I believed in God.
I believed he loved me.
I believed that there was heaven and hell.
I believed that God could heal all sicknesses.
I also believed I was depressed.
I didn't tell anyone though. I tried to and no one believed me. No one who could do anything anyway. What did I have to be depressed about anyway. I was sorta pretty, had a lot of friends, a doting mother and someone to call daddy. I was loved, so why was I depressed?
The truth was, I didn't know why either. I was drowning in school work and church and no matter how much I screamed for help, no one tried to save me. They just stood on the shore and watched me gasp for air, begging to be rescued, begging to matter enough.
They finally sent out the life raft in the form of a pastor, who said I was possessed by demons of self blame self harm... you name them and I had them. And maybe it was true, maybe I was demon possessed, and moderate depression was the fancy name they gave to it to make it officially a disease. God sent him to save me from myself. And I won't lie to you, I felt better afterwards, happy even and truthfully, I couldn't remember the last I was that happy. It was frightening. And I started to forget. I forgot what it felt like to be so sad, that I questioned my very existence. I forgot what it felt like to want to kill myself. I forgot what it felt like to not hurt for the simplest things, to second guess myself, to believe all the rubbish people were spewing from their mouth's about me. I forgot.
And then everything I tried to forget. Everything that made me curl up into corners and cried. Everything that made me feel like I was less of a person. Everything? Everything came back.
YOU ARE READING
Anywhere Else But Here
Non-Fiction"Unfortunately depression isn't something you can hope away. It latches on to your spirit and if you're not vigilant, it consumes your soul." Gwendolyn Maitland Welcome to the life of a depressed and utterly over stressed teenage girl by the name of...
