Sit 🪑 💌

... With me 🎧✨

Listen to Crybaby by SZA for full effect 😮‍💨🎧

Hey... It’s been a minute. I’m not certain I still know what “writing” is, but I’ll talk, I’ll just talk.

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As we’ve both come to establish, I tend to overshare on this app—but do I care? Not one bit. The silence is maddening. Is it really there though?

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Lately, I’ve been coming to understand that my emotional prison might just be an illusion and my life is not as pathetic as I think it is. That maybe I just like to suffer, that I seem to enjoy being sad and exhausted. Well, if this new theory is correct, why then does it feel this real? This engulfing? On so many days, living is hard. I don’t think it’s normal for one to wish to disappear 5 out of 7 days... or is it?

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I seem to have lost my sense of self—or have I gained it? I guess we never really know what we’re feeling; we just find names that seem to have the closest description or whatnot.

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I don’t want to be alive... but I don’t want to die either. Can someone please relate? I’m supposed to be a Christian, yet I genuinely don’t feel like one on most days. The thoughts in my head, the things I catch myself doing, and the lifestyle I see as fun don’t come off as very Christian. I feel like a terrible hypocrite. Why? Simply because I’m always ranting to people to come to the light and see how God is good, how being a child of God is fulfilling. But truth be told, I don’t feel content most days. My faith is barely strong enough for anything—and that’s crazy, because if at all God didn’t come through for me before, He definitely did this year. So what is my problem? Why can’t I just be content?

Maybe because I’m not happy. And deep down, I have this feeling that going outside of being a believer holds the joy I seek—and so far, it’s held nothing but distraught. I genuinely feel an ick in my own skin. The same way I don’t recognize who I’ve become... at all.

This isn’t really about my faith though—it’s about saying things we’d be bashed for speaking of.

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At this juncture, I don’t think medications would do the trick anymore. I need my head opened and my brain wiped.

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The horrible part is my personality is in great duel with my mental health. It’s very, very hard to believe a heart this heavy can have a face so smiley. I’m no longer cracking—I’m caving. Fully caving in. Cracks can be sealed, but I’d like to see you replace chunks that fall out.

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When you try to talk about it, you get one of these three people:

The “Snap out of it” crew 🤡: They usually throw words like “Life isn’t easy for anyone, and if you hate your life so bad just end it.” Hahaha 😂. End it only to cause this type of pain to someone else? You know how many people would ask themselves if they weren’t there for me enough? How insensitive can people be? I’m depressed, not necessarily suicidal. Also, I’m sorry my depressed ass pisses you off so much—you can go ahead and kiss it.

The “Go get help” gang 🫠: Well, my question to you is this: how many people can afford “help”? Also, what am I to do if, let’s just say, the therapist refers you to a psychiatrist who just gives medicine once they see your PHQ-9 is high (for example, mine’s at a 24 😂). Then they give more recommendations and ask if you have people helping you fight this 🙂. Isn’t that, like... your job, Sir? Truth is, the diagnosis can be overwhelming. C-PTSD, severe depression, acute anxiety... I’m very aware, Sir. And I’d love to not just be given names—I’d love to be given solutions, real help. These medications only suppress, and maybe one day we’ll talk about how much worse you get if you try going off them. Once again I say, living is hard.

The “Have you prayed about it” crew 😅: Yes, yes darling, I’ve prayed. But God must have a reason for leaving me here, because no matter how much I strive to spark joy and try to be positive, I always seem to fall back into this horrible ditch.

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I can’t wait for a time when we have the “I’ll sit with you in it” crew as much as we have the others. You all say it’s hard having a friend who’s always depressed—well, if you stopped to think, I’m sure you’d realize that if it’s hard for you who has to watch or hear me, then it’s horrible for me who lives like this. Have mercy on me, and try to understand that no one enjoys being such a sob. It’s just funny how therapists tell you to show how you really feel and stop masking, but the people you’re asked to bare yourself to say stuff like, “You can’t really be sad all the time, can you?”

I can. Love, I can—and I always am.

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This piece isn’t to draw pity. I have enough, and I promise I don’t want more. I just need to hear you. I want to sit with someone else who feels the way I do—not necessarily in the same font, but something heavy that people think they understand... but they don’t. Let’s just damn false positivity and talk about how real mental struggles can be, how nothing seems to really work most times, how people who promise to stand by you tend to get exhausted and draw out a seat. Lol.

‎Whenever you see this I’d like for you to sit with me, to talk to me, to let me hear you, what's the worst that can happen? If at all you need any assurance I'd say that what could go wrong almost always goes wrong and we eventually survive it so how bad can letting it out of your head feel? Anyway that's what I said to myself when writing this piece😙✨

‎Sending you pieces of my heart 💞❤️ one

letter 💌 at a time 💋

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‎A~A