"This is the truth. This is all that I am afraid to say. This is all that I've been hiding and keeping. This is what I've been going through. This is for you. I know you'll never read this. I know you'll never see it. If you do, you probably won't believe me. But I'm saying it anyway."
Warning: It's going to be biased and childish and I am going to blame everyone around me but myself. It is going to be whiny and annoying and oh so filled with angst.
I am depressed. Not sad. Not dramatic. Not lazy or ungrateful or hormonal. I am depressed.
I know you can't understand that. Why would you? You know nothing outside of that little box you surround yourself with. Anything you don't understand can't possibly be true, right? Well, it is. I am part of your life and you see me go through it every single day. You scream at me about it. You complain and scold me as if it's something that I can change in a matter of seconds. But you don't really see it, do you? You don't see what it's done to me and what I've been putting myself through. You see but you don't see. It's been years and you're still utterly blind.
I've been alone and surrounded by darkness all this time. I've been harming myself and hurting myself. Thoughts of death are the only solutions to the problems that others seem to handle with ease. I've had no one. All this time, I had no one. You were there, but you weren't there. It always got worse when I was around you, because being around you was a constant reminder of my nothingness. Being around you, so fond of seeing nothing but yourself and your problems, showed me that I didn't exist. Not in your world. You spoke so highly of everyone but me. Always. I was always to blame when another was clearly at fault. You were so fond of finding ridiculous loop holes just so you could put the blame on me. You never knew that I could not handle even the slightest blow to my already low self-esteem. You never knew how hard I cried afterwards, how I had trouble breathing and moving, how the only thing I knew how to do was to crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep in a fetal position.
I was so lonely all this time that I made friends of my own. Friends that weren't real. Friends that held me when it got too bad and told me that they would make it better. Friends that bandaged my wounds and tried all their best to distract me for the oncoming storm that would haunt me if they left. They always left. Because that's how I knew people.
All the while you were outside my bedroom door, completely oblivious to my suffering. You lived your life with petty burden and you complained about them as loudly as you could, as if everyone in the world needed to hear of it. I was loud too. You just chose not to hear me. I was screaming for help and you went on as if it was just a gust of wind.
There comes a point in life where you get tired of blaming yourself, when all the mistakes and faults you've acquired just pile up inside of you that there's no room for anymore. So you throw the blame on someone else. That's what I'm doing now. I'm blaming you. I'm blaming you because I no longer have the motivation and drive to do even the most menial of tasks. I'm blaming you because leaving my bedroom takes such Herculean effort. I'm blaming you because I think of ending it everyday. I'm blaming you because I have no other means of fixing it. I'm blaming you because I am unable to interact with people without the fear of a man walking to his execution. I am blaming you because even the simplest things can trigger the harshest of tears. I am blaming you because I can no longer bare to blame myself. I am blaming you because I can no longer survive another reason to hate myself. I am blaming you because you are here and yet I am still completely alone. I am blaming you because I no longer know what to do.