It's been so long since I posted here. It's been so long since I really did anything.
Depression has been such an integral part of my life for so long that I don't know who I am without it. I've grown up, having my dreams stripped away at the age of twelve. What did I want to be when I grew up? Dead.
When everyone talked about their passions and hopes for the future, I had to fake it, make up some bullshit excuses, hope no one saw through my lies (congrats past me, they never did) and just keep moving forward.
People in high school made friends. Most of them thought they would be friends forever. Nothing ever lasts forever, especially not high school friends. I wanted people to see me, the real me, but who was I? I didn't want to be my depression, but I couldn't exist outside of it.
School ended, and new adventures came along. I had long given up any dreams of greatness, dreams of happiness, or hopes for the future. By now I just needed to survive. My depression was always there, under the surface, reminding me I hadn't stayed true to myself. I had lived past my self-assigned expiration date, and I was ashamed.
College came along and I made new friends. Experienced new things. Stepped out in new areas for myself, trying to discover things I liked, new relationships and new boundaries. My depression never left, it just became the backdrop for my personality.
Then I withdrew. A "friend" sexually assaulted me, but it didn't feel like a big deal. I moved in with people I trusted. That trust was misplaced. Each and every day, my depression grew stronger. It loomed behind me, angry fists beating me at every decision I made, separating me from those who could help me, trapping me in my own prison. I dreamed about killing myself, but never followed through.
Summer came and went. It was a bad time. I ended most of my friendships, but still tried to make amends with a few. The same friend who had assaulted me the summer before talked me into having sex with him. We almost went through with it, and we did go too far for my personal comfort. It wasn't something I wanted, but I didn't say no. I was disgusting.
As time passed, instead of my depression being a part of me, it became me. I was nothing, if not depressed. Even on the good days, when I could mask it, it was still there. It had never left, it had no where to go. A brief stint into medication did nothing. Talk therapy seemed like a joke, and only after a month or two of going, I put it aside.
People around me all seemed to struggle with their own problems, but received love and support. I could never afford to show weakness to the people in my life, because no one cared. And those who might have cared didn't understand that I didn't want their pity, their gentle support, their friendly touches. Support made me feel disgusted. I scorned pity. I recoiled from friendly touches. All of it made my stomach curdle, no matter how much I knew the reaction was wrong.
I didn't deserve kindness. I deserved to have my sickness beaten out of me. I deserved to be punished for all the time I had wasted, the resources squandered on me, the effort put towards salvaging something not even worth fixing.
I no longer enjoy the hobbies I used to distract myself with. I see no point in returning to college. I don't understand why I need to find another summer job. I just want to be left to rot, until I can leave this plane of existence and never return. I don't want an afterlife. I don't want rebirth. I want to stop existing, entirely, so that I never have to suffer again.
This is what living through nine years of depression looks like.
