Expectations. Falling victim to the belief that anything is possible is a resounding failure from my youth; As a realistic “adult,” I can now rationalize why I didn’t get that job, or why I’m not good enough. I can understand that not everything is possible for everyone, and that I may just have drawn the short stick in life. The things I have going for me end up working against me…. and I stand alone. Crowded by thoughts, alone in the world, I stand. I stand until I fall, and then the falling never stops. Every time I think I have finally hit bottom, I realize it’s just another cliff I’m doomed to tumble down.
I don’t want to talk about myself because I know I’ll kill the mood. So I sit quietly. Quietly killing the light inside myself instead. My thoughts racing to find new ways to tell me what a disappointment I am. How I never amounted to even a shred of the person I’d envisioned. About how I have no goals, and I’m not worth depending on. “You’re ugly underneath and everyone will see it,” or “you are a complete failure, ending up exactly the opposite of what you wanted.”
People would notice if I disappeared, but probably 90% of those people would be debt collectors. I can’t describe this depression to just anyone because though my situation is less than ideal, this is not situational depression. This is major depressive disorder. I can’t escape it, it’s in my blood, it’s in my brains, it’s what I am inside. When someone with major depressive disorder finds themselves hitting rock bottom, intertwining “logic” and shame becomes the only thought process that seems to work properly.
I realize I need to do more, to be better- but I’m too embarrassed and ashamed to try.
I am immobilized; Instead, I sit and wonder how long before I waste away. How many more of these pointless days will I sit here waiting for death? Can I really handle an entire lifetime of just waiting to die? After all, the only things that will be left are cobwebs and distorted memories of a life I never lived correctly.