I won't be a hypocrite

This post is really hard for me to write.

This post, is an open letter to my Depression.


Dear Depression,

I've never been the type of person to beat around the bush, or at least I try not to. So, let me say this loud and clear: I hate you. You have been with me for so long, since I was young, since I was about seven or eight. I remember the first time you came to visit me. You stole everything from me. You stole my joy and happiness, you stole my smile, you stole my laughter and you stole my ability to see anything good. You are a miserable, disgusting thief who preys on my thoughts. You stole a piece of my heart that I will never get back and leeched yourself in -like the parasite that you are- into its place. I have tried to pry you away, smash you, burn you, cut you loose but you have clamped yourself into my heart and become a part of me that I will carry for the rest of my life.

I hate you for that.

The other day, you came to visit me; you are a selfish bastard for that. You reminded me how hard it is to be the strong one in my relationship, which currently resides in shambles and heartache. You reminded me of the insurmountable pressure that boils within me when I have to wear that strength on my shoulders day in and day out. You reminded me that normal humans feel weak, that normal humans have vices that they get to indulge in when times get heavy. You reminded me what your vice is.

I can't remember the last time I cried the way that I did the other day. I'm sure, however, that the last time I did cry like that; you were to blame. My entire soul felt like it was abandoning me. I felt lost, I felt weak, I felt helpless and instead of helping me you wrapped me in your cocoon of darkness. You blinded me from light and went about your thieving ways. You stole my reasoning, you stole my strength, you stole my sanity. I felt insane sitting there: rocking, sobbing, thrashing. You put those scissors in my hands and made me believe that it was okay to go against everything I stand for.

"Do it," you whispered. I hate how your voice sounds so comforting. I hate how your voice feels like the only love that I will ever feel. I hate the way you hold me in the pitch blackness of my heart and convince me to do the stupidest things. You are a leech.

I sliced a cut on the top of my hand. Five days later, it is still visible. You leave me with these scars, these reminders that no matter how abusive our relationship gets, no matter how much I want to leave: you never will.

I hate you.

I hate how much I wanted to stop but no matter how many times I tried to, I still fought back for those scissors. I wanted those scissors more than I wanted anything in life. I didn't want life at all, you stole that from me too. My will to live. You make me want to die. You leech, you liar, you thief.

You try to tell me that everything will be okay if I just give in. But it isn't. You make it all so much worse. Everything within me that you touch turns to rot and rust. It takes so much love, self-love, romantic love, platonic love, to restore what you destroy. So much effort goes into fixing what you break and you just love that. You love it because you know that after so many times of having to be fixed it will all become too much for me. You know that once I start thinking that it is too much work for me, that I'll start thinking about the people I love and the things that I put them through. You put my emotions on a loop, this endless cycle until you can crawl your way back into my life and reign supreme.

You lie to me and hurt me, Depression. I never asked for you to be here, I never wanted you around but you waltzed into my life and decided that I deserved pain, chaos, hurt, and tears. You made me hate the people around me. I have lost people because of you. You made me hate myself, you made me try to take my life more times than I can count. You try to take everything that is good away from me.  My self-love and acceptance, my friends, my motivation and drive for excellence, my passions like writing and drawing. You have stolen so much from me, you piece of sh#t.

You are nothing more than a bully. You have pushed me around and made me feel less than for so, so long. I can't stand it. I hate the way you make me feel. You cannot have me. Do you understand me? You cannot have me. I may be stuck with you, you may forever be a piece of me but hear my words and know them to be the absolute truth: YOU.CANNOT.HAVE ME.

I will not die because of you. I will not wither away into nothingness because of you. You may cause me to have breakdowns, missteps, setbacks, and relapses but you will NEVER conquer me. I will take back the things you rob from me, day in and day out, I will wear my strength as a badge of honor, no matter how it burdens me. And when you snatch it back from me, I will fight like hell to have it restored to me.

You will not win.

You will never see me hopeless for long.

You are nothing more than a monster under my bed and I am not afraid of you.


Sincerely,
The Fat Girl Who Will ALWAYS Fight Back

On the blog, I talk so much about loving yourself and all that you are. I talk about overcoming a lot of the things that we, as fat women, get bombarded with on a daily basis. I talk about having strength and confidence. After indulging in my terrible, terrible vice, I felt like a hypocrite, I felt like I didn't have the right to tell anyone who reads this blog the things that I have. It made me feel like crap about myself which only made what I was going through worse.

But I am human. I am strong but I am not invincible, nor indestructible. I break, cave, cry, bleed, dream, hurt, wonder, learn, grow, revert, change, morph, and stay the same just like any other person on this planet. My struggle is one that effects so many people. The fact that I DO struggle gives me, not just a right to advocate for the body positive, self love, and self-acceptance movements, but it gives me a duty to do so.

I have to have the strength to admit when I screw up, when I crumble, and add my voice to the darkness so that the next person knows "You are NEVER alone."

If you need me, if you need someone to talk to, if all seems dim and scary, if you are afraid of yourself, get help. Talk to me, talk to a friend, relative, psychiatrist, someone, anyone.

Depression is real. Depression is scary. But you are never alone. I promise.