These Were My Notes In Therapy, When I Was Depressed And Suicidal

Kristina Flour

I’ve gone through MANY bad breakups, but only one caused me to seek therapy and help in finding my life again.

Here are some notes that I wrote during my sessions.

It doesn’t bother me to feel pain. Lately, I just long to feel anything. I know I deserve to be happy. I know I’m just as beautiful as the other girls, the other roses in God’s garden. I just have more thorns than they do, I guess.

I know that I’m brave. Love itself requires strength and bravery in order to be unconditional. It’s unfair that my mind is trying to poison my heart. My mind wants to electrocute my heart. I have to forcefully detach myself from others quick enough to keep the two from touching as if somehow it will cause me to feel the same pain again.

It’s almost like “giver’s remorse”, because I give people everything I have willingly, and then feel like I was robbed of it all. My heart wants to destroy the thoughts my mind has about bypassing my heart for peace, love, and self-appreciation.

It’s so unfair. I’m a mess, and I know it. Everything I do, everything I love, falls apart at some point.

It’s like we are opposite ends of a spring. I pushed, he pulled. We always bounced back together. Each turn and twist always brought us back together.

Jealousy…I pulled.

Insecurity….he pushed.

Silence….I pulled.

Resentment…I pulled.

Anger…I pulled harder.

Pain…I pulled with everything I had left in me.

You stopped pushing. No more commitment. No more love. No more faith in each other. I couldn’t pull because you let go completely. I lost my strength. No matter how much and how often a spring is pulled, the effect is reversed when it isn’t strong anymore. It just unwinds and becomes a flat line.

It never returns to its original condition. I pull, and you smile. I pull, and you laugh. I cry, I beg, and I fight. But I can’t and won’t find my way back to you.

I’m only here, I’m only alive because I dug my way out from under the ground, where I buried myself so deep. The scars on my thighs are so ugly. The wounds in my heart, in my mind, those are so much worse. Now I have to fight myself daily. The darker version of me is so ready to be free, to go out into the world and be reckless without any fear. The lighter version of me wants to give in because it never finds happiness.

I don’t have the time to tell anyone how I really feel. I’m far too busy reminding myself to breathe.

Me? Chase a guy? And have him follow me to hell and back? No thank you. The only reward I’d get is a nice legs muscles.

It goes on
And on and on.
It’s the same
It’s the same
It’s the same
Until you slip and fall
And become the game
You shake your head
And it splits your brain
There’s nothing you can do
Except swallow the pain
You can hope for more
Or hope for less rain
Either way you go.
Don’t look back again.

Love is real. People would be much happier if they didn’t run from it.

“I have to go”

“I have to go NOW”

The entire classroom went silent. Every head turned to me and I didn’t care at all. I couldn’t breathe. I just needed air. Just a day before, at the lunch table, we laughed and dropped pizza on the floor.

I died on the day of his funeral. My soul went away, right in the middle of that classroom. Everyone in that room witnessed the last steps I needed to open the door to depression. I remember walking into that room as me and running out of it as nobody.

Feelings, the one thing I want to keep my hands clean of, have covered my body.

I forgive you for abandoning me. I forgive you for clinging tightly to your silence while I became best friends with pills and violent men.

Love is…giving it all to God even though you know every single day will hurt because you want to see him be happy.Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Leia | (this page is an archive of writings from 19yrs-22yrs old)

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