I do not want anyone to read this, but I need to write. I am not afraid to show myself like this, because this is who I really am, no sense trying to make myself out to be anything better. I don’t want messages or petty words, I don’t want someone telling me how to think or what to do or to try and fix me or even to help me. I need help but no amount of words could work.
I am a terrible person. It makes sense why I don’t have friends or a boyfriend; I am not someone you want to get to know or hang with right now. Who would want to be with someone like me? Like this? I am a mess. A complete mess. Not easy to love, not pleasant to love. I’m at my worst. I’m not the kind of person you want to be friends with. No one wants to be weighed down by my story, no one has the time to hear it out, or hearing about what I carry on my shoulders; no one needs to understand my scars or how they happened; no one wants to hang around someone who is depressed, hurt, angry, bitter, and sinful as me.
I desperately need healing and release. My heart is held in binds of pain. And I grieve the same pains over and over; some of these wounds I’ve sustained simply never heal. My brokenness just cracks open more. I’m falling apart, and the pieces don’t even fit back together anymore.
I’m a captive to so many thoughts that weigh me down and break me into less and less until I have nothing left. I want to leave this place and never return. I don’t know if I will ever heal as long as I’m bound to it.
I wonder if I will ever be whole. If I will ever be clean. If I will be free.
I doubt and lose hope that I will ever get through this stormy weather. I’m sinking deeper and deeper, and there is no lighthouse to guide me home in sight. No beacon of hope saying, “come home, come here, I’ll guide you to a safe harbor, and you’ll have peace.” It is pitch black and the waters swallow me again and again.
I’ve been through so much this past year, this past month, and hardly anyone understands.To open up and try to tell anyone means being a downer. No one wants to hear the crap you have been through or what gets you down, they don’t want to deal with the heavy stuff and I have a lot. I tried tonight and I just felt like the most angry, depressing person ever. People are uncomfortable in the presence of someone who admits they are hurting, instead of being compassionate. Or they just want to offer some petty words to smooth it over and make it okay.
But it’s not. It’s not okay.
You saying it is okay just says I am stupid for being broken in my pain. That it’s not that big of a deal. No reason to get depressed. No reason to be angry. But there is. And I can’t share it with you. And I can’t heal from it. It’s not okay, and I wonder when it will ever be okay.
I feel like my depression turns people away, and it makes me even loathe myself, and wish I could stop it, and erase the pain, and fix the brokenness- but it doesn’t happen like that. And some nights like tonight I give up that it ever will happen. I just feel to broken to mend, and at the point of giving up.
But somehow I always don’t, even though I have wanted to countless times. And I think that is only because God is greater than my own failings, and He still will get me through. Even if I lose hope, He is still my hope. He never stops being my Savior.