This post is going to be dark. Its going to take me a lot of courage to type and down and hit ‘Publish.’ There’s a good chance that I’ll just save it in drafts, like I did the others.
I published a post a few days back, telling that I was unlovable, but yet, I could accept the love of my best friend. I published that post, then things got too dark for me. I deleted it two days later.
Here I am, writing this down again, because I’m done being modest. I want to write the truth about my life as it is, without thinking that someone out there is judging me. I write because its the only way I know how to express myself. At this moment, I desperately need someone to talk to, but I’m all alone.
Today, I got too much to handle. Today, my best friend told me that she wanted out. Today, I was diagnosed with depression. I think the timing on her part was a little too bad. She could’ve waited a few weeks to tell me that our friendship had come to an end. But no. She decided to tell me this minutes after I told her about my depression.
Nothing triggered my depression. It was built up over time. I was emotionally abused as a child. My parents never physically abused me, nor was I ever sexually abused. I was emotionally abused. Years of screaming, yelling, throwing things around, waking up to my mother and father fight because he was drunk, that is the root cause of my depression. Not the fact that that I’ve been hurt more than I can count and I’m only in my mid-teens, neither that I can’t ever play Badminton again because I injured my back. But because I had a scarring childhood.
Today, in school, my best friend was angry at me for something I don’t remember doing. She slammed her book on my table hard. That exact moment took me back to when my dad used to throw things around and I used to jump. I jumped this time, too. For that second, I could see my father in her. It scared the living daylights out of me. I texted her in the evening, asking her if she was home. The conversation was meant to go down normal and end by a smiley and a good night. Instead, I told her about my depression. She told me that this was getting too much for her and that now, she wanted out. She told me that she deserved to be happy too and I was doing nothing about her happiness. She told me that I didn’t like any part of her life, her brother, her friends, anything, and that she was getting tired of choosing. She was tired of always having to choose me, when she could’ve chosen something so much better.
I meant it when I said that I’m like an infection. I’m freaking toxic. My darkness radiated off me and penetrated her innocent soul. She’s not the girl I poured my heart out to anymore. She’s not even the shadow of that person. She knows pretty damn well that I will not be able to take this loss. I just don’t have the emotional strength in me to fight anymore. My tears have dried. I can’t cry even if I want to. I can feel the demon inside of me scratching its way out of my chest. I want to howl-at-the-moon like cry, but my body won’t listen to me anymore. Even my own eyes have deceived me.
I’ve thought of a million ways to hurt myself. I wanted to pick up a razor and dig it deep into my thighs. I wanted to burn a matchstick and then de-flame it on my skin. I wanted to hurt myself in every way humanly possible.
I stopped myself.
That is because I knew that even if all the blood in my body will drain, the pain won’t suffice. The pain isn’t enough to make me forget. The pain isn’t good enough for anything, and that is why I didn’t harm myself.
It was my fault. The vicious cycle of letting someone in wasn’t going to leave any exceptions. Like all the ones before her, she has decided to leave me wounded, too. It hadn’t been four days since I’d started accepting that I could be loved, too. That I deserved to be happy, too. It had been four freaking days.
Now, everything was back to normal. Me being in a perpetual night, and the person that I could trust giving up on me. This is normal for me. This will always be normal for me. Today, I’m unlovable again. Today, I’m again a cold-hearted bitch. I guess I’ll just always be cold, callous, and unloved.