it’s kind of strange how and when you realize there’s something wrong with you. i haven’t really thought there’s anything wrong with thinking about death – i’ve been thinking about it for, what, the last three years now? it was almost like an unconscious epiphany that hadn’t hit me until, a few months ago, i stopped and just thought about it: what classifies as depression? what classifies as suicidal?
and for the longest time, i did not only believe, but i was convinced that i’m completely alright.
sometimes, i’d be trying to sleep at night, and i would think of how it would feel to hang myself. i would imagine it like this: my neck bound by a rope, my body dangling down the closet. and it’s dark. sometimes it would be hanging myself, sometimes it would plunging a knife into myself, sometimes it would be pills. whichever way, it would be death at the end.
and the most strange thing is i can’t tell anybody how i feel. i know for a fact that i won’t be taken seriously. i hate when people see me cry, when they see me act weak, because for the longest time i’ve been pretending to be tough and insensitive – the opposite of what i am. i never admit when i feel sad. i will feel hurt, i will feel like shit, but i will never, ever admit it, because i don’t like to appear to people over-sensitive. mostly because at home, everybody mocks me and calls me sensitive and dramatic.
do i think about getting help? not often. because i’m still partially convinced that i’m alright. maybe it’s that i’ve been sad for a long time, it’s my normal. i don’t know. i also can’t see myself walking up to my father and saying, “dad, i’m depressed,” because no one would take me seriously. more mocking, more shit. i haven’t gone outside of my house in about two months. stopped interacting with my friends, boiling down our interaction to some words on online chat. i can’t tell them i’m depressed because i’m conscious about how they will feel. their jokes about depression and what would they call “overly-sensitive” people are mundane to me now. and everyday, i’m imagining more and more ways to plot my death. i would be reading something online and then would stop, as if i’ve had a sudden realization, and then bury myself into my mattress and cry for no absolute reason. sometimes for being shitty and over-sensitive and dramatic and horrible and hypocritical and stupid and weak. fucking weak.
1 comment
Nothing wrong with being sensitive. I say this and simultaneously still reject my sensitivity so understand it’s a process to learn to embrace yourself. You simply experience life in a more emotional way then your family. You feel life at a deeper level. Thats beautiful. Hey, chin up and let those tears out huh. Cry that shit out. One day you’l stop crying.
As for not thinking you’re troubled: its crazy how we can become conditioned to death thoughts and begin to see it as our new normal so quickly. You raised good points however. Concerning what constitutes being suicidal or depressed. Thats a great question and challenges us to redefine these labels that have held so many captive.