wh atma y me an s2 m3

surviving the specter

Being mentally ill with depression means that people may not always getme. I’ve come to accept that.

I’ve also come to accept that it’s okay.

A lot of the times I don’t even getmyself.

A.

Lot.

I guess “understand” would be a more accurate word.

It’s like trying to explain to somebody what May means to me, except it comes out sounding like this post’s title looks like.

They may never understand what it feels like. And I’m happy that they never will. I would wish this on no one.

There’s so many things I’ve never understood about myself for years, and have only begun to within the past 5-10 years of my life.

A list of un-understandables in my life has been:

I don’t understand why I feel sluggish all the time. 

I don’t understand why laughing feels so forced.

I don’t understand why I…

View original post 1,086 more words

4 responses to “wh atma y me an s2 m3

  1. I’ve typed and deleted, typed and deleted— again and again. Nothing I type seems appropriately insightful to post. I’ve been battling depression and anxiety for two decades. It can be so mentally exhausting at times. The worst part of it for me is cyclic thinking, as my brain tries it’s hardest to get caught in a loop and attempts to suffocate itself with negativity and “what ifs”.

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