Depression is such a bitch. I wish I could get out of it. All the therapy and the multiple antidepressants, and I just want one good day. Just a day to feel normal and relaxed. Maybe have some fun. Smile. Laugh. Just feel good.
With this kind of shit, you call yourself a survivor. You made it through to the other side. But you’re never going to be the same. You’re past the point of no return. There is not a fucking thing you can possibly do to go back to how it used to be.
Enlightenment is not necessarily a good thing. I had been through so fucking much in my life. I handled it with a sense of humor and a never-say-die attitude. That’s not healthy, so they say. You’re living in denial at that point. You haven’t processed the trauma you have experienced.
Let me tell you what—living in denial is much fucking easier than living in the truth. So much easier. As my mom’s friend used to say, “sometimes it’s better not to know from nothing.”
Why are we over here calling ourselves survivors? I didn’t survive that night. I didn’t survive that. Don’t think for a moment that I survived it. Me—the person who used to be me—is dead. Gone. Never to be seen again. I didn’t survive a fucking thing. I adapted into some shell of a human being, but I’m not me anymore.
I didn’t survive Brian 2. I didn’t survive my neurological diagnosis. I didn’t survive my rape. I didn’t survive a fucking bit of it. I changed, and not for the better. I cling on for dear life. I don’t enjoy myself. I don’t have fun. I don’t feel safe.
I don’t have the drive to go out and do something. As much as I whine about not having a boyfriend, I literally have thousands of unread messages on dating apps. I could go out with someone any fucking time I wanted to.
That would, however, interfere with the depression. And I would have to be able to get out of bed and shower in order to go.
Why do that when I can lay in bed and cry?
I didn’t survive a fucking thing in my life. It just all hit me at the same time when I saw that video. The moment I realized everything I had been through. The moment I saw it for what it actually fucking was. Resiliency was lost in that moment. Again—you can’t unfuck the Thanksgiving turkey. I can never go back. I can never be who and what I used to be. That was taken from me.
That’s what I lost on that video. Any semblance of innocence. Any ability to not know how bad the world is. How bad people are. How nothing and no one can protect you. How human beings lack humanity. How nothing has a fairytale ending. There is no good to come. There is no saving you. You’re already lost and have been your whole life.
But you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other. You have to get up and go to work and fake a smile. You have to hold back the tears and pretend to function. You have to fake it every single day until God finally decides to let you free from the horror and misery that has been your life.
And all you can do is pray that day comes sooner than the next horror you have to survive.
Survival is entrapment.
And the cruelest part is that they’ll still call it strength when you don’t have the option to stop.
This isn't strength. This isn't a story of resilience and overcoming. This is just living to wake up and see the next day. Like that's so fucking special. They're all like "congratulations, you're still alive!" Like that's is something to be celebrated. You've been through hell but your biological being persists and continues to function. Every living creature on earth is capable of that. Survival doesn't make you special.
Add comment
Comments