Depression never leaves you alone. Every morning, he awakens before you do. You wake up to him sitting on your chest, a large black creature, staring you in the face with eyes that never blink.
When you have depression, all you want is to feel normal. People aren’t faking or doing it for attention or any other ridiculous reason you might think.
Most importantly, it is unacceptable to think you don’t matter. Of course, you do. I know you matter because I’m learning that I matter too.
It’s telling yourself to breathe. Just breathe. But you don’t know how.
I’m going to therapy to love myself harder. To treat myself better. To care for myself in ways that no one else can. I’m going to therapy to love parts of myself that I haven’t found compassion for yet. I’m going to come to terms with my mistakes, and to accept me for me. The good and the bad parts.
Time. And if there’s ever going to be enough of it.
But the pain all of a sudden wasn’t so stiffening anymore, it started flowing, gushing with blood in my body.
In the quickest summary, emetophobia is a fear of vomiting.
It’s the overthinking that gets me. I’m a self-reflective and analytical person with self-imposed impossibly high standards to begin with.
If anxiety were a person, this is what I would say to him. I would beg him to get out of my head, to let me go. I would shout at him like he was an ex boyfriend saying, ‘leave me the fuck alone, just go’. But anxiety didn’t care what I thought. Anxiety didn’t care what I wanted at all.