Depression got me like

I’m worthless…

I will be alone forever…

I am no good for anything more than to be a trash can for my rapist’s poison.

I am so worthless that I am just the vessel for his filth… and shame on me for reeking after the fact.

Depression got me like

This is why I go to therapy,

Why I didn’t cry when my mother died

She looked me in the eye and said

“I do not believe” and chose my rapist over me.

Pardon me while I suffer silently.

In the darkness of my depression while my soul violently battles for her existence.

Depression got me like

I am married and I have a son, and how that happened, I do not know. I am not worthy of these people who love me unconditionally.

Am I broken? Or maybe it could be… Am I actually worth something?

This is the dichotomy of what is on the outside of me, what you see

it’s not all that’s in me.

What of it has any worth, if my whole life has been a curse?

Depression got me like

You don’t care to hear my story or you’re tired of hearing it over and over again… but, you’re mad if I don’t fight. You call me selfish if I give in.

You are tired of hearing my story just like you’re tired of hearing about racism but that fact doesn’t make either one of these less real.

You curse victims for speaking out and telling the truth because you’re tired. You want us all to get along, but you can’t get along with me.

Depression got me like

Pardon me while I go suffer in silence.

Don’t let me make you weary any further… but, then don’t be mad if I should go and you remain.

If I’m no longer alone and you’re without me, the one who made you tired of her story, don’t be mad. Don’t insult me by romanticizing me and saying I was a joy to be around, or that you even miss me. If you don’t miss my story and where it’s gone you don’t truly miss me.

Depression got me like

Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe your reasons for being wary of my story is not because you don’t understand it. Maybe your reason for being tired of my story because you are just like me. Or could it be that you also are a rapist? Or is it that you don’t believe me, like my mother?

This is what depression got me like.

Wife, Mother, Dog trainer, Blogger, Sexual Abuse survivor and Stigma Fighter.

Pepper can be found on her blogFacebook and Twitter

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