Perspective

Chapter Fifty.

A/N: Thank you for being so awesome with the wait with updates.

I come bearing flying piggy cookies of gratitude. Missed you all.

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"The things we do just to keep ourselves alive."

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A Thief.

I feel like that’s one label that depression or mental health seems to escape with most people.

It seems a lot of people think mental illness gives you ‘issues’, not that it steals from you.

It’s a thief that doesn’t discriminate  either. I mean honestly, it’s one thing that really has no prejudice.

It doesn’t care about gender, sexuality, age, social status, race or creed. It is all inclusive and will steal from whomever it pleases.

It’s very progressive. 

Sometimes I wonder, what it would be like if mental illness were treated with the same care and urgency as a criminal breaking into a home and stealing, or maybe even a robber holding up a store at gunpoint.

Yet, it isn’t.

Someone stealing your car is treated with far more urgency than that thief that is stealing your will to live.

Hell, someone stealing your parking spot is treated like a greater pressing matter by most people than having every ounce of hope  you’ve ever had stolen from you every single day.

I think that’s the thing I hate and resent the most about all of this, are the things it’s stolen from me.

It has taken away my ability to be a good friend for one, to be present and dependable. I can barely have energy for myself let alone other people, and I hate that I don’t have the energy to be there for the people I care about.

I just don’t have it in me, I have nothing left. Not to mention I’m stuck in a situation with someone that does nothing but drain 

It fucking hurts, because I still love them just as much, they’re still just as important to me and yet this has taken away any ability I had to be the person they need.