Church

Instagram: sugarrush_cookies

Instagram: sugarrush_cookies

Within an hour I’ve called myself awkward, stupid, pathetic, a bad friend and a “worthless piece of shit.” 

I feel the need to apologize for the way I’ve been and I feel the need to say the things I feel are on other people’s minds before they can. I guess I think it would hurt less. It’s like if the world is going to beat me up, I might as well do it first. And who the fuck does that leave on my side? I can’t even fucking stick up for myself.

Anxiety/depression is such a viscous cycle and I hate the fucking stigma I hate being worried about whether or not people BELIEVE ME. Why do I worry about that when I obviously have much bigger issues to worry about. Ya know, like how do I go into public without having a panic attack or how do I leave my house or show up to work without crying? How do I concentrate on this homework that’s due? How do I do all of these things after being up all night because of panic attacks and when it’s not a panic attack it;s unfounded sobbing that I;m trying to make sure doesnt wake up my parents.

I hate not wanting to post anything that brings me joy on snapchat becuase it’s not seen as a sign of recovery, it’s seen as a sign of faking it. God forbid a depressed person leaves the fucking house and tries to have fun or do something that brings them happiness? And I’m mad right now BECAUSE I’VE DONE THAT. ohhhh if theyre so depressed why are they out??? I’m learning the hard way. Now I understand that it probably took them at least 1 or more hours to convince themselves to get out of bed, another 2 hours to complete simple tasks that usually take them 15 minutes such as brushing their hair, putting on deodorant or brushing their teeth (For anyone who doesn’t know, these things become so fucking overwhelming that it feels like you’re preparing to push a boulder up a fucking mountain). The thought of having to brush my teeth has literally kept me in the house. I hate worrying if my coworkers are talking behind my back because I’m missing time. I hate wondering if my friends think I’m M.I.A., lazy or rude. I just hate fucking thinking it’s all I do and I am so sick of crying all of the time and believing these things about myself. 

Tonight my dad cried for the second time in my whole life and he told me he’s proud of me for being so brave and working so hard. My father, a person who didn’t believe in mental illness while I was growing up, reminded me that “sometimes saying ‘fuck it, I can’t do this right now’ is just as brave.”