An Isolated Hourglass
It’s weird because I know I’m not alone. I know there are millions of people out there with the same or similar problems as me. I know they’re suffering like I am. I’m aware that some people, like me, simply cannot escape their depression or anxiety, nor can they explain it. I hear and see people talking about it all the time. I see people who have overcome suicidal tendencies, who are still fighting, or who have lost the battle. I know there’s people out there who are willing to help. I can’t open up to my family, they simply don’t understand. But my friends know about me, as do several therapists and doctors. They tried to help.
And yet, I feel alone.
In utter isolation. I feel no sense of community amongst the depression/anxiety blogs here on Tumblr, nor do I feel comfort in the self-help groups surrounding me. I don’t want to talk to my friends about it because I don’t want to bother them. Music no longer helps. Neither does reading or writing or watching movies. Reading other people’s stories of their journey through depression or anxiety doesn’t fill me with hope. Knowing other people feel the same no longer comforts me. Even therapy didn’t help. My depression and anxiety are apparent all the time. There is no way out.
I’ve gone past the point of suicide and instead just fantasise about it. About never having existed in the first place. About the pain ending, and never having to worry about anything ever again. Never waking up with anxiety-induced stomach cramps, or sobbing myself to sleep. Never cracking under the smallest of pressures. Never holding back tears while walking down the street or sitting in a cafe. But I wont do it. I refuse to leave a path of destruction behind for those who love me to pick up after. They do not deserve that, and I love them far too much.
People tell me they love me and that they want to help. But I can’t hear them. My illness wont let me. These relentless beasts are not whimsical creatures that reside within a person’s mind, making them more “interesting” or “mysterious”. I do not feel interesting or mysterious. I feel sad. Empty. Confined from those who love me, and who I love back. For me, they do not bring people together. I don’t belong anywhere. I don’t feel understood. I refuse to feel loved.
Nothing has ever excluded me from the world more than my depression and anxiety.
