I found myself pacing back and forth, arguing whether or not I should publish this post. I was afraid things might get too personal, that I'd expose too much and people are going to judge me. I don't want this blog to be a bunker of negativity. I guess no matter how tough I sounded by saying how I'll post whatever I want, in the end I'm still intimidated to take that step. Isn't it ironic though, since I end up publishing this post like it's a big "screw you" to potential haters out there... Maybe a part of me just don't care, a part of me just wants to let this be read and maybe, that's okay too.
I suffer from depression. And anxiety. I'm a human time bomb by the edge of a cliff, the kind with a strong potential of falling, down and apart. I never went to a therapist or a shrink or whatever you want to call them but I'm not stupid, I know depression when I see one, when I feel one. I don't remember when it started but I know I've been alone in this. I never really told anyone, never allowed myself to receive or shout for help. I've kept it to myself, for years that feel like ages. I just know that I wasn't surrounded by people who'd understand what it's like to be depressed or what it's like for the depressed to malfunction even when it comes to doing very basic activities. I lost my motivation, my hobbies and my urge to live. I turned into a breathing living robot who feels nothing but apathy.
My head is a mess. While my mouth rarely speaks, my head is wired and chained to a bunch of radio station and satellites all at once. I feel them echoing. You won't see it, let alone hear them, because I mask them too well. You'd never imagine me feeling depressed because I'm such a good liar, I know how to play the game and distract you from the truth. I know how to paint my face a different layer of pretense and lies every single time I have to socialize. And nobody will know all the time I cry myself to sleep, in silence and secrecy. I'd lie and tell you that the mascara smudge under my eyes is caused by a disappointing product and not my tears and you'd believe me. I'm too good for you to catch me.
My family, they have no idea. They don't understand basic psychology. They aren't necessarily the kind of people who understand that when you corner someone to the edge of a cliff, there's a possibility they might trip and fall and break. They don't see how forcing me to figure 18297029 things all at once would break me. They get to decide if I'm allowed to feel hurt by their words and their game. I'm not a genius but I don't think it's rocket science to know what emotional abuse looks like.
How does depression feels? How does anxiety feels? Those are common questions. I'm not sure how to answer them. Depression and anxiety are not something you can really describe with words and even if I do try, I will come up with several metaphors that will confuse you even more. But try this: anxiety is the constant worry and alertness who refuse to let you sleep; it's the cold, the numbness, the everlasting sadness like someone just drilled a giant hole inside you. Every word you say and you wonder if your voice sounded weird, if your pronounciation sounded wrong. Every step you take and you wonder if you stomp the ground too hard, every gesture you make and you wonder if people find something is wrong with you. It feels like your mind is on fire and someone is attaching a tube of gasoline into your skull, sucking all the happy memories you're trying to recall. Anxiety is the voice in the back of your head telling you that everything is wrong and is going to fail.
Meanwhile, depression is the constant voice in your head that says how you will never be good enough for anyone and anything. It's that voice of not only a person but millions of people shouting how much of a failure you are. Depression makes you feel like you're just a tiny speck of dust everybody wants to dispose, a feeling like you are a person from the outside looking in. It's the incoherent sadness that you don't understand why, the numbness and void of being stuck in a dark place, so dark you cannot even see your own hands. It's that constant fear of not being able to recover because everything is hopeless and meaningless, that life is just a series of constant exhaustion and going to bed hoping you'd feel normal again.
It's the feeling of drowning, flapping your arms trying to call for help but your voice will never be loud enough for anyone to hear. You'd die drowning and the rest of the world will watch your body sinks into the depth of an ocean. And then it's quiet, dead silence and you see people walk away from you. You're a history that goes down unnoticed.
Normal, that's how I always want to be (well, not normal "normal" because I enjoy being different and unique but you know what I mean). I want to be able to feel happiness again, I want my motivations back, I want to get up and say that life is worth living. I want to be able to smile genuinely from the bottom of my heart. I want to stop looking at scissors and think about ending my life. I'm tired of staring at my bedroom ceiling thinking about how empty and insignificant I feel. I want to stop being aggressive and agitated, I want to stop unleashing my anxiety and depression to people I really, really love — my boyfriend. I want to stop... unintentionally hurting people I really, really appreciate. I want to stand up and tell the people who are emotionally abusing and manipulating me that I'm stronger than their words. I want to be able to progress and enjoy the world.
I want to be happy again. Like I used to.
Disclaimer — Please know that I am not writing any of this as a mean for attention. You don't have to comment or care if you don't want to. Also, please don't give me tips like "do some meditation!" or anything like that because it's not the point of this post. My point is, I just feel like sharing a piece of my personal side to my readers and if you feel the things I feel, do know that I'm always available for a chat.
P.S: if you want to ask anything personal, head over to my ask.fm