Have you ever just felt so dead inside because you’re trying to be something you’re not? Well… I am not happy. I’m depressed and miserable. Why do I waste so much time pretending I’m not? I know the answer to this and its honestly kind of sad. The reason I spend so much time pretending Im not depressed is because of the people around me. They will judge me or they won’t be able to handle it when the truth comes out and so for their sake, I pretend I’m fine.
I wake up, have a hot cup of coffee, and put on my “I’m ok” face for work. In reality I am not ok. What I am is hopeless, unmotivated, lazy, sad, worrisome, full of despair, dark, mean, angry, loathsome, and gloomy. I’m afraid for anyone to know how depressed I am… so afraid even that I’m too scared to get professional help. I don’t know where to begin looking for a therapist or even if I want to look at all. I would have to share my inner most demons with some stranger… how do you even begin that process? “Hi I’m August and my deepest darkest secret is…” And it’s not like writing a blog, I share my secrets with strangers every day, but this would be different. This would be face to face. I would be held accountable, out loud in real life, for what I was saying and doing and how I was acting. I would be ripped open and exposed and possibly even feel worse about myself. I’m just not ready for that yet.
Even though I know deep down inside that I need help, theres always this little hope in me that one day I’ll reach a glorious epiphany and all my troubles will wash away with the tides. There’s also a part of me that knows I mustn’t be the only one who thinks that. I can’t be the only one who needs help and doesn’t want to find it. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks they can solve their own problems, be their own knight in shining armor. If I am the only one who thinks this… well then I must be more fucked up than I realized. I just want to be there for myself. Love and support myself. But thats the problem in the first place isn’t it? I’m so full of self hatred and disgust that I can’t be happy. I can’t do those things that I need myself to do, and yet Im too cowardly to find someone who can. I keep telling everyone “I’m fine” when I’m not.