People with mental illnesses are different. Let’s just make that really and perfectly clear.
We think differently. We feel differently. We react differently. And sometimes we blame ourselves for all three. Sometimes we feel as though something is wrong with us; that we’re not normal and that then pushes us to alienate ourselves. I’ve had the worst luck with love (hey 6lack). Or my general relationships, I should say.
For most of my teenage life, I’ve been heartbroken on many occasions. I might probably need two extra hands to count the amount of times I have (pretty sure Joseph Strom is staring at me intensely from somewhere gripping a Bible and silently condemning me for going against the True Image). (If you got that reference, I salute you). But this year, after being terribly shattered and hurt by one particular person I did the bravest thing I could.
I decided that despite being used and then inevitably thrown away like I was nothing, I would still find it in myself to love again. To tear down these walls and embrace love with open arms and prevent my depression from ruining the chances I had at finding it.
But that didn’t work out too well. Here I am, typing this messy article to you from my phone, with tears in my eyes and trembling hands. I’ve been hurt again. But oddly enough, the other party didn’t hurt me. My depression did. My depression made me push away the one thing that has been making me incredibly happy for the past month or so.
I found something amazing. And I pushed it away.
And here I am, finally bowing down to depression. Letting it know that they’ve won. For now until thy kingdom come, I will hide behind these walls. And I’ll stay there. Because I’ve realized that’s where I belong.