Dear... Anyone
I’m depressed, and I can’t tell anyone.
I get told to be strong, that I have to put on a bold face. But I’m scared. I’m tired. I’m tired of my family telling me we’re going through a rough time, as though that’s an excuse for snapping at me.
I’m upset that my grandmother is dying and I’m not allowed to feel worse than anyone else. That everyone, all of a sudden, has it worse than me. That my own mental illness is pushed aside because it’s “controllable” and not “physical.” I can’t control ripping my hair out. I can’t control peeling back my skin. I wake up at 6:30 and drive almost an hour to work, leave at 3:15, and you all complain because I say I don’t want to drive after a long day. Nothing I ever do is good enough for you, but you get mad when I say that. I’m never allowed to admit I’m unhappy, because then you play the victim.
And I can’t tell my college friends, I’ve put on too strong a happy face. And I always tell my high school friends, they deserve a break. And my siblings are the same.
I just need catharsis. I need to know what to do. I’m so so very unhappy. And I’m tired of it being blamed on PMS or mood swings. Depression fucking exists, and it’s not just being sad all the time. Maybe if you all acknowledged my problems instead of brushing them off, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But no. You always know better. I’m just the spazz in the family that you love but don’t really care enough to understand.
I just want someone to understand.