It was just another Monday morning, as monotonous as it always is but waits… This was a bit worse, I had a heavy feeling in my chest. My heart ached, my soul craved for peace and my world came crashing down.
But I had to pretend that I was fine and living my life as happily as any spoiled teen out there. I smiled at my mom while combing my hair, she did smile back but that didn’t help. I was falling apart. Sitting in the classroom, hearing the girls laughing and joking about suicide and depression. When I was planning my own death on the front bench.
Hearing them laugh and giggle with their heart and soul, worsened me. I felt like an iceberg on the verge of collapse and nothing stopping me from melting away anymore. I could hear the teachers shouting at me saying I was not good enough. I pressed my lips, took a deep breath, I, anyways, had to make it till 12 PM. I came back home, as dull as I was when I left for school. I felt stuck dumb and thoughtless in a swelling storm. The storm which had a part of me, Which killed me thousands of times. I left my words stuck in my throat and my strength hurting me deep in my soul.
I was settling disputes in my mind when I realized, SOMETHING WAS WRONG! After a long session of self-harming, my brain finally declared that I needed help. But everybody out there had their own hardships and so I consoled myself and went to sleep. For the 100th time, I said sorry to the child in me, I can stifle its cries. But never can I silence its voice. That child who now sits in her room and cries was once a child with hope in her heart and a smile on her face. I killed that child.
As I sat by the window, tears streaming down my face, nobody to wipe them. It was 3 in the morning. They can’t see my pain. They think I’m fine because depression has a face. But you think you know that face? That face is mine, and hers, and his and theirs. You don’t even notice because it’s so many people out there. So, the next time you joke about depression, maybe dig a bit deeper. Their’s blood underneath my surface you scrape with your words. My blood.
Read more Blogs on Notebook Nation