Well, I found this site an hour ago and decided to join. So I might as well tell my own story, right?
I've been depressed for… 5 years or so now. I've kept it well-hidden. I was just that one quiet girl, doing her school work and getting good grades. I wasn't shy, just quiet — if you came up to me, I'd talk. No social anxiety. I went through high school, thinking my feelings would go away eventually, because many teenagers go through periods of depression.
They didn't go away. Now, I am in college, doing the same thing. Just working on a General Degree, nothing special. I don't have many friends, and those I do have I only keep in touch with over Facebook, because they all moved away. I have a boyfriend who loves me, and I love him, but honestly, I've never been attracted to men. I really don't know, at the moment, if I am straight/bi/lesbian, and I don't see that as much of an issue — I feel that that realization will come with time. I'm very easygoing when it comes to relationships with… well, anyone. Very open.
My problems lie at home. I've always kept my dark thoughts to myself. I write (I plan to eventually publish) and most of my inner darkness comes out in that. I've managed my thoughts by myself for some time, fully knowing that I was depressed.
Then, I admitted to my boyfriend that I was having depressing and suicidal thoughts, and that I had been having them for years. He told my mom (because he's one of those people who can't keep secrets or a straight face for anything — I don't blame him).
Now my mom, who had unknowingly added to my depressive thoughts, is pushing me. She wants me to talk to her, to talk to a therapist, to talk to someone. She's making it worse by just being around me. We had a good, open relationship (the only thing I didn't tell her were my suicidal thoughts) and she is easily annoyed when I decide not to tell her what's on my mind. She's… the kind of woman who never makes mistakes. She excells at everything she does and everyone loves her. She is a very determined, strong, kind woman, but she is also very stubborn and very… black and white. She's the kind of woman who has never been depressed and has never had this deep sadness that I feel, this complete lack of interest in everything save my writings.
And whether she knows it or not, she tries to make me like her.
She's just one focus for my depressive thoughts. Ironically, I love myself, even physically, and I know what I am capable of doing with my life. My problem is that I see no point in life — none at all. I live my life and then I am gone. The only thing that matters to me is getting my writings out there — I want to have, before I die, a book with my name printed as the author. That is… honestly, it's the only thing keeping me here.
I've gotten a bit carried away with this. Getting this all out offers some relief, at least.
I can't keep going like this. I live every day in a haze, coming into focus only when I'm writing. And in this household (I live with my parents because I can't afford anywhere else right now) there is no such thing as peace. I can't get away from my mother, who is a constant source of stress for me. I can't seem to shake these depressing thoughts — they've just become a part of my life, a part of me. They only became an issue when people around me actually looked at me and noticed.
I would prefer they never found out.
Anyway, that's my story, in a nutshell. A long nutshell… I did not intend for that to happen. I like writing, what can I say?