Blah...I looked at the bottle of pills again this morning. I don't know if I was really going to open it and take a bunch. I just felt the need to take the bottle out of the bathroom drawer and hold it in my hand for a minute, staring at the tiny pills through the orange plastic container while tears blurred my vision. It's a bottle full of presc
I think of what my family would have to go through if I did that. I think about my best friend who has promised to "come look for me" if I ever did something like that. I think about how suicide is really a cowardly option and I put the bottle back in the drawer. I continue to cry. I look at the bloody spots on my legs and feel so much shame. I've been ripping the same scabs off of myself for the longest time.
All the days blend together. All the nights are the same. I think I probably need help, but I don't even know how to go about asking for it. I have the hardest time getting people to take me seriously when I say the word "depression." Last time I mentioned it to my mom she got sort of frustrated with me.
Of course, I hide it well. I'm very good at smiling when I'm around people. But then when I'm in my room, I can spend hours trapped in my own brain. I replay things that have happened in my life and I find myself constantly feeling bad for so many things.
I was diagnosed once but didn't take the medication. I started to take it but it didn't really agree with me. It was for the good ole depression/anxiety combo pack and it made me more anxious than I already was. It also made me feel emotionally numb. I stopped taking it, deciding that I would rather experience sadness than nothing at all.
But right now, it's sadness all the time. And it's exhausting.