Do you know how it feels to hate yourself the minute you wake up? What itâs like to feel the familiar sinking sense of failure creep into your mind at any moment through the day? Or feel like youâll never be good enough, no matter how hard you try? Or what it feels like to watch your parents repeatedly choose your siblings over you? Do you know what it feels like to always be the second choice or last resort? How it feels like to look at yourself in the mirror, and feel the urge to smash it because the more distorted the image is, the less it looks like you. Do you have the slightest idea how it feels to look at your body and see the scars littering your arms, legs, hips, torso, and see them as the constant and permanent reminder of the many years worth of pain you inflicted on yourself? Or how it feels to live in perpetual darkness? Or deal with the unyielding urge to drown yourself in alcohol? Or put up the unspeakable urge to kill yourself? To deal with the black hole of darkness that is depression? Cause I do and let me tell you, seeing how people romanticize these things makes me so mad. Because there was no one to kiss my cuts and scars and call them beautiful, there was literally nobody to save me from my mind. No one but me. And I saved myself. I didnât need anyone but now I realize, itâs okay to not be okay. Itâs okay to let someone in. But it is not okay to romanticize the darkness of depression. Depression isnât just being sad. Itâs not having motivation to do anything, itâs losing interest in your once well-loved hobbies. Itâs losing yourself in a swirling and never closing black hole. Itâs horrible but you can get through it.
Exerpt from my poetry journal. (via the-headass)
