Diary of Melancholic


My best friend tells me I have a purpose in life, I just have to live long enough to see it. And you know, I’d love to believe him. He’s been by my side for years, he should know me, right? But if I’m honest, I’m doubting him. How could he know what my future holds when he doesn’t even know his own? He’s scared of it and he let’s me know. And I tell him you can’t control the future, you can only try to guide it in the right direction. This normally eases his mind, and I’m sure he thinks that by telling me I should live, telling me I am loved; explaining how the world wouldn’t spin on it’s fragile little axis the same if I was gone are words that ease my own troubled mind. But he doesn’t see what I see. I can see what lies behind my eyes. I can see the thunderstorms and the tsunamis, the lightning strikes and the forest fires. I can see all the pain that pours from the cracks. I can see that and they can’t. But that’s not even the worst part. I’ve grown up watching movies where pain was the protagonist and the director’s goal was to tear at your heartstrings. No no, seeing pain won’t hurt me. What makes it so unbearable is that I feel it. Not the way you feel sadness during a movie, but as soon as it’s over and your mind finds something else to the pain passes, but in a way where it’s never absent.
Every day.
I feel the heartbreak. I feel the mistreatment. I feel the loneliness. The horror. The fear. Dizziness. Nausea.
Absolute and utter misery.
And yes, my nameless best friend has kept me going for years…
What a loving Hades I have fallen for now… A paradox love, some people say…
What a caring mother I am fortunate enough to have by my side…
What a loving family,
a vast army of friends,
What a beautiful place to live,
What amazing opportunities,

but what a raging depression…
And I’m sick of the “others have it worse than you” argument. The “you should be grateful for what you have” argument.
My God people I’m struggling but you don’t care so don’t claim to care about those who have it worse if you can’t care about the people who need you to care.
Please don’t cast me aside anymore. Quit attempting to buy me a one way ticket to guilt trip town in an effort to convince me to “escape” this depression.
Guilt is south and well past depression’s border.
You will only assist in digging my grave.
So nameless best friend, mom, dad, sisters and brothers, friends and bystanders, my paradox of a lover…
I don’t want a long conversation about how I’m not okay. I already know that. 11 revolutions around the sun and I figured it out a long time ago. 12 years just confirmed it. 13 and 14 and 15 have only caked it in stone.
But you say I do want help and I need it.
But maybe I don’t? I’ve never enjoyed it because no one seems to know how to and please don’t ask me how either because if I knew I’d shout it from the rooftops of the highest buildings in hope the world would hear.
I just need confirmation to un-confirm what you fear. But I have already decided for myself.
Love, I guess. Is not enough for you, My paradox lover, My Hades.


If you want to talk more deeply I drop my email. I felt like you before.