Not everyone understands, and that’s what makes it so difficult. Depression is not something many people recognize as a disease. For many, it is not the same as cancer or diabetes, but I assure you, it is.
It doesn’t matter how often I try to write something else — you always end up all over the page. This is the act of grieving, I know, and I swore I’d keep you alive, so this is how I’m doing that.
There comes a moment in every patient’s life where they think, “this is it. I’m going to die. And I’m okay with dying now.” Whether or not death is imminent at that point, it doesn’t matter.
I remember waking up last summer, in your house, covered in a sheen of sweat. No houses on this campus have AC. If they do, the rent is too much for the average college kid to afford. Everyone is sweaty and angry all the time here.
I’ll post things on Facebook or Twitter that I think you may like or may find funny.
The first person I asked didn’t know. My friend, 19 and sophomore at the University of Michigan, responded to my question of whether or not he would consider himself a feminist with, “No… Well, what is the whole movement about?”
Know that you are worth it. Know that your stretch marks, your scars, your blemishes, and your insecurities are all minor puzzle pieces, creating the masterpiece that you are. You need them to complete yourself.
You love giving compliments. Making people feel good is important to you. You aren’t a monster. But when it comes to taking compliments… you gotta learn.
Don’t be embarrassed at how tall you are. A lot of boys will be shorter than you, but that isn’t your problem, and it doesn’t make you any less feminine.
George Orwell once compared it to an illness, saying, “One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.”