I just realized I haven’t really written anything on my blog for a really, really long time. There are so many reasons why. That’s sort of an overstatement because I’ve never really written anything that much. With that being said though, I had plan to make it a regular daily maybe weekly habit of mine. But, Depression is a bitch. Anxiety is it’s father. There were and are so many days that I just don’t want to get out of bed and face the world. I’ve been calling out of school “sick” a lot lately. And for someone who rarely gets sick, It’s hard to keep saying, “oh, I’m sick”, ya know? But that’s way easier then calling out and saying “oh yeah, I’m taking a mental health day today because of my depression and my anxiety has skyrocketed and I just want to stay in bed and cry, while contemplating whether or not I should or should’t take the entire bottle of pills that’s on my dresser right now.” people don’t know how to react when you tell them you’re depressed. And to be quite honest with you, that is okay, I’m not looking for some sort of sympathy from anyone, I’m not looking for anyone to feel sorry for me. I just wish I was able to be honest and say, “hey look, this is what’s happening, this is what I’m thinking of today”, ya know?
Truth be told, there is nothing remotely pretty or poetic about slit wrists, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, or any form of mental health. there’s nothing to romanticize in the unpolished, desecrated skin. nothing to glamorized in the struggled sobs that scraped the insides of your throat raw and hollowed you out with every choking hiccup. you’re not a temple like they want you to believe, you are a sickness, you are a ditch attempt at filling the void.
Some days are better than others, like today—everyday isn’t going to be like today, and that is okay.