My depression is a dark secret. Very few people in real life no about it. Even less of them know how bad it is. And the effort of hiding it is becoming exhausting. An unexpected visit at the weekend exhausted me.
I get consumed with feelings of self-loathing. Angry at myself for being so pathetic. Their is a tiny voice inside my head that speaks out and tells me that I’m being irrational, but it is drowned out.
I think one of the things that makes it worse is that I feel like I don’t have any right to be depressed. That I’m a liar and a fake and that I should just happy the fuck up. I should be grateful for what I do have. I should be out in the world riding rainbows. But at the moment it is just too much effort.
Perhaps I am just exhausted, tired out of pretending to be okay. Because right now I am not okay. I will be one day. But today is not that day. And it’s alright for me to cry a little bit.
I know I need to get help, the thing is I suck at asking for it. I don’t know if it is a hangover of being an abused kid or if it is just stubbornness, of wanting to exist in a reality where I don’t need help. Where I am completely independent. But that would be just another form of delusion.
So for now I’ll just get it off my chest, I’m not okay…but I will be.