heartbreak girl | s.m.

51 | things are different now

I hope that she gets some answers. I hope that this really is the first step to repairing all this damage between us. I hope she can feel like herself again.

---
a few hours later
gemma <<<

It's always great to find out that something else is wrong with you. There's nothing like it. It's like, hey—you're bad now, but don't worry, you're only going to get worse.

I have depression. I'm depressed. God, it all feels so...cliché.

Apparently it's not normal to feel absolutely no motivation at all. Apparently it's not normal to go to bed at seven o'clock. Apparently it's not normal to avoid phone calls from people you enjoy talking to.

I wasn't shocked to receive this news. It almost feels right. Of course I'm depressed. I have anxiety, and I'm depressed, and one day, maybe I'll just fly right off the deep end and off myself.

Maybe. I don't know. I'm not planning on it anytime soon, but these kind of things take over your mind.

I do have some more trusty medication to take. God, am I eighty? I have to remember to take my fucking pills in the morning or I might throw myself in front of a train.

New York feels joyful today; I can see it in everyone's faces as I walk back to my apartment. I mean, hey—it's Friday. It's sunny and the sky is blue, what is there to be upset about? Why do I just want to get inside my dark apartment and cry when it's so nice out, and nothing has happened to me to warrant such behavior?

Because of my chemical imbalance, apparently.

I did finally get home, and when I did, I did start crying. Not soft crying; hard crying. I turned on my sad songs playlist and sat on the kitchen floor, letting my tears fall for as long as they could. And they fell.

I have to tell my boyfriend. But how? God, there's no fucking way he wants to be with me. Look at me. Bawling on my kitchen floor just because I have stupid depression like fucking everybody else in the world. I'm such a baby. A drama queen. I act like I'm the first one to ever have mental heath issues, Jesus Christ.

I could barely be enough for him before all of this happened, and now...I'm not even capable of picking up the phone when he calls. How can he even think I'm worth this? How can I put him through this, just for me? For my awful self? I'm a mess.

me
doctor says i'm depressed. more medicine.

He didn't respond; he called. Which was what I was trying to avoid. I sighed.

"Hello?" I said. trying to make it seem as though I wasn't crying.

"Hey, babe," he replied. I smiled a little. He's trying to be sweet. "You okay?"

I sniffled. "I'm just fine, Shawn. Please don't worry about me. Seriously—I'm gong to be fine. I'm going to take the medicine every day, without fail, and it'll be controlled, just like the anxiety stuff. It's not a big deal."

I know that he's freaking out over there. I hate to think that he's stressed out over me.

"I know. You'll be just fine," he said, sounding like he was reassured. "I just...it is a big deal. It's not something you can just gloss over. And I...I just need you to know that you can always call me or text me or whatever you need, whenever you need it. If you need me there, I'll be on the first plane. You're never going to be in this alone."

I almost started sobbing again, because of him. Why must he be so understanding when I'm so messed up? Why is he so willing to deal with me, after all I've put him through recently? He could have anyone, yet he chooses to stay with the mess of a girl that is me. Why?