There is a truth I’ve known but is so difficult to swallow every time I am reminded. The truth is I am trapped in a hell that I have created for myself with this depression. Once upon a time, when there was a young boy who yearned for love and attention was raped and abused for two years and sculpted into another’s twisted desire, he had lost his innocence, but also a part of his soul. This soul of his became tainted in the belief that the reason he felt so alone was because no one needed him. That his worth was only in fulfilling someone else’s desire and not of his own. The solace gained was knowing his worth could be given only through being nothing but a shadow to only please. He had no will of his own. Then one day, he was set free by circumstance. What now was to become of him? In the end, a voice deep inside became part of me, one that was not of my own. It spoke lies of how little I was worth. How I was a burden to my family and my friends. It told me how I could kill myself in so many ways that are fitting for me like suffocation or a cut artery vein. These methods were justified because the means that I would suffer greatly before passing on. That need to grasp onto friends became very apparent yet at the same time, I knew it was not fair to them. It was a heavy burden for such an intense friendship. Again, that voice inside would continue to lie. Eventually after so many years, those lies become truth. My worth is none and the only way I can ever be happy was to please. I do enjoy helping others but it also became a selfish need. The need to feel some worth in life, however, it’s a hunger where its appetite can never be satisfied. Obviously, depression was born from such a past, but it intensified because that voice became a part of me as well. I would have to realize in my own personal hell that I will never be happy as long this depression existed. With this part of me so well integrated into who I am now, how can I ever accept who I am? Who could ever love someone such as me? I am hideous outside and inside apparently. I became lost in this endless struggle with both. I found happiness in a relationship because it felt like validation through someone else’s eyes and not through my own twisted being. A terrible truth in that itself was born as well. My reliance on that was handicap on that alone and it’s not fair to place such a burden on someone in that way. My best friends knew of this truth and explain this to me. A prison in itself that my love relationships became for me. I knew deep down and yet what can I do except fail. Again, the voice grew stronger over each failed intimate relationship I had. The truth I came to accept was that my worth can never be of any value in life. My acceptance of this depression seemed fitting now. I am twisted and lost and hopeless. What hope could I ever have in life? I am lost with no means of a drive in life. Whatever I may do as “good” seemed to only feel as though it cheapened me further. I am fool in this life rings loudly in my mind. Are these my words or someone else’s? Does it matter? I’ve thrown away happiness because I am depressed. Why can I not accept my life, the opportunities I have, the love my dear ex fiancé had given, the last words she spoke to me. “Be happy for yourself in life, Matt.” I was happy with her, with myself, with my past. I had even accepted the path I chose to walk of being depressed but doing things because it was me and not anyone else’s reasoning or influence. I am a terrible fool. I have the means to move on but I cannot. Maybe the real truth in this mess is that I am afraid to be happy for myself. Depression, the past, the present, the future are just instruments that shape the details of the path and the journey of it all. I am trapped in this personal hell I’ve created because deep down I came to believe that I was worthless and I deserve to suffer. Looking beyond the depression perhaps would create the fear I am ever more alone without it. Acceptance of myself feels like an impossible task.


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