Would It Be Different?

People just don’t understand.

I used to have plenty of friends that thought they knew me well, but when they found out how sick I was, how close to death at my own heads I had come, they stopped being there for me.

I hear the same things all the time from psychologists, my parents, teachers, and the so-called “people who care about me”. They always ask me why I am so sad, I have everything that any teen girl could ask for. Talents, smarts, looks, why would I want to give that all up for nothing?

I. DON’T. KNOW. If I did I’d do something to fix it. I don’t know why that is the only question they ever ask. I keep thinking that it would be different if I had cancer or some physical disability or had my parents die in a car crash or something, anything to justify my depression. Nothing does though, not even the rape. It’s selfish of me to still feel guilty about something I can’t change, I should be over it by now, moved on with the rest of my life and forgotten about it.

I’m sorry it’s not that simple. The past doesn’t go away, people say that you should forget about the past because it doesn’t matter now, and they are only half-right. It doesn’t matter now, but your past makes you who you are, in some way it defines you, it can be in a good way or a bad way, whether or not that’s something you can change it’s not entirely sure.

If I had told the police, put him in jail, saved myself, maybe it would be different.

But I highly doubt it.