Sunday, 18 September 2016
Living With Depression
I shut down and only found comfort being alone, though it made my depression stronger. It was a monster that kept growing bigger and bigger and more frightening.
It wanted my life.
When my parent's and sister's friends would come over, I was always just that weird girl in her room, the one that only came out to get water.
My appearance changed. I was no longer the fun-loving, bright-colors-wearing Shelby that my friends knew me for. My hair kept permanently tangled, and I no longer cared about fashion, or having a bath for that matter. I must have looked like a street person. Fast forward to 2014, and I had my first hospitalization. Little did I know that it would be just the first of many, that hospitals would become my second home, and that in 2015 I would be rushed there and admitted for downing 60-plus Xanax pills plus a giant bottle of red wine.
Depression isn't easy, no mental illness is for that matter, and I am glad to be alive today. Writing Something (Wisteria 1) was a way for me to escape and find understanding in the things that affected me. It was one of the reasons I kept hanging on. Some days are still really, really hard. I lie in bed and struggle to move and get done what I know I need to get done. And sometimes I still think about the easiest way to escape this life, because I'm scared of feeling sad and alone forever. But I know that isn't the answer, and that I just have to hang on, keep praying, and try my best to appreciate the small things and the people that still love and support me after all I put them through.
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