There have been a few people asking me to talk to them about what’s going on and what I’m feeling. While I appreciate the gesture, I don’t think I’d be able to share my thoughts to them. See, I don’t like talking about what I feel. When the words come out of my mouth, they don’t seem real anymore. The things I say seem like a strange story told by another person to me and I am just here relaying it to other people. I prefer writing how I feel than talking about it. I guess, this is one of the reasons my supposed sessions with the psychiatrist failed.
Another problem is that I am now unsure of “talking” to people about my depression. I used to tell someone about it but it suddenly stopped. I think I have convinced myself that it is my fault because I had the plan of withdrawing from all my friendships and relationships with people so that I can easily commit suicide. Yet, there’s a voice inside my head that’s telling me that if that person actually cared they would stop at nothing to still talk to me. But it has and the menaces in my head are telling me not to trust people anymore, that I will have no one who will actually care what I’m going through, that really, if I disappear now, no one will even notice. I’m starting to believe these voices.
Still, there’s a part of me hoping that there is someone who actually cares. Two high school classmates have contacted me asking me what’s going on. One even told me that she will always listen to what I would say even if she won’t be able to fully understand what I’m going through. She added that I can call and/or text her. See, I appreciate her gesture. But the thing is I’m just pulling back. I think that if I start sharing, I won’t be able to stop. I wouldn’t want it to stop. I want to feel that I won’t be a burden. I want to feel that it’s not going to be temporary. I want to feel that if I start sharing it won’t end up like the times I tried to talk to my mother. Every time I muster up the courage to talk to her about how I feel, I end up regretting it because she easily dismisses what I feel, saying that all I just have to do is stop thinking about negatives and start thinking about positives as if my depression is as simple as that. She easily dismisses it by telling me to pray, purposely ignoring the fact that I’ve told her many times that I don’t pray. She thinks me being depressed is just something occasional like when I’m only stressed. So the next time I want to “talk” to someone about my depression, I don’t want it to be like that.
Talking has never been an easy thing for me, and it doesn’t help that I have demons who constantly torment me.