My biggest fear is being too difficult to be loved. That scares me, every part of me. At times I sit and ponder on what the meaning of life is. What do we live for? What am I doing here? And what is the point of it all? Depression doesn’t make this any easier. At the end of July I received the results from my psych evaluation. It came back with three diagnoses. One of those being Major Depressive Disorder. A label I just then realized I could claim. I learned that I never wanted to be one of those people who took labels and claimed them when they weren’t even theirs. When they really didn’t understand the depths of what it really meant to live that life.
Major Depressive Disorder. It makes every task a little bit more difficult than it should. It takes something as simple as brushing your teeth and creates this vision that it is the highest mountain to climb. The most steep and treacherous walk, climb, hike. Days that should feel simple are long, dragged out, impossibly built. How can I stay awake for sixteen hours? What am I supposed to fill my time with if it’s not eating and endlessly scrolling through my phone while I sit in the company of others waiting for them to leave so I can return to my peaceful space of cleanliness and nothingness. I have class after this and I can barely stand being here right now. My brain is rotting and overflowing with information. (I’ve been in class for less than an hour.) All I can think about is applying for that job, so I can do anything but rot in my bed on the weekends.
