To those glorifying my struggle...
Iāll begin by saying itās not beautiful. Itās not the beginning of a love story where a boy saves you from your sadness. Itās not long texts from friends saving you from taking too many pills. Itās not the sad movies and music while laying in bed. Itās not mascara stains from tears. Itās not beautiful poetry with a somber meaning.
Itās- Waking up every morning taking pills to ābalance the chemicalsā in your brain while wondering āwhen will my brain function in tune.āMonthly doctor visits with a person who tries to fix you by covering your nightstand in prescriptions. Mom asking how youāre feeling every 4 hours because seeing her baby bawling on the bathroom floor ingesting the medicine cabinet is not something she ever forgets. Not believing anyone could love you because everytime you check the mirror, you see a portrait of flaws staring back at you. Not trusting love because no one seems to stay long enough to care, yet still takes a piece of you upon leaving. Cancelling plans I made a week ago because depression is talking loud today and I canāt seem to quiet its laughter. Friends giving up on you because āyou wonāt talk about whatās going onā. Wishing you knew how to begin to explain this war within you. Itās missing too many school days to the point you are threatened with court, as if the judge can summon the demons away. Trying to explain to scholarships and colleges why you test high yet your grades are low. Showing your gpa and feeling useless because you couldnāt even motivate yourself to get up and quit staring at the wall long enough to go to class. Itās having no carefactor for makeup because you donāt think it matters anymore. Itās not beautiful.
You see itās a struggle of what you know you should do and what the disease says. Itās not this pretty girl who gets through it and lives happily ever after, itās forever. Some days better than others, all a fight.











