I’ve never really been one to talk to others about my bouts with depression, I have in past tense but rarely while I’m battling it. Even though we live in a time now where we can freely express our mental awareness with no shame, I still keep my bouts with loneliness and depression a secret to others so I could stay strong for everyone else. I’m afraid to have someone seem like my issues seem as little or as big as the next person for them to say to “get over it” or “deal with it” because for them to lend an ear seems like the biggest favor in the world at times. These are the kind of people I would not come to for emotional support, or to ask to be held (or hugged) for a sense of security was especially out of the question. This particularly counts when it comes to my immediate family since they were never one I could come to with my problems, no matter what I say at what age I’m “too young to experience stress.” I remember even before my father’s unfortunate passing that I felt this sadness about him for years because he was an alcoholic and I grew bitter that we didn’t have a better relationship because of it. Around the time I accepted his behavior was something I couldn’t fix was right before he passed away, and with his passing came a new form of emptiness that strikes me from time to time.
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- Created on 11/22/19, tried to write it 3 times since then but decided to retire and reveal it. The last attempt was 1/5/20.
- This first paragraph was going to talk about family, the second was fame, third was love.
- It was difficult to speak about depression so much so that I had to be in a very dark place to write, I didn’t want to sink myself that low anymore to get a good story out of it so I’m letting it go.
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