Dates.

I hate when people ask me, “How are you doing?” or “How are you feeling?” or “Are you okay?” or “Why are you so sad?” or “Why can’t you just cheer up?” I’ve been depressed for so long that I can’t answer those questions from a place of understanding. And the fact is that no one really cares how you’re doing. They just want to seem concerned, but they don’t want the honest answer because the honest answer will scare them away anyways.

But I’m not okay, and I feel like shit, and nothings feels right anymore, and I can’t remember a time when it did in the first place. And people can tell you to be happy because your life isn’t as bad as another person, and that may be true, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m dying. And to any person who thinks mental diseases are made up, I sort of understand you because there are times when I think I’m just faking for attention, but the reality is, there are days I can’t muster up the energy to text someone back when they just want to make sure I’m alive. And the truth is, I think I know why I’m depressed, but I’m not really sure. All I know is that I can’t forget these dates.

August 2006: My dad had a bad day on the second to last day of summer, and I mouthed off to him. So, he came downstairs and slapped me three times in the face before my brother ripped him off me.

October 2006: My best friend at the time was supposed to drive me home from school because my parents were out of town, and she abandoned me in the parking lot of our high school to hang out with her new friends.

March 2009: My family sat around talking about how even if I were gay, I wouldn’t act on it because I knew it was a sin and I’d burn in hell for it.

April 10, 2012: I was searching the internet for It Gets Better videos in hopes that I wouldn’t kill myself before I could come out to my parents.

June 17, 2012: I came out but everyone made a joke about it and it was important to me.

August 19, 2015: I was supposed to go to the gym with my friends, but I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. It was the first time I realized that my presence didn’t matter. The world kept turning even if I couldn’t be a part of it.

September 12, 2015: I finally saw my best friend for the first time in a long time, and I told him that I cried every day because I missed him. He thought I was joking, but it was true.

September 25, 2015: I cried in bed because nothing felt like it mattered, and I couldn’t pretend like it did.

October 4, 2015: I was escorted out of work because I had a mental breakdown in our back room, where I cried, threw up, and was asked to leave.

October 8, 2015: I was diagnosed with depression.

October 9, 2015: I started taking anti-depressants.

October 31, 2015: I walked out of my Halloween party because seeing everyone having fun, and knowing that I should be to, triggered my spiral downhill because I couldn’t have fun and be happy even though I wanted to.

November 1, 2015: I called my best friend crying and told him I wanted to kill myself. That was the first time I said it out loud.

December 18, 2015: I got extremely drunk to mask the feeling that I was never going to be happy again.

December 19, 2015: I gathered my thoughts and prepped for killing myself.

 

May 11, 2016: I told the boy I liked that I had feelings for him. He ran the other way.

November 23, 2016: I got so angry that I drank 10 drinks in three hours and crashed my car.

December 17, 2016: I stopped taking my anti-depressants because they weren’t helping, and I don’t think they ever did.

December 19, 2016: I skipped my last meeting with my therapist because I couldn’t get out of bed.

January 13, 2017: I thought to myself, “I’m always going to feel like being dead is better than being alive.”

January 29, 2017: I cried myself to sleep thinking, “I need to kill myself.”

January 31, 2017: I started taking muscle relaxers to sleep easier and for longer periods of time (16 hours being the longest night of sleep) because I didn’t want to be awake to feel what I was feeling.

February 4, 2017: I realized that talk about drugs and sex trigger my anxiety and depression because I’ve never done either, and it makes me feel alone, left out, and unworthy.

February 5, 2017: They boy I thought I loved told me he loves another boy.

February 9, 2017: I recorded this.

February 10, 2017: I found out my health insurance doesn’t cover mental health.

February 11, 2017: I realized that no one is ever going to say, “I’m so sad I won’t be able to see you for four days” because no one needs me in their life like I need them.

And as the dates continue to go by, I’m sure I’ll forget these most recent, but the reality is that most of these things stick with me, and they hurt. Nothing makes them go away. No amount of distraction changes my reality – a single thought that has no manifested into a controlling paradigm.

And I guess that’s how I’m feeling. I remember all those days like they just happened, and they trigger the same emotional reaction they did when they first happened. I can’t breathe, and I can’t sleep, and I can’t stop thinking that none of this matters. And no amount of holding on for things to change is going to help. Because if you can’t tell from what I listed above, I’m holding on for dear life.

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