When I was first tainted with the brush that is the diagnosis of depression back in my teens, I accepted that suicide was an option. As I began to fight the darkness I knew that ultimately I would lose and that suicide would be me taking control. I kill me, I kill the darkness. I decided that with my head being the way it was and my brain being the enemy that it was, I would not reach my thirtieth birthday. Just a feeling that I had. Anyway, I reached it. Not much has changed, I’m still not recognising what I see in the mirror and I’m no closer to fixing this problem than I was 17 years ago.
I celebrated my birthday alone. I invited twenty of my closest friends and nobody turned up. Of course, nobody knows of the tremendous milestone that simply reaching my 30th birthday was. Should I have to tell all for someone to give a shit?
Is it normal to hate your reflection because you know that there are people out there that are how you wish you could be?
I mean, why me?