They are treating me like I'm sick.
I know what I am.
And sick is not one of the word I would choose.
Hurt,
Yup.
Lost,
Definitely.
Scared,
Hopeless,
Dark,
Yes, yes, and yes.
But sick?
No.
I thought telling my teacher would be easy.
I reached out to her because I know she can help me
But, I think I..
I...
I need help
I need friends and family to know what I'm doing behind all these closed and locked doors.
Because maybe if they know,
They can help break the doors and melt the locks.
I need love.
Not people telling me I am sick.
I hate hearing people describe self harm and depression
As a sickness
If I was sick I would be throwing up not cutting my arm to see if I still bleed,
If I was sick I wouldn't go to work I would stay in bed and read all day not drag myself out of the warm embrace that is the sheets and pillows I sleep in,
If I was sick it would be shorter than seven months of pain and hurt.
I need a psychiatrist,
I need a therapist,
Not some **** bag telling me "just be happy. you'll get over it."
And worst of them all is "its just a phase"
I know I'm not depressed
I know I'm in a depression
I know I can't look at a blade without thinking of all the blood I have spilled,
I know I need help.
but what I don't know it how to ask for it.