ᝰ.ᐟ depressed or lazy?

it takes everything from you, until it takes your life.

[TW: sensitive topics]

I remember holding her for the first time. I didn’t understand how that little girl had saved me until years later, and she may never know.

My childhood was interesting, to say the least. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. We had financial problems for most of my early years. I know my Mom tried to keep it a secret, but no one could keep a secret from me.

Mom and Dad always seemed stressed and tired. Dad was rarely home and when he was, he either slept or watched TV.

Mom slept a lot too.

I knew we didn’t have a lot of money, so, I rationalized in my mind that; maybe if they didn’t have so many mouths to feed, they’d be alright. It’s concerning the amount of times I thought about jumping off the balcony of our fourth floor condo.

My fear of heights and my little sister being born a few months later were the only things that kept me from climbing over that banister.

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As I got older, I got better at hiding my urges as they got worse. I didn’t want to burden my parents with the cost of a therapist and my siblings with the embarrassment of a sibling in counseling.

Ignoring my feelings was easy—I had a lot to do during the day with both my parents working. Then, my Mom stopped working, we moved to another state, and I wasn’t busy enough to ignore my feelings anymore.

I still had schoolwork to do—which was slightly harder than it was before because I was in middle school now—but even that wasn’t enough to keep me occupied all the time.

I don’t remember how I came to the idea of harming myself, but I did. First, I used kiddie scissors, pinching my skin but not piercing it. It didn’t leave scars and it made me feel good.

I don’t know why other people cut, but I do it because I enjoy it. I’m aware that makes me sound insane—and maybe I am—but it’s true. It quiets my mind—the thoughts that run a million miles an hour and that I have no control over.

Voices in my head that tell me I don’t matter, that no one would miss me, my friends don’t like me, my family would be better off without me—among others.

I’ve lost the ability to sleep normally because of these voices and feelings. I can’t sleep at night, I can’t get up in the morning. I set my alarm for five but it takes me three hours to roll out of bed.

It takes me hours to fall asleep at night. I’ve started sleeping in the dark—under the advise of a friend—to fall asleep quicker. It worked at first. For a few days, I fell asleep around ten every night. Then it stopped working. I’d lay there, staring at the ceiling for hours, until I’d finally give in and go on my phone.

Surfing the internet is easier than falling asleep at night or dragging myself out of bed in the morning. It’s easier than showering, brushing my teeth, or doing my hair.

I’m not embarrassed to admit that I’ve gone almost a week without showering. The thought of dragging myself out of bed to do all the work it takes to make my hair look good exhausts me.

I know my parents and siblings have noticed that hygiene isn’t exactly a priority for me right now. But they don’t seem to understand why.

They make jokes about how I don’t brush my teeth and I laugh along even though I don’t think it’s funny because what else am I going to do?

How can I tell them that I’m too tired to take care of myself? Would they understand? Would they even care?

I suppose not brushing my teeth isn’t too much of a problem though, since I don’t eat much. I could go days without eating—until it feels like my organs are squeezing me to death and I can barely stand.

I don’t do it on purpose though. I just forget. And by the time I remember, I’m too tired to go downstairs to find something to eat.

I’m tired all the time, actually, no matter how long I sleep. I slept for twelve hours once and was tired again just two hours after waking up. (I’m aware that there might be a serious medical condition causing this.)

I haven’t studied consistently in years. I haven’t been outside for longer than ten minutes since I was thirteen. And this is the first time I’ve written anything longer than a text message in months.

My Mom wants to put me counseling. It took her thirteen years to realize that something was wrong with me. Something she couldn’t fix.

I don’t know if counseling will help. I hope it will. I pray it does. Because I don’t like feeling like this.

♡