i tell you i’ve had a bad day my depression whacked me upside the head and i cried on the bathroom floor
and you share photos of a quaint forest path saying that is the real cure for depression and the pills i take are a lifelong addiction because if the pills really did work then i wouldn’t still be on them until your fingers ****** bleed
as if my mental illness is a nasty cold that requires antibiotics for about a month and once i am “better” i’ll be okay on my own
you treat my pills bottles like a crutch that makes me weak like i am a bad person for trying to live my life worth living a life which just so happens to be medicated
and that comes from such a place of privilege you and your stupid pictures of forest paths that have nothing to do with depression and anxiety and screaming hallucinations that have left me sobbing on the floor making myself bleed until i can tell what’s real again
my mental illness is a chronic thing even when i am stable i will never stop being mentally ill just because i have more good days than bad doesn’t mean i can cold-turkey the very things that keep me functioning without losing my mind
and when i did try to go off the meds in high school you smiled and told me how brave i was how strong how i didn’t need the medication
and days later when i spent two hours sobbing until i almost puked because of the lasagna i had accidentally burnt to a crisp you laughed at me and my tears and told me to **** it up to man up to just be happy
like you telling me to just be happy will replace the serotonin my brain can’t produce enough of on its own
like you calling me weak for being on medication will take away the very real truth that without taking those pills every morning i would have tried to **** myself again and would have probably succeeded that time
like you sharing your pictures of forest paths and demonstrating your complete and utter lack of knowledge as to how medication that isn’t antibiotics works will suddenly fix what is broken in my brain
but you take medication that a doctor prescribes when you are sick enough for that to be needed and nobody calls you weak
and when you break a bone you get it set in plaster well i can’t put a cast on the cracks in my psyche
so i do the next best thing because if your brain can’t produce enough serotonin to keep you wanting to live all on its own then store-bought is fine
(and you turning on me when my mental illness stops being something i can manage on my own says more about you than it ever will about me)