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I’m probably the one who’s running away from the ‘thing’ that so desperately needs to be addressed, but i can’t help but feel like shit over this entire thing. Or whatever it is. It’s irrational and illogical and so stupid. I can already foresee myself falling so hard and getting hurt. Badly. I probably shouldn’t have allowed things to ‘progress’ this far. It’s a regression to me, to be frank.

I can hear my mom’s words echoing in my head-

‘… using you…’

‘Do you want to be the person who has to pick up your own broken pieces?’

No, no i don’t. As much as i try to convince myself otherwise, this (most likely) isn’t going to end well, because my doubts and insecurities will eat. me. up. aliveSo tell me, what do i do now? Amidst all the school crap, friendship crap, family crap, and mental health crap, how am i supposed to deal? I wish everything was as simple as it is written in books. Find someone, magically fall in love, everything’s all bright and merry, you get married and bam! Happily ever after. Like i’m already not fucked up enough. This whole thing is fucking me up left right upside down and it’s tearing me apart.

I wish people would just stop asking what is going on because honestly? I don’t know either. How am i supposed to know? I wonder for how long more can i continue like this. Not here but not there. I feel cheap. Used. Dirty. What exactly am i doing?

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Because that’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.

– Stephanie Perkins

I thought diagnosis would cure me, that their bright medications in plain white boxes and silvered blister packaging would be the cure I needed to feel but stop feeling. I thought diagnosis would cure me.

I was wrong.

Diagnosis led to therapy, led to more diagnoses, more medications, more sleepless nights, more fracture lines in my head. Diagnosis led to more confusion and broke me more. I thought diagnosis would cure me.

I was wrong.

I thought being validated by medical professionals would fix things in my head. “Yes, you are ill, you shouldn’t be feeling this way.” It just caused more questions. Why me? Why am I feeling this way? What is so wrong in me that I can’t function normally? I thought validation would mean people would accept my quirks and broken pieces. I thought diagnosis would cure me.

I was wrong.

Diagnosis led to one thing and one thing alone, and it’s taken five years to get here: acceptance. I accept that I am broken, and now I have begun to heal. This is my journey. I accept that I am not whole, and now I am starting to fill in the blanks. That doesn’t mean it will work for you. But getting that diagnosis, the validation, someone accepting on your behalf that you are ill and need help, opens you up to accepting yourself. And accepting yourself is the beginning of recovery.

I think, in this, I am right.



  

to be

All i ever want out of this life is to be loved; to love.

For some ridiculous reason, i’m still going about my everyday life thinking that the one i’m destined to be with is just out there and we’re going to meet and fall passionately in love and live a passionate and beautiful life.

My priorities…

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