A Drafted Post

**This post was in my drafts, dated back to July 9, 2011. I had written it when I suffered from severe depression. Although I have not fully recovered from my battle with depression, I am much more stable and rarely ever feel the way I felt at the time in my life when I had written this. However, I’m choosing to share it, although it is short and probably not as powerful as I’d like it to be; because lately I’ve seen so much about depression and suicide. It’s a truly debilitating disease that is hard to understand unless you yourself have suffered or are currently suffering from it. The hardest part about being depressed, I believe, is how guilty I felt when my loved ones tried as hard as they could to help me but there was really nothing they could do. It left me feeling guilty for feeling the way I did, and wishing so badly I could be the person they missed, but that person was gone. I am so thankful for the support I had during those times when I struggled to find who I was again. Instead of telling me only I can control it, or “to just think positively”, they only SUPPORTED me and tried as best as they could to understand what I was feeling and going through. Depression is not selfish, suicide is not selfish. It is not a decision someone in their right mind would choose. For those who are suffering, please just stay strong. I know you don’t feel it right now, but there is a light at the end of the very dark tunnel you’re stuck in. You’ll find it.
Anyway, below is my drafted post from a while back!**

She cries uncontrollably as she kneels on her bedroom floor, hands around the back of her neck, repeating to herself how she just can’t take this agony anymore. Negativity and feelings of deep sorrow pulse through her body, infecting her brain and she has lost all but her ability to feel. But all she can feel is pain; pain and anguish and intense hatred toward herself. And yet, as she feels all of this, wishing it would just go the hell away, she tells herself this is better than the times when she doesn’t feel at all.

Because when she doesn’t feel at all, she ceases to exist; that is, at least in her own mind. The mind that so desperately wants to see positivity in a new day, but somehow can’t defeat the monster completely diminishing any glimmer of hope. And her mind is stuck in her body; the body that has basically lost it’s ability to function. As she opens her eyes to a new day, she buries her face back up with her covers and for a brief moment, she is disappointed she woke up yet again. Her mind tells her she should get up, but her body refuses to listen, and her mind doesn’t feel the need to fight back because what is the point?

What’s the point in getting up? What’s the point in getting myself ready? What’s the point in checking my phone? What’s the point in socializing? She stares at the wall in her bedroom and knows that this is all she can handle for the day. And though all happiness has vanished from her body, she does not cry because when you feel worthless, what’s the point in tears?

But right now, as she feels disappointment and despair weighing heavy on her shoulders, she drowns herself in tears, placing her hand on her chest where she feels that deep pain in her heart that she swears is being ripped out. And as she begs for it all to be over, she stops to tell herself that it is better to feel something, than nothing at all.

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