It’s regrettable.  You don’t make an effort to communicate with me, and my excitement just disappears concerning the things I tell you because clearly you could care less.  Just makes it all easier for me to care less, but the difference between us is that it hurts me to do so.

It might have become obvious by now, but I just need to speak on it.

In January I was diagnosed with depression after I attempted to swallow down a vial of pills chased with a sleep elixir. January 10th was my breaking point…things weren’t improving with my family, school was draining all of my energy, and life was just not the place to be for me anymore. As I type, a knot filled with all of my caged sadness and resent for that day and that feeling comes up in my throat and unleashes the painful memory. Today I’m here…six months later. Still here…after my attempt, I started seeking help. I was seeing a counselor once a week and a psychiatrist once a month. They prescribed me a pill to take daily…(ironic how when you take a whole vial of pills and they give you more, huh?) Anyways, I was extremely hesitant to take anything because of all the things I’ve heard about addiction - I didn’t want a pill to run my life, but at the same time I wanted the quickest way to overcome my demons. Most medication takes about two months until you start to see the effects, but the catch is that depression can be caused by multiple things. There are different chemicals used to fuel the brain and sometimes an imbalance is present that triggers over emotional feelings, like anger, sadness, suicidal.

Two months went by. A blur, I was constantly sleeping and my appetite had diminished. I felt like I was walking in a fog with my only hope being the tiny speck of light that it was the cure against a formidable tunnel of black. I never wanted to feel that way again, so alone. After two months I was back at home for the summer, and the medication wasn’t working so I stopped taking it. And all at once, the disorienting fog parted to bring the black hole back. Anxiety became an addition to my depression and I’d frequently break out in panic attacks followed by just sitting, holding myself in my room trying to get the feelings to stop. I don’t even know why I’m sad still, but I have a problem with self esteem and the smallest things cause me the most grief…I feel like I’ve come a long way for what I can do for myself, by myself so far. But there’s nothing that haunts you more than knowing that your emotions are out of your own control. I know I’ve kept myself cooped up this summer because I don’t want to expose this, or I didn’t. I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed to admit it to myself, God knows how low I’d feel if everyone who knows me, used to know me, knew.

Today I’m meeting a new psychiatrist, and he’s supposed to be very helpful. I start a new trial of medication today, and while I know it’s important for me to keep trying now I’m so scared that if this doesn’t ever stop then I’ll just be drugged up and sad forever. But I can’t hide the facts anymore. So often I just want to talk to someone, just to feel better. Just to feel like I’m worth it, worth something. I’m hoping that today will be an improvement but the doubt lingers more than the hope.

I think admitting it is part of it too, so I’m giving it a shot. I don’t want pity, I don’t want you to worry. I just hope for strength and genuine words of kindness from time to time until I can overcome this.

I sincerely miss the way we used to conversate, wide awake. Fresh laughter and afternoon naps to rejuvenate the repetitions of staying up late. Topic changes, vocal ranges and something, a someone to ring. I think where this is going is predictable though because I did indicate that my description has been out of date.

Sighs.

I’m conducting a train filled with bad habits lately. Relying on items of substance to displace my restlessness and moments of misery.

I don’t call this recovery, I call this covering.

I just hugged my mom and told her that I love her for the first time in a long time.

Everything seems like it’s falling into place and I’m happy.

It’s another late night, stuck in the routine of advanced alertness while the neighbors are asleep. I feel like I’m rubbed so much rawer at this hour, more aware of the subtle clues that surround me. I kind of like it though. I know it’s just me thinking, and nobody can change the conclusions that I settle on. Nobody’s even up to try to think about anything to do with me. It’s nice sometimes, like tonight. Sometimes.