When people think your depressed, they always say, “Talk about it! Tell someone! Get it out!” Well I did. All I’ve heard since then is “You’re over dramatic” and “You’re whiny.” Well, thanks to those comments from the adult that I trusted, I don’t feel safe talking about it anymore. I never really felt “safe” to begin with because I have a reputation to uphold and coming out about to someone was a big deal to me. I spent four years cutting myself and contemplating suicide, and I don’t mean like the fashion statement where people think it’s cool to do that kind of thing. Looking at me, you’d never be able to tell. I hide it extremely well. I don’t think it’s cool. In fact, sometimes I won’t even associate with people who openly do it because it kills me that those people treat it like it’s nothing. I crave it. I’ve been clean for a few months, but I’m starting to forget why I stopped in the first place. “It’s bad!” Why is it bad? No one knew, so I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself, which I’m partially okay with.
I know the adult I told loves me and means well, but I don’t think he completely understands it. I know I know I sound like one of the dumb “No one understands me!” teenagers…but…you can’t take out a razor blade in front of someone who fights daily to keep from hurting themselves. (Yes. That happened. He was fixing something and took one out in front of me and then proceeded to ask me if I got rid of mine, which I did.)
Bottom line: I need to talk about this. It’s eating me alive again, but I can’t. I’m afraid to. I can’t handle just being brushed off or just straight up called dramatic or whiny. I just want someone to listen and tell me it’ll be okay.