I don't want to admit I have it. The D word. The word that no teenager (or anyone) wants to face, wants to realize they have. It's gotten to the point where I wish I weren't alive. Weren't feeling this suffering, dull, sadness anymore. I walk around with demons in my heart and my mind in a place no one's should go. I can't talk to people about it. I still really can't. I don't feel like trying, like trying to get the words out because it's too painful, no one understands. I don't want to burden them. Make them think I'm already more crazy than I know I am.
I hate being this way. I hate wishing I were better off dead, better off not here on this earth as a burden to people. This feeling is the most heinous feeling in the world. The fact that it even exists perplexes me. No one may understand what it feels like but the individual, a gnawing death creeping into your subconscious and taking everything you have left away.
I haven't felt happy in the longest time. I don't laugh. I don't smile. I just don't. It's never been a part of me and sometimes I wonder if it ever will. People are always telling me to smile. That I look beautiful when I smile. That my face lights up. That I look happy. I smile for them, but it never means anything. It never means what it should.
I knew I had to tell someone about all of this. That I just couldn't keep these awful feelings, awful thoughts to myself. All I wanted to do was sleep. To be alone in my room. I pushed away my family, Matthew, you all. All I wanted was to be alone and drown it all out. I knew it wasn't healthy, knew it wasn't right. But I did it anyways.
Tonight I went over to Matt's. I had left my house in an angry mood, yelling at my parents for some silly, meangingless thing. I hated myself for doing that to them. For being so unworthy of their love, their affection. A loveless child who really didn't deserve anyone. At Matt's, I laid on his bed, just hating everything, hating my life, myself, the way I am. I hated the fact that I'm not fun, that I can't make him laugh, that I always want to sleep, that I'm not beautiful, that I don't exercise, that I'm not who I used to be. With every passing moment I hated myself more. I sat there crying on his bed, him asking me what was wrong and I couldn't talk. The more he yelled at me to say something, the more I just couldn't. I hated myself even more for doing this to him, for me doing this to our relationship. Screwing it all up because I'm a screw up. Always have been, always will be. Unlovable Lauren. I left, crying, mascara running down my face, disappointing him and myself even more.
I drove away, knowing exactly where I wanted to go. The nature center. Where I take my pictures. I drove up to it, feeling disgusted with myself and my ruined face which was black and stained, puffy and ugly. A couple was kissing as I pulled up, and I knew that would never be me because who could love a being such as myself?
I ran on the trail, seeking refuge from this life I live. Away from it all. Far, far away. I went to the watch tower, the place that overlooks my whole town. Another couple occupied it. I ran further away into the woods, gasping for air and tears blurring my vision. My eyes stung with the makeup in them and I hated everything, wanting just to lay in the woods and never come out.
I sat on the wooden bridge crying. Talking to God in a hoarse whisper why he would do this to me. What I did to deserve feeling so miserable, why I'm never happy. Why I got depression. I was angry at him, yelling at him to help me...God, help me. I would do anything. I knew I was undeserving, was so undeserving of being helped but I told him I would do anything to be rid of this terrible feeling I'm always left with. I sat there crying, wishing I would have the courage to put all of this misery to an end but I knew I never could and never would. I'm too much of a coward but it's something I'm thankful for. I thought about hanging myself in those woods, an evil disgusting thought I'm so ashamed to type. I hate myself for it and it only makes me seem more crazy. At that point, that low point I knew enough was enough. I'm not going to sit here thinking about which branch I'd like to hang myself on. I need to get help.
I called my mother. I met her at Mcdonald's. She talked me though everything, soothed me through with words I don't deserve. She is the most incredible, life saving person alive. And I am more thankful for her than words express.I'm going to get help. I deserve help, I deserve to be happy. It's clear I have depression. I've always known that but never done anything about it. We're going to make a doctor's appointment to get on some medication and I'm going to start going to a therapist again. Writing helps, too.
I wish I didn't have to write about these sort of things on my blog. I wish I could tell you all fun, beautiful stories of my life. I wish I could paint you pictures of my perfect life, my perfect relationships, and my perfect thoughts. I wish I could be strong, could hold myself together, be a role model for you all. Sometimes I can't do any of these things though. Actually 99% of the time and I'm so disappointed I can't be so much more for you all. At the end of the day I'm a real girl and this is a real blog. I can't write about what I'm not like, what I don't know. I know what pain feels, I know what depression feels, and I know what loneliness feels. I know you all don't want to hear about all this. You have your own problems to deal with, you don't need a teenage girl's to boot. But I needed to write this. I need to keep writing what I feel. I can't speak, but I can write. All I could think about in those woods was wanting to write. Of wanting a journal to document these feelings, let it all out, and be me.
I want to get better. I want to be happy. I want to get Lauren back.
Maybe tonight can be the first step to that.
With much love, Lauren.