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?”
M.F
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