This past summer, I fell in love for the first time in my life. I was in a really dark place in May, a darker place in June, but in July, I saw the light for the first time in a while. I had someone in my life that made me smile on the regular, who made love songs sound right instead of mushy, who had me waking up and falling asleep with a smile on my face.
I remember looking at him and thinking that finally, I had found the most beautiful soul and he was mine. Someone had finally, finally looked at me and chased me, rather than the other way around. I had someone look at me and call me perfect, someone call me every night before bed just to talk, someone tell me that they couldn’t get me off of my mind.
Yet, I always knew that it was too good to last. In fact, I have a note on my phone from October, a letter I wrote that would never send, that reads as follows:
If I could’ve told you I loved you the first time I met you without you thinking I was completely, out of my mind crazy, I would have. I didn’t really believe in things like love at first sight until I saw you. You make me want to be a better person every single day. I never, ever want to stop getting to know you. A month in I didn’t want anyone else kissing me or loving me for the rest of my life but you, and I still feel that way now. I knew when you offered to sleep on the couch the very first night we hung out. I knew when you held my hand driving us to our very first date. I knew when we stupidly took a canoe out at Papoose Pond at 2 in the morning just to look at the stars. I have never, ever doubted my love for you, even when I was being stupidly anxious and convincing myself you were better off without me. And I knew you felt the same way too, about loving me, before you even told me. I love how you get stupidly excited about the simplest things, like grills and hats. That sort of enthusiasm for life is contagious and I’ a much happier person with someone like you besides me. Your happiness is infectious and the way you show off things like grills and hats is exactly how I want to show you off to the world.
But when will you wake up and realize that the person you love isn’t someone you want to be with anymore?
Eight months later, my worst nightmare came true. My anxiety and my depression got the best of me and I lost control and caused a fight that should have never happened, and you left. You decided my baggage was too much for you to bear on your shoulders and you left, just like every other person before you has.
Two weeks after we broke up, I was officially diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. I’m down 11 pounds, I’m nauseous almost every day, and I’m on anti-depressants. I’m living, for the rest of my life, with a mental illness that I will battle every single day. I’m in therapy up to twice a week, trying to make myself stronger and healthier so that any relationships - friendships or otherwise - I create in the future can be void of the problems that my brain creates.
The thing about depression is that you never fully understand what it’s like unless you have it. You wake up every day, feeling like you’re so far down the hole that it’s impossible to climb out. You look at the people around you, who you love so much, and wonder how much better their lives will be without the burden of your illness weighing them down. You lay in bed and struggle to find the motivation to start your day, you lose interest in almost everything, and there’s just this nagging feeling of wanting it to be over.
I have never, ever considered ending my life until a month ago. And even then, it wasn’t how or when I’d do it - it was just a desperation of no longer wanting to be sad, of wanting to fall asleep and never have to wake up to such a chilling feeling of sadness again. The medication is helping, and with the help of my friends and my family, I’m starting to see that it eventually will get better, you just have to take it day by day and not sweat the small stuff.
In the span of two weeks, I was broken up with, diagnosed with a severe mental illness and lost a friend. Ironically, the friend I lost was the same one who got me to see the light at the end of the tunnel when I was a freshman in college.
And yet, I’ve survived 100% of my bad days, I’m seeking out the help I need, I’m being open with my struggles and for that, I am incredibly, incredibly proud of myself. There are days where getting out of bed physically hurts, and I’d like nothing more than to cry all day. There are days where I wake up with a pit in my stomach and tears on my face and wonder if I’m ever going to wake up and just be. But there are days where I wake up and appreciate the beautiful weather, when I smile because I’m waking up in a house full of people who love me and a brand new puppy who can’t see my flaws.
So to you, the boy who pieced my heart back together again and then shattered it, I understand. I don’t love you any less than I did eight months ago, but I resent you for supporting the other people in your life suffering from this disease and choosing to cut me off. I would kill to spend just another week with you, but I hate you for letting everyone in your life judge me and talk about me when I’m still here defending you. I still think you are one of the most beautiful souls I have ever met, and I feel so incredibly lucky to have had you brighten up my life for as long as you did. So thank you, for making even the smallest part of me feel like the girl I used to be, before this awful disease entered my head. And simultaneously, screw you for giving up on me.
I am more than depression. I am more than anxiety. And I’m going to overcome this for me and only me, because I’m a beautiful person too, and I deserve the best of me.
I remember looking at him and thinking that finally, I had found the most beautiful soul and he was mine. Someone had finally, finally looked at me and chased me, rather than the other way around. I had someone look at me and call me perfect, someone call me every night before bed just to talk, someone tell me that they couldn’t get me off of my mind.
Yet, I always knew that it was too good to last. In fact, I have a note on my phone from October, a letter I wrote that would never send, that reads as follows:
If I could’ve told you I loved you the first time I met you without you thinking I was completely, out of my mind crazy, I would have. I didn’t really believe in things like love at first sight until I saw you. You make me want to be a better person every single day. I never, ever want to stop getting to know you. A month in I didn’t want anyone else kissing me or loving me for the rest of my life but you, and I still feel that way now. I knew when you offered to sleep on the couch the very first night we hung out. I knew when you held my hand driving us to our very first date. I knew when we stupidly took a canoe out at Papoose Pond at 2 in the morning just to look at the stars. I have never, ever doubted my love for you, even when I was being stupidly anxious and convincing myself you were better off without me. And I knew you felt the same way too, about loving me, before you even told me. I love how you get stupidly excited about the simplest things, like grills and hats. That sort of enthusiasm for life is contagious and I’ a much happier person with someone like you besides me. Your happiness is infectious and the way you show off things like grills and hats is exactly how I want to show you off to the world.
But when will you wake up and realize that the person you love isn’t someone you want to be with anymore?
Eight months later, my worst nightmare came true. My anxiety and my depression got the best of me and I lost control and caused a fight that should have never happened, and you left. You decided my baggage was too much for you to bear on your shoulders and you left, just like every other person before you has.
Two weeks after we broke up, I was officially diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. I’m down 11 pounds, I’m nauseous almost every day, and I’m on anti-depressants. I’m living, for the rest of my life, with a mental illness that I will battle every single day. I’m in therapy up to twice a week, trying to make myself stronger and healthier so that any relationships - friendships or otherwise - I create in the future can be void of the problems that my brain creates.
The thing about depression is that you never fully understand what it’s like unless you have it. You wake up every day, feeling like you’re so far down the hole that it’s impossible to climb out. You look at the people around you, who you love so much, and wonder how much better their lives will be without the burden of your illness weighing them down. You lay in bed and struggle to find the motivation to start your day, you lose interest in almost everything, and there’s just this nagging feeling of wanting it to be over.
I have never, ever considered ending my life until a month ago. And even then, it wasn’t how or when I’d do it - it was just a desperation of no longer wanting to be sad, of wanting to fall asleep and never have to wake up to such a chilling feeling of sadness again. The medication is helping, and with the help of my friends and my family, I’m starting to see that it eventually will get better, you just have to take it day by day and not sweat the small stuff.
In the span of two weeks, I was broken up with, diagnosed with a severe mental illness and lost a friend. Ironically, the friend I lost was the same one who got me to see the light at the end of the tunnel when I was a freshman in college.
And yet, I’ve survived 100% of my bad days, I’m seeking out the help I need, I’m being open with my struggles and for that, I am incredibly, incredibly proud of myself. There are days where getting out of bed physically hurts, and I’d like nothing more than to cry all day. There are days where I wake up with a pit in my stomach and tears on my face and wonder if I’m ever going to wake up and just be. But there are days where I wake up and appreciate the beautiful weather, when I smile because I’m waking up in a house full of people who love me and a brand new puppy who can’t see my flaws.
So to you, the boy who pieced my heart back together again and then shattered it, I understand. I don’t love you any less than I did eight months ago, but I resent you for supporting the other people in your life suffering from this disease and choosing to cut me off. I would kill to spend just another week with you, but I hate you for letting everyone in your life judge me and talk about me when I’m still here defending you. I still think you are one of the most beautiful souls I have ever met, and I feel so incredibly lucky to have had you brighten up my life for as long as you did. So thank you, for making even the smallest part of me feel like the girl I used to be, before this awful disease entered my head. And simultaneously, screw you for giving up on me.
I am more than depression. I am more than anxiety. And I’m going to overcome this for me and only me, because I’m a beautiful person too, and I deserve the best of me.
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