Its been two years. Two years since I got depression. It’s been one since I’ve been off the meds. Sometimes though, I wonder if any time has passed at all. Just to clarify, I’m fifteen at the moment and, on the outside most of the time, a happy-go-lucky, somewhat slack but intelligent teenage girl with the stigma of ‘a social life is too high maintenance’. On the inside though, I wonder about myself. Sure, I know that since I’m a teenager I’m supposed to be going through a stage of self discovery and all that crap. But, I wonder if the adults that spout that crap remember how scary it is sometimes to not know, without a doubt, who you really are? Or is that just me?
If I’m not emotionally distancing myself behind what I like to think is a wall of figurative solid steel, then I’m all over the place either getting frustrated at the tiniest thing or wallowing in self pity and memories of a time I’d rather forget. My mum only seems to comfort me in my imagination now, and I can confidently say that I’ve gotten a lot better at lying to her and everyone else around me when they ask ‘you okay?’. Then again, I like to think I’ve always been good at lying when it came to hiding my feelings.
Sure, I’m better than I was and having indulged in self harm in a few months, although I seem to think about it a little more than what makes me comfortable. Even so, I REFUSE to go back to that useless man who called himself a psychiatrist. He was one of the easiest ones to lie to. Yes, I was doing well in school. Yes, I had fun with friends. Yes, I’m feeling great today. Lies. Lies. Lies.
I feel like a ghost in my own life. I slack off and don’t do my homework. I pretend to be a straight-A student. I pretend to be a girl who isn’t terrified of people getting close to her. I pretend that I don’t care about the father I swear to everyone I’ve forgotten about. I pretend to be the best older sister that I can. I pretend to be a normal teenage girl who goes to school and has a part time job. I pretend to be someone I’m not.
Then again, who am I anyway?
Am I that frightened girl locked inside who hates others getting close to her, who is always over thinking things and knows how to put on an award-winning smile? Or am I the girl who gets good grades, chats with friends, writes stories and sings in the shower?
I’m afraid the sadness is coming back. I’m afraid it’ll eat me up again, but instead not let me go. I’m afraid that no one has the time of day for me anymore because my lies are too well told. I know they’re not mind readers…. Sometimes I wish they were, but really wish they aren’t. Who would want to experience the half-assed jumble I call thoughts inside my brain?
Like always, I guess I’m just surfing for sympathy, cause ice cream and dreadful poetry stopped working.
April 30, 2012