Not Everyone Is Happy.

I woke up again. Why. Why didn’t I fall asleep into an endless slumber where no hurt, pain or fear could haunt me again? I don’t want to be here and I don’t know why. It hurts to breath. Food disgusts me. My friends have lost interest in seeing me because I never return their phone calls. Why should I return their phone calls, I am of no use to anybody. I’m a mistake. My parents love me – or so they say – but would I really be missed if I ended it now? God, I wish I had the strength and courage to do just that. But I’m a pussy, a scared little coward who can’t even  end her own life. And who am I to even comprehend the thought that I would be missed? Why am I so damn special? I’m not. I’m broken and I can’t be fixed. I cry without reason. I hurt without physical injury. My whole life is a fuck-up and the world would be a better place without me.


That was me 5 years ago.

Scary, isn’t it?

Unless you’ve been through the hell that is depression, you don’t know the meaning of hell. Words can’t describe the true horror that goes through the head of a depressed individual.

I bring this up for several reasons: 1) I am no longer afraid, 2) This IS a big deal and needs to be discussed at length & 3) This affects EVERYONE.

Yep, seniors too.

She wanders the hall looking for her room not realizing that it’s 2 doors down from where she just looked. “I feel like an idiot, I can never remember where I live”. The tears stain her beautiful complexion and I hand her a tissue. “I wish I wasn’t here. I don’t want to live.” This saddens me as I know all too well the feelings she is expressing. A hug comforts her and she softly sobs into my shoulder. “I know how you feel” I whisper in her ear. She looks at me confused, puzzled, as if she thinks I am lying. I don’t blame her, when you feel like this you don’t think anyone understands. “But I do,” I say softly, and something changes in her face. Her eyes are brighter and if I’m not mistaken I think I see a slight smile forming. She knows I’m not lying.

Everyone’s pain is different. When you’re old, everyone you know is dead and you’re not in your own home anymore the fear must skyrocket through the roof. I can’t make it go away, but I can assure you the one thing everyone in this mess wants to be reminded of: You’re not alone.

Sometimes that’s all that matters.

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