Her gaze was always drawn toward the sky, her thoughts running amongst the clouds. She felt nothing like an angel, but was always dreaming of flying. No she was no angel, but felt like the fallen. Always longing for belonging, knowing her place was nowhere on earth but among the stars.
I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have left him. I knew it when I did and I still know it now. Why did I then? Well to release him, of the burden of me. Because I know, I am not good enough for him, and I never would be. I am damaged, broken. But I wasn’t shattered, I wasn’t completely unglued until I left him. Now I am nothing. Small tiny fragments that will never stick together. Now I am sorrow. I am remorse. I am guilt. I am embarrassed.
I should have put as much faith into us, as I did in you.
A couple of weeks ago I went to the doctor for a check up on how I’m handling the medicine, whether the dosis was correct and similar.. And it went well, I mean for the most part my medicine is dulling the hard feelings, which in turn makes it easier to discuss some of the things I have had a hard time sharing with other people. I shared the attempted assault with the doctor. It was the first time I admitted it out loud to someone I don’t know. I wasn’t prepared for nightmares to resurface during the night though. It’s been years since I was plagued by it. I’ve never really discussed it with friends or family, not because I’m ashamed as most people might think (not because I should be, but because assault victims often are) but because I’d rather not think about it. If I don’t think about it, it’s like it didn’t happen. And well.. If I’m being completely honest a part of me have probably always felt like it was partially my fault. The fact that it was recorded and shared for amusement, didn’t really help to entice me to speak about it either.
I guess I should have seen it coming right? Obviously if you’re going to speak to someone about something you’ve tried to burry in your mind for the past 10 years, it’s going to come back and haunt you. And with the medication I guess it makes sense, it wouldn’t show up until my subconscious was at it’s strongest. It’s difficult, because I honestly don’t remember everything. I was drunk of my ass that night, so drunk I couldn’t move.. I remember mumbling for him to move, I remember the pressure of his body on mine, and I remember being frighten but in the end resigning, and letting blackness engulf me. The next thing that I remember is waking up the next morning.The last thing I remember seeing before the blackness engulfed me was my best friend walking past the room looking in and leaving. And that is the hardest part. Knowing she saw, and she did nothing. We haven’t discussed it afterwards, but if I’m being completely honest with myself, I think I know, that if I really want to heal, I’ll either have to leave that friendship behind or forgive her, and I’m not sure I can actually do any of those things.
First step of recovering is said to be sharing and accepting what happened. First step done I guess. Someone tried to rape me, recorded it and shared it with his friends. My best friend saw what happened and ignored it and I have never forgiven her.
A lot of people have an opinion on depression. What I’ve noticed, is, that if people haven’t had personal experience with depression, they tend to believe it’s sort of “like having a bad day” and that most people with depression are just not good at handling bad days. Some people have even told me, that depression is a figment of my imagination, and that it isn’t really real. Well, it feels real to me. When my heart beats faster just with the thought of facing reality for another day, when I wake up screaming and thrashing in bed because of nightmares, when I feel so overcome by emptiness that I feel like I can’t be inside my own body – it feels real, when everyday I wake up hating myself, having to convince myself that I shouldn’t give up. That today shouldn’t be the day I finally find a sliver of piece in death.
I’ve had the distinct pleasure of dealing with depression on and on (yes it’s never really been off, just sort of dormant in periods) since I was 12-ish, so I’d say my knowledge of the feelings involved with depression is better than the average. These feelings and emotions are really difficult to verbalize, and just because this is how I feel when I’m depressed this does not mean, that everyone who is depressed feels this way. It is very, very, very individual. Nevertheless, I’ll try to explain how I feel in the following blog posts – maybe it will help you gain some understanding into why a person with depression can’t just snap out of it.