I’m showing you a version of what I’d like you to see so that I can trick you into thinking that everything is fine. Everything is NOT fine. You don’t need to know my inner workings and the parasites that are sucking my soul within. That’s the thing about depression, it’s soul-sucking. It isn’t like anxiety, which crawls on your body. Depression seeps into your pores and tries to kill you. But you don’t get that. You don’t need to understand how I feel, because I won’t let you see those scars. They’re not even scars; they’re gaping open wounds.
You won’t get it. You will cast me aside and anyway, you don’t have to because it’s none of your business. I will suffer alone if I need you rather than have you tell me that I’m not good enough because I’ve heard that my entire life. I don’t need you to tell me that I can’t do anything because I’m lazy and I don’t care to try. You don’t know how hard I’m trying just to survive. So before you think you know me understand that I’m showing you the parts of me that you can handle. If you saw who I truly was, you’d run so fast I wouldn’t remember you standing there. I didn’t get a good look at your face before you left, but I’m fairly certain that you were horrified.