Everything Depression Has Stolen From Me
If you struggle with self-harm or experience suicidal thoughts, the following post could be potentially triggering. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741741. For a list of ways to cope with self-harm urges, visit this resource.
Depression has stolen a myriad of things from me. Most recently, it took a job from me that I loved, with people I loved working with. He is a cruel thief, too — slowly putting things in front of you, just so he can steal them later.
He started off small. Stealing words from a young, 13-year-old girl who didn’t speak much, to begin with. He saw what he could do and took advantage of that. By the end of the year, I was maybe speaking 10 words aloud a day, if even.
Next, he stole my appetite. Growing up in a family of chefs, this was awful. I couldn’t explain why I wasn’t hungry, but there was just this pit in my stomach and the thought of eating disgusted me.
He then went on to take my sleep. For over five years he forced me into a relationship with his best friend: insomnia. I would survive every day on two to four hours of sleep for years (thank God for my best friend: coffee).
He slowly started to take my hygiene as well. Not wanting to shower, change clothes and barely finding it in me to brush my teeth even just once a day. I’m still paying the price for some of that.
He stole my energy and I was exhausted all of the time, and not just from the lack of sleep but from living in general.
He took my skin. Showed me how to harm myself and convinced me this was the best way to deal with my pain. I still have faint scars of words like “fuckup” “worthless” and “hate” carved into my hips.
He took my innocence and spirit. I was such a happy and fun kid and I don’t even know who that person is anymore.
More than anything, he stole the truth from me. He replaced it with all of his lies — so much so that I wholeheartedly believed his lies were my truth. He took friends, he took hope, he took love, he took jobs and opportunities. And eventually, he took my will to live.
He almost took my life. More than once. More than twice. Sometimes, I wish he did. It would have probably been easier. But he doesn’t deserve that satisfaction, that pleasure, that thrill or gratification. He doesn’t get to have that. Not after everything he’s already taken from me. And spoiler alert: I’m taking it back. I’m taking it all back. Will you join me?
Photo by Matthew T Rader on Unsplash