I feel like nobody cares. Recently I ran away from home, only to come back after my mom found me. I told them about the depression I have been going through for at least four years, I noticed it when I was seven. God knows how long I had it before that. It hasn’t really let up.
Once my parents knew they took away the thing I value the most. My freedom. Then they sent me to a therapist. Basically they were like “Kay. Let this person deal with it.” It stung. I wonder if they care about me. I have never been attention seeking. The opposite. My sister has arthritis, so I understood why they paid more attention to her. But once I told them I thought that they would understand. They don’t. It feels like they pay less attention to me now. I wonder if I should just leave now. I want to be an author. My dream is to have a bestselling book. My parent basically told me it’s impossible.
The day after I ran I went to school. I told my friends why I did it. They completely ignored me. Now we are drifting away. Like the friends before that and the ones before that. I’m a loner. Not because I wanted to be, but because I was forced to be.
The stress is insane. I have a mental problem that stresses me out like crazy. The work that my teachers are making me do wouldn’t normally be much, but for me it’s a crazy amount. Plus my therapist is making me do work. Pages being like: What made you happy today? What was one thing that you enjoyed today. Normally those would be easy. But a while back I gave in to the darkness. It hurts me mentally to try to think happy. It’s absolutely horrible. I have devoted my life to trying to make sure other kids don’t feel this way. No child derserves to have depression, let alone long term. By doing that, I stopped caring for myself. I “sleep in” because I have no reason to get out of bed. Every night before bed I pray that I just won’t wake up in the morning. While I try to sleep I dream that I am a different person. The other me abandons my family, finds a new one where she is happy. I wish I could be that other me.
I have also become scuicidal. Not enough to actually do it, but when i’m ready I know how. It’s scary. I feel like no one knows how i’m feeling. A young girl with a plagued soul, who’s only comfort is her books. I don’t think it will ever leave me. And to be honest, I’m not sure if I want it to. Yes I want to be free, but I want to give myself that freedom, not a therapist or some pills. It gave me a gift. The ability to imagine, I can make complex stories, and I feel if the depression goes, the stories go with it.
I need someone who cares, because everyone is my life is faking it.
3 comments
Amen. I think you worded perfectly what any girl/woman wants
Everything you said makes perfect sense. There are so many gifted people who suffer from depression. The ability to reach within yourself and use your feelings to create stories is a good thing. As long as you can manage your mental health issues and not let them take you over. You have insight into feelings that not everyone has. But as I said, be careful not to be devoured by it. Purging it onto paper is probably great therapy for you. And you can be a writer. You can be whatever you want. As long as you’re alive!
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Historically, there have been creative thinkers who spoke about mental illness giving them their edge. “My fear of life is necessary to me, as is my illness,” the artist Edvard Munch, thought to have had bipolar disorder, once wrote, according to Smithsonian magazine. “Without anxiety and illness, I am a ship without a rudder … My sufferings are part of myself and my art. They are indistinguishable from me, and their destruction would destroy my art.”