I am a depressed, emotionally unstable woman without a job or a college degree. I feel useless to and in the eyes of the world. Even my own father thinks so. Sometimes I think even my counselor and psychiatrist judge me for my situation. I know that even people who pretend to be understanding and probably judging me as well. Surely if I pushed myself harder. I could hold a job or get through school. If I were more disciplined I wouldn't be in this place.
Kind of like how we think that alcoholics who can't quit just aren't disciplined enough or gay people could become heterosexuals if they just tried harder.
Honestly, sometimes I wish I had the courage to kill myself. Sometimes I wish I could die so everyone would stop judging me and maybe even start sympathizing. Sometimes I wish I could stop being a burden on everyone's hands, including my own. Life feels like one giant stage to try and prove that you have a right to be here.
people are so careless with their words and it makes me fly off the handle sometimes into an inward rage. It's scary to think though that people have this power over me that their lack of love could make me hurt myself over my anger at their unkindness.
My family all make fun of me for staying up late and sleeping in and being tired all the time and it's of course all justified in society's eyes because I'm not performing up to par. But what if I was physically handicapped and my family made fun of me for not being able to walk up the stairs?
I was walking in a public place the other day and saw an older man with a limp. In an effort to be positive, I thought, "I can be thankful I'm not physically disabled or sick even if a lot of other things are going wrong for me." But then it hit me: I almost feel as though I am living life with a limp. I do have a disease. I have to go to treatment and check-ups for it regularly and take medicine and endure its side-effects. I endure pain and fatigue on a daily basis. It's harder for me just to do the simple tasks of life that most people take for granted. And I live in an almost constant state of pain and frequent remissions. But people don't believe me and people don't want to hear about your pain. I feel embarrassed even telling counselors about my darker moments or the suicidal desires or the self-harm.
I let slip today when talking to my sister that sometimes I just want to sleep so that I don't want to die and I could tell she was horrified. I just wanted to erase my words from time. But on the other hand I want people to know that the pain is real. The sickness is poignant and crippling.
And the careless words and judgmental looks are equally destructive.