Diary of a Depressed Woman: About Yesterday

Yesterday was one of the worst.

On my way down to the parking lot, I saw a glimpse of my reflection,
And I hated the way I look; so pathetically ugly,
I looked pathetic without you; and I hated it.

I felt somehow more exhausting than usual.
I stayed until late evening at the office, just to be able to cry alone without anyone noticing,
And I usually do that lately, since I have nowhere else to cry alone with no one noticing.
Many thoughts crossed my mind; dark and depressive ones.
And I got to admit that I still cannot let it go out of my system.
And it’s not your problem at all; the problem is entirely mine.

I’m so anxious.
And terrified, angry, insecure, unsafe... jealous.
The picture of her is haunting my mind.
Our conversation is haunting my mind.
Something is off, and I just cannot define what it is; it makes me anxious.

I hate my self, yet feel proud at the same time.
The thing is: I don’t understand why, and I feel like I don’t deserve to feel both.
I’ve changed at some point.
I tried to do what you do, only to find that it failed me.
I can talk to new people yet I cannot bring my self to meet them up.
I hang up on them though many of them wanted to see me.
I don’t understand my self either; I don’t know why.
I just can’t bring my self to do that.
I guess I don’t have any confidence left to do that.
As I saw my reflection on the glass door, I spit on it.
I feel sick towards everything.
I feel sick of trying to meet new people.
I’ve lost interest of those kinds of things.
I feel sick of my miserable looks.
I feel sick towards this life.
It’s all meaningless.
I feel estranged from the world.

And this is when I know that I am really depressed;
So please don’t take it lightly or even make a joke about it;
Because it feels this bad for me.

And I think to my self: it must be great to be you, to easily do it without any concerns at all.
Without any concerns about looks.
Without any concerns about disappointing other person.
Without any concerns about hurting certain person.
But we’re all different anyway.
Every person has their own way to deal with loneliness and emptiness.
And doing what you do is definitely does not suit me well for this time.

It bothers me somehow, still, the fact that you are talking about me behind my back,
That you are talking about me to somebody else,
That I don’t know what she said regarding to it all;
Talking as if she knows it all while she knows nothing.
She must be happy that I got annoyed.
She must be happy that we had some arguments.
She must be feeling up in the air.
And I hate just thinking about that.
And I hate feeling that I don’t feel safe talking to you anymore,
In case that you might tell her everything,
And that you two would talk about me behind my back;
About how shallow and ridiculous and pathetic and ironic and paradox I am,
And after that, everything she says to you will make you fancy her more than me.
I keep telling my self that it’s not suppose to be like this.
It is not right.
I should not think and feel like this,
But why am I being like this?
I really don’t understand.
I can understand you though I need some time to accept it.
What I can’t understand is my self;
And it’s frustrating me.

I’ve changed at some point.
I’m not the happy-go-lucky person as I used to be,
I even begin to question my self: was I really a happy-go-lucky person to begin with?
I begin to wonder that I am actually never a happy-go-lucky person to begin with.
Perhaps what you need is a happy-go-lucky person, like her,
Instead of a complicated melancholic freak depressive woman like me.

I’ve changed ...
Or actually I’ve never changed?

Perhaps I just long for you too much that it’s killing me.
Perhaps this jealousy consumes me too deep that it’s devastating me.
Your absence is already excruciating for me, yet this anxiety is torturing me for real.
How is it gonna strengthen me?
I just cannot rest assured no matter how many times you tell me to.

Like what Ingmar Bergman once said,
Feeling perpetually unmotivated makes me questioning my existence in an unhealthy way.
Everything becomes a pseudo-intellectual question I have no interest in responding whatsoever.
This whole process becomes my very skin and it does not merely affect me; it actually defines me.
So, I see myself as a shadowy figure unworthy of developing interest,
Unworthy of wondering about the world,
Profoundly unworthy in every sense and deeply absent in my very presence.

And they say that being depressed is much different than being sad,
A depressed one cannot just “snap out of it”,
It’s the same as a broken leg; no amount of happy thoughts and being positive will sort it out,
It’s real and it does exist; it doesn’t just walk away,
Despite knowing others live with depression and anxiety, I feel alone.
Hence crying is strength instead of weakness;
It is not in any way a weakness of character.

I know all I need is someone to talk to and to cry on.
And I know I need it to be you.
I want it to be you.

So I cried on my way home; behind the face mask and helmet.
I shouted loudly in tears when I was passing the highway.
And I usually do that lately since I have nowhere else to shout without anyone noticing.

I have a new habit to stop by at the convenient store near my house;
Just to buy a pack of cigarettes of perhaps a bottle of instant coffee.
The real intention is to calm my self down before getting to the house and smiling to everyone,
Before putting on my mask,
Before putting on an act,
That I am a happy and cheerful girl as they used to know.

In the end, the thing about depression is:
The problem is mostly inside my mind.

From a distance, I heard Axl sings:
“And now that you’ve been broken down, got your head out of the clouds, you’re back down on the ground. You don’t talk so loud, and you don’t walk so proud anymore, and what for?”



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