The One Lie I Always Tell About My Depression

My name is Kari and I’m OK.

I might not be. In fact, there’s a high probability that I’m not. I won’t admit that to you though, because I can’t even truly admit it to myself. There’s a voice inside my head that’s screaming, desperately needing me to reach out, to let someone in, to let the people that love me be there the way they want to be, but the inability to let myself be vulnerable with anyone wins out every time. I can’t show my weakness, that means I’m not strong, and that is not an option, because that’s all I want to be, for myself and for those close to me. So instead, I bottle those feelings up and push them down as far as I possibly can.

My name is Kari and I’m OK.

You can see that I’m not, but I’ll continue to tell you that I am, even if there are tears streaming down my face. It’s just easier that way. I can’t be a burden if I don’t let the feelings out. The problem is, I wear my heart on my sleeve, my pain is written in my eyes. However, I’ll continue to insist that I’m OK, hoping that eventually, you and I will both believe it.

My name is Kari and I’m OK.

I’ve spent my life priding myself on being honest, but this is my exception, it’s the one lie I will always tell. I can’t be honest with you, because I can’t let you see me any differently. You’d see the broken girl inside as opposed to the perky, outgoing girl I show you. She’s the lovable one, the one people want to be around. If you saw the truest form of who I am, you’d never view me the same way. You’d run, you’d fear me. So every day, I put up my walls, put on my best smiling facade and become the person I have to be to make people stay in my life without having to trust them with the darkest and most fragile side of myself.

My name is Kari and I’m not OK. But I won’t tell you that, because in order to do that, I’d have to face it myself.

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Thinkstock photo via Ralwel