The Pain Never Goes Away

I loathe my childhood. I don't ever remember being happy. For years I struggled with depression. I was a bit of a mute when I was younger. Everything that ever happened to me, I never spoke about. Every time I tried to say how I really felt, my mouth would open but no sound would ever project from it, not even a whisper...then I would just cry...cry myself to sleep mostly.

I thought I was normal. I thought that bliss only came in handfuls. To tell you the truth, until this day, being happy makes me feel uncomfortable sometimes. When I was about 13 I developed a sudden interest in writing, poetry mostly. My English teacher always looked forward to what I had in stored for her to read. She deeply appreciated my writing. I never even knew that I was capable of writing anything that was worth reading. I guess reading Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickinson, and Shakespeare really paid off. She inspired me to keep writing. I started to write about my emotions, since I hard such a hard time expressing them. I felt such a relief afterward, but it never changed anything...

I thought I was just sad...When someone tells you to your face that what you're feeling is not normal, it really does **** with you. I didn't know how to feel any other way...I didn't know I could feel another way. As my depression grew worse, I became more self destructive.

Not eating turned into being anorexic

Cutting turned into burning

I would drink myself almost to death                                                                                                                                                                                                             

From weed I turned to hard drugs                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

I became a cocaine addicted

I felt so lost. That was the only way that I would handle my pain. When things started to look better, is when things took their turn for the worse. I quit all my bad habits. One day I just stopped doing drugs, and I've never went back to them. I took a year to myself to think about everything...and I finally just decided to the live my life the best I could. It's been over a year since I've been depressed. I battle with it everyday to make sure that it doesn't consume me. This might sound good and all, but it's still there. It awaits in the back of my mind, the slightest thing can set it off again. I think I really would die....

Maybe I should had found help along time ago...but I didn't...And it's too late now...I wouldn't even know where to begin.

I don't understand why it's so hard from me...to left myself be happy

"When the rest of heaven was blue, of a demon in my view." -Edgar Allan Poe

 

 

                                                                                                         

Olvidatedemi Olvidatedemi
22-25, F
3 Responses Feb 28, 2010

@JoeyFoxx I fully understand and appreciate what you are saying. I would like to seek professional help but my family doesn't believe in anyone seeing therapist. My mother believes that therapy is only for nut jobs. I am old enough now to go see one but I don't even have the money for it, and even if I did I wouldn't be able to get help until I move out of my house. When I said "I wouldn't even know where to begin," there's a lot that has happened to me...things that appear vague to me now. There's just so much to say I don't even know where to start.

Joey makes good sense.

Like I said in another story. There are people who can help you if you will reach out to them.