Confessions of a depressed person.

Okay. That’s it. I just have to admit that I’m depressed. Again or still, I don’t know. I just feel shitty all the time and I can help it. I look at others, surprised, that they always seem so happy or at least okay. I don’t see people around me being like me – crying all the time, desperately wanting to sleep as much as possible, wanting to do things but not doing them because of drowning in sadness. And maybe the most important – I don’t see scars from cutting on their hands or bruises on their body parts because they felt lately so hopeless and mad at themselves, that they hit themselves. Even if they’re sad, after few hours they’re smiling again and laughing with their friends.

I take a look around – but where are my friends? Where are people that would cheer me up when I’m down? None. Fucking none. I feel like locked in the cage and being too weak to get out of it. When I let people closer to myself, they just let me down and emotionally I’m laying powerless with my face to the ground. When I really like someone, they just run away. I desperately try to make them stay but they leave and I still haven’t figured out, why. No one really wants to know the reason, why I feel so bad all the time. They just pat on my shoulder and whisper: “It’s gonna be okay. Just don’t cut.” How can someone really think that phrases like those ones, help? They fucking doesn’t! I don’t want your damn pity, I just want a shoulder to cry on – someone, who would honestly talk to me because he cares and who would hug me.

I really want to go to see a therapist but I just can’t. It’s something you need to pay for and because I’m still studying, I’m earning no money at all. That sucks, right? So I guess, I’ll just keep falling into this dark hole, called depression, begin to cut again and do all the stuff I did year ago.

P.S. One thing that makes me depressed the most – I lost greatest friend I’ve ever had. Maybe he’s really an asshole but he was the one, who stopped me from cutting. Now he’s living his own life and I’m here – shattered in pieces. It’s my fault, I know, because every lost friendship is always my fault. I would do anything, to bring him back in my life the way he was in it year ago.

xoxo, your depressed Porcelain Doll.


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