• Dear Self & Dear You.

    by  • February 15, 2012 • * Safe for Work *, Depression • 0 Comments

    Yes you.

    You don’t know who you are, or probably what you have done. You probably aren’t aware of what you have done. After all I, for the most part, acted like it didn’t bother me. But it did.

    It cut me deep.

    Broke open the gates of tears and self-loathing which – mind you – I thought was perfectly cleared up. But it wasn’t. My parents broke me down, unknowingly of course, but it hurt what they said during Valentine’s day.

    And then you.

    You went and said that. Yes, I was aware thank you very much. I didn’t need you telling me and yes I was glad you said that it was rude. But still. I was having a bad week with all the comments. Those little things. They add up. Yes, I realize you didn’t know.

    It still hurt.

    And then my self hating decided to come in. But again, you wouldn’t know. No one knows I am crying right now, for absolutely no reason to be. I don’t think I can sleep. I tried, and now it is almost 2AM. I’m probably not going to go to sleep. Because the depression crept up on me today right after you said that.

    So now I am writing.

    I thought I let it go after my sister awkwardly watched my cry. But I haven’t. It crept up on me in the night and therefor reminded me of everything I can’t seem to do right.

    I’ll be done with this letter.

    Write positive stuff about myself. Because that helps. I’ll write ‘I am lovable and capable of being love’ because I am. I just need to write it. A way to battle the depression that tries to pull me down again.

    I’ll think positive.

    It’s better than the negatives, I know that.

    I’ll be better tomorrow once I get some sleep.

    I’ll be okay. I promise. I just have to breath. And take it one step at a time.

    I just hate when I feel like no one gives a damn. Like you unmeaning did. I forgive you for that. I forgive myself for letting that comment bother me. I try hard to be like a duck and let it roll off my back. It’s hard, but I am getting better at it. Better that then be called weak and silly looking.

    I just have to remember.

    I am beautiful. I am strong. I am lovable. And I am capable of being loved.

    And to anyone that is reading this letter. You are lovable and capable of being loved too. Don’t let anyone, even yourself, tell you otherwise.

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