The D – word.

Depression. Depression. Depression. Depression.  Depression. Depression.
Depression.Depression. Depression.Depression. Depression.Depression. Depression.Depression.

DEPRESSION.

I hate that word. I feel like it’s one of those words you throw around until it loses it’s meaning and everyone gets sick of hearing it; kind of like how That One Friend™ always talks about something they did over and over again and you can’t even roll your eyes far enough. I remember the first time I realized I had depression; it felt like a dark, dirty secret I had to keep at all costs. Now I basically introduce myself like “Hi, I’m Depressed!” The word has no meaning to me anymore.

I don’t know if I even am depressed anymore; I haven’t felt like I actually wanted to die in months. Actually, I don’t even know if I had depression, or was it just a heartbreak that went on for two years. My therapist did diagnose me with a moderate depression but is it true? What do heartbreaks feel like? I felt worthless, like a waste of space and like the world would be better off without me. I felt disgusted with myself, I felt sorry that people had to see me with their own eyes, and I even made a list with all my flaws written on it. I tried cutting myself and I used to cry for several hours every day. Well, I still don’t feel like I’m worth much and I have nothing to offer to the world but now instead of being bothered and sorry about it, I just don’t care.

I don’t care that I don’t have a lot of friends, I don’t care that no one likes me, I don’t care that I’m probably never going to be anything and I’ll probably die alone surrounded by my horde of pet dogs who’ll eat my rotting corpse. Instead of being sorry that I exist, I have taken a different approach. More like… Make way for the Queen! I’m not sure if my new overly confident approach to life is any better, because the confidence is an act, but it sure feels better than being sorry. I think I’m overcompensating my inferiority complex by acting like… Well, a bitch.

As I said I haven’t felt like I wanted to die for a few months now. A year ago it happened almost every week; every week I got the feeling that I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to kill myself but I wanted to go away, preferably for a long period of time. I spent days thinking about death in general, how it affects people and if I were to die, how many people would attend my funeral. I was constantly seeking validation and I emotionally attacked my friends for every minor thing, because I was sure they all hated me. I twisted their words to suit my logic of all of them wanting me dead, then overreacted because of that and confronted them about it. We have worked things out since then, we’ve set some boundaries and I haven’t thought that way of my friends in a long time. I’m here so ya’ll are going to have to deal with me!

But how strong am I? Just because I haven’t felt like that in a while doesn’t mean that I won’t ever feel it again. Will the thing that sets me off be big or small? How much will it take before I break down again? Am I broken right now but just ignoring it? Maybe I’m not the stone cold bitch I want to be think I am. It would be so much easier not to feel, never get attached and therefore never miss or lose anything. Yet just today I caught myself tearing up while watching a music video where the singer was laying alone on the desert floor ready to give up, and her friends came running to her because they knew she wasn’t okay and needed help. I want friends like that.

Well that went a bit deeper than I intended to but I have a habit of getting sidetracked, but here’s a funny coinkydink to distract you from the fact that I personally love to over-analyze everything and suffer:

Here’s what I can’t back away from: so many of my favorite bands and artists are coming to Finland next summer, and when the tickets went on sale… I didn’t buy them, because I assumed I would be on the other side of the world by the time of the concerts.

– Me, literally a week ago, on this blog

Yes well, originally my plan was to blow everything off and go to Australia before the end of May. Well. Heh. Well. I maaaaayyyyy just have to postpone my travel date to July because situations have risen, stars have aligned, gods have been merciful and festivals have announced bands. I really don’t want to postpone leaving because what if postponing it by 6 weeks turns in to postponing by a few months or even years? But still!!! The first week of July isn’t that far from the last week of May, right? =D

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