Sad sad sad

When you think it is bad, only to find out it is 100x worse than you thought.
I am on the verge of calling your sister and yanking your ass up out of the shit to straighten you out.
I CANT BELIEVE there is NO ONE who loves you enough to fight the good fight. Because you baby have given up.
GODDAMMIT you are a glorious child of the universe. Living among cockroaches. Why cant you just be beautiful and amazing!?!?!
It kills my soul a little with every new piece of information.
I pray for you every single night. Sometimes through the night.

why are you the way you are

you came into my life unexpectedly. I didnt mean to meet you, it wasnt planned, I didnt want to meet you. i never tried to. the night i met you, i wanted you to like me, i added you for a reason. I had a good feeling. the next few days we talked, I dont remember when it changed to vivid talking or being the way we were. I noticed at one point that i started smiling when you texted me. I got happy, it moved to sending those dumb videos of us talking. God i loved hearing your voice. knowing i was taking such a big part of your day just by you trying to talk to me. i didnt mean for it to but it moved to feelings. yes, i caught the god awful feelings for you. I kept you private for a while, didnt even tell my best friend. then the phone calls started. God how i loved them. I looked forward to talking to you every night. the way you made me feel, how happy i was. it was un-explainable. you said things that werent blunt, not about your feelings because thats just not you. I know why, i could tell youve been hurt. You talked so down on yourself. Always said how dumb you are, how you arent important and how you dont matter. Oh how you were wrong. The nights i spent telling you how much you mean to me and you told me then that youd never had anyone tell you those things. I asked if i couldnt be enough, you said i was. Weeks went by, months, forever it seemed like. You made me so happy, my family grew to know you and love you. We talked about getting married, both of our weddings actually. I dont know if you started acting differently and I just didnt notice, or if you were fine until she reached out. Was she there the whole time? Did I ever mean anything to you? Why did you let me care so much if you didnt at all? I dont understand why you acted the way you did. Why you let me open up, the little that i did. You promised that you wouldnt go away, you wouldnt leave. Yet you did anyway. I partially hate you for doing this, for stringing me along like this. For making me care about you when you dont me at all. I dont know what i did that was so wrong. Did you not think I was serious? Was I just not good enough? Why cant I be good enough? Im sitting here, typing a letter that will never be sent. Feelings that will never be shared. Tears hit the letters of my keyboard as my eyes get blurrier and blurrier. Why do I still want to wait for you? Why do I still care? Why does this part of me believe that its Gods plan for us to be together? I fear Ill never know. I guess im just another girl to you. Another girl, writing a letter, asking why are you the way that you are.


Sometimes your brief or your persistent and others it’s all day. There are times I smile, laugh, am sad, or cry and even mad. I fucking miss you but I know your doing better I’ve seen a few pictures and your smiling and with your kids, I’m happy for you. It makes me more determined to stay away from you because of my toxicity and because you told me you hated me and I was a regret. I always look myself in the mirror repeating the hurtful words you’ve said to me, reminding myself how you feel about me.

Identity Crisis


You see, there’s something you don’t understand about me. I don’t even understand it, if I’m being honest. But I’ve struggled with severe depression and anxiety most of my life. It is all I have ever known and it has been branded onto my identity. So is internally suppressing and fleeing from everything I think and feel. I bury the truth so far down in an attempt to shield who I really am from everyone, especially myself.

There is no truth in me — I wonder if you see that. I lie to myself, to you, to everyone just by getting out of bed or opening my mouth to speak. Everything, all of me, is tarnished by lies in one way or another, and I couldn’t even begin to extricate the lies from the truth for you, even if I wanted to. The best way to sell a lie is to wrap it up and surround it with the truth. There are so many layers to me, I could not tell you which was which. Even the exterior facade could either be truth or lie, or some combination of the two. I really don’t know. But I do know that my anxiety is ten times worse than yours every day. My depression is beyond crippling. My mind is so dark I could be a Sith Lord.

And here I am with the pseudo-strong presence, being that support for you, encouraging you, keeping you going in your own mental struggles that I am so ill-equipped to handle. I don’t get to fall apart like you do because you can’t pretend to be strong like I can. You were merely thrown into the darkness. I was born into it — molded by it. I even get to wear a mask now to feel more a part of it. Bane references aside, I’ve come to resent you for it. How are you able to so easily fall into a depressive episode, allow it to completely derail your day and shirk all your obligations while expecting me to stay strong and help you through it, but when it comes my turn to let my facade slip just a little to allow you to see my own depressed mood, you fall into another episode, allow it to completely derail your day, and you neglect your obligations?

Because when you struggle, you need me to get you through. But when it’s my turn to need you, instead of throwing me the rope to help me climb out of this pit, you just jump into it with me so we are both trapped, and I end up being forced to carry you out of it. I really just don’t think you understand how irreversibly broken I truly am, and I doubt you ever will. It is easy for me to act like a Christian. Show people respect. Be a good employee. Display integrity and honor. That’s how I grew up and I know all the right moves. But none of that defines me like the shroud around my mind does.

You’d be terrified if you could look inside my mind. Hell, I’m terrified. If you were somehow able to play “Guess the Person” by rummaging through my anonymous thoughts, I doubt you’d win. I’d likely be labeled a sycophantic psycopath. But the thought of shedding it all, overcoming it, and truly being someone worthwhile just…. sickens me. I can’t explain it. I can’t fathom the idea of letting go of the depressed bundle of anxiety I have become. Like a bird letting go of its wings, my sickness is a part of me, and I don’t know how to live apart from it. I’ve been running for so long, that stopping to change direction seems so wrong to me. I’ve already given up my life as forfeit, and to reverse it into a meaningful existence sounds like a wasted endeavor to me, and I just cannot give myself to it. My woes bring me comfort in a strange Stockholm Syndrome sort of way, and I am content enough in my discontent.

I just can’t imagine a world in which my identity is any different. And my imagination is quite…. grand.