It’s what they deserve. I wish I could be the daughter my parents wish I was. I wish I was happy. I wish I could return an “I love you” without feeling unworthy to even speak to them. They are the most righteous people I know, and they deserve better than me. I make everything dismal and I often treat them with disobedience and impatience. And I can’t even tell them how sorry I am, because that would be admitting that they were right about me all along. I just hope they don’t feel like they failed.
And what makes me feel even sicker is how selfish I’ve been to Michael, the guy I want to spend eternity with. I’m surprised he still likes me, even after the hell I’ve put him through. When I should be supportive and loving, I can’t hide my own problems and find it in my heart to help him. I feel unqualified. He deserves someone beautiful and strong and I just haven’t been that for him. I’m a disaster and I wish I could be good enough for him. He probably feels like he’s trying to play on broken strings.
They say we are all children of a loving Father in Heaven. However, as much as I believe that, I can’t help thinking there was a mistake. Maybe I was adopted. I don’t know how it works in heaven, but there has to be some sort of mistake.
I wonder who will read this. I may just post this on my blog. Then those who actually care will read it and maybe learn a little more about what depression and anxiety can do and can help others. If I do nothing more than help one hurting person in my life, I can die in peace. Maybe they’ll read this and know how sorry I am if I have ever offended them or hurt them before.
I am trying to work through this. But I can’t do it alone. I pray that my thoughts are heard and I will find some solace. Some comfort or rest from this storm.
Please. Depression is a very real thing (Tom Cruise you jackass). It’s not a weakness. It’s a disease. And it affects millions. I am one of them. Please lend a helping hand if you can.