i have school tomorrow and i planned on closing my eyes thirty minutes ago. but the time continues passing and i'm either crying, or it's the ceiling fan above me. and the most i can say is: "i'm trying." i'm trying to fall asleep but my mind keeps swirling it keeps churning and the truth of the matter is: i may just be giving up.
i may just be giving up small parts of myself. here and there, everywhere leaving little signs of my struggle a trail for those to follow; an example to those who go down the same path of existential crises and depression, etc. a final heap at my defeat. i wish i could of been turned on to the idea of help or taking medication a long time ago the early stages, before it all started. because getting help now screams of weakness something i don't want to show in this state even though it's true. i am weak. taking medication makes me think i'll lose myself the state of mind i have that's so clear to me. and everything will get fuzzy around the edges. i'll be the one always smiling. instead of staring blankly at the floor, or at other people's shoes or out windows. the one people talk about behind my back "crazy happy-pill girl." like my seventh grade family and consumer science teacher that we all used to make fun of behind her back. depression came at her like a leech. the rumor was, that her son had committed suicide. and in eighth grade is when i started finally seeing all the signs of no jack, just jill starting to go downhill. when suicide and harming myself sparked some kind of appeal. how wrong, i see that is now. there is nothing glamorous of cuts or feeling sad all the time. or killing yourself. when i turned in someone for cutting and bringing blades to school; after a suicide that sent our school for a spin. i was shocked. i had math class with that kid. kids, that's what we were we were too young to be dealing with death with such misery and pain, mental and physical. i didn't know it then however, i didn't know i was too young i still don't really know, that i shouldn't be feeling this way. i should of said something then. but now three years later and struggling to hold onto myself i understand medication may have made my teacher weird, but she was much happier than constantly stewing the *** to her depression her thoughts constantly on her son's death. if that was the truth, anyway. she retired at the end of that year and i wonder what happened to her. maybe if i hadn't developed this feeling of independence or superiority to getting help or taking medication i'd be better now. perhaps all this emotion is because i'm going through my teenage years. what if it is all chemistry sorting itself into place like a puzzle. what if it's a test to see how far i'll manage like making it out of a maze. and suddenly, i'll be ok one morning waking up and i'll finally be at peace with myself. perhaps this sadness, is just the universe's way of telling me that i take up space. and the thoughts of ending myself are trying to make room for another human being who has better potential... like curing cancer... i'm sure my best friend would love to save her mom. or solving world hunger, thomas malthus would turn over in his grave. perhaps this is just an illness that i don't want to believe i have: depression, bipolar-ism, the occasional suicidal thoughts... perhaps it's denial. that because i'm in a low period for a day or a week or two and then it gets better. perhaps. perhaps i'm on my way to getting better. i don't really know.