I have depression and I’m gonna write about it 

I look and act like pretty much anyone.

I function normally and i can socialise with people and I’m not shy. 

but I have depression.

I suffer with it. and i truly mean I suffer.

its always there no matter what good comes into my life . sure, it can get better but it makes itself known when the lights and sun go down and and when the lights and sun come up and everywhere in between.

depression doesn’t just go away when someone comes into your life . and it doesn’t suddenly come back when you have a break up or when your dog dies. it’s an illness. an actual mental illness. and you just suffer. like I suffer.

and it sucks because it’s really hard for me to talk to people about it and to explain what it’s really like for me and how it feels to be inside my head. normally I just joke about it and they also begin to joke about it and it never becomes serious.

I need to work on that.

what I really wanna tell them is that I hurt. I hurt when I am alone and i hurt when I’m in bed and i hurt when I am having a good time because I know it won’t last when my back hits the mattress. I don’t write anymore and i fucking miss it but I can’t bring myself to bring stories to life. I realized I’m a social eater. but it’s just because I don’t want them to notice that I’ve been getting skinnier and skinnier and more tired and more fragile. my wounds take forever to heal and I’m always tired. I am always fuckin tired. my room is never clean and i hate it but I can’t bring myself to do anything about it. and my hair is falling out. from stress or from not eating i don’t know maybe both but I hate it. I laugh and i joke and i go out but it’s just to try to fill what I know is wrong with me in my brain. 

this is all I have at the moment. 

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nobody too

and as my eyes burn up i slowly start to realize that I feel alone.

ever since I was a kid I could never be home alone or my anxiety would build up and i would freak out over the simplist of sounds.

a gasp of air would leave my mouth and my heart would pump fast and faster as I look around to find no one there.

fingers tighten around my throat and a sob leaks from my lips because I AM ALONE.

it isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last and even with this knowledge i fear for the future.

I fear for the fear.

come back here and feel okay.

get better or treat yourself better?

I started to think that maybe I’m not getting better, but I am getting better at dealing with this fact. I am basically the typical “joke about depression teen” when it has truly affected my life and the people around me. It’s a struggle to know that your own thoughts are bringing someone down along with you as they try to help you through it and when you refuse their help they insist which just drags them even further down with you. I love my friends. I love them enough to keep them in the dark now when I feel my world closing in on me. and lately, it’s been getting harder and harder to forget some things that make me want to tear my fucking hair out. But, every morning i wake up early, I take a long and warm shower and then I put on a face mask and cook myself some eggs. and for a while, I forget about how hard it’s all been on me. I sit in bed and remember some of the good times which yeah, make me a bit sad but it’s the good kind of sad. This whole time I’ve been aching to get better but really I just need to take care of myself. I need to go for more walks and read more books and take more pictures and talk to more people. This post sorta went all over the place but moral of it is that you can either pine for a better life and a better mindset or you can gradually work your way up the ladder and maybe get where you’re going with baby steps. Just…take care of yourself. 

natalia is never allowed to get drunk ever again 

I believe the best way to deal with bad things happening to me is to not take them seriously. 

like my parents divorce or my eating disorder or in this case, when my sober close friend made the decision to make out with me while I was wasted.

I barely remembered it when I woke up.

The more I talked about it the more I started to remember. 

I remember us talking about how I was still drunk.

I remember telling him it was his decision whether or not something happened.

I remember him stroking my body before it happened.

I remember him grabbing me and pulling me closer as it happened.

I don’t remember every single detail but I remember enough to be full of regret, discomfort, and disgust. 

As the days go on its all I can think about. I wanna remember the whole thing but it probably won’t happen if it’s already been a day and a half.

I talk about it seriously on here, but of the 2 people i told i have convinced them that I am not nearly as hurt and affected by it even though it’s been clouding my mind.

he was supposed to be my friend.

just my friend.

but friends don’t take advantage of you.

I found a box of his things & then I cried again 

it contained a small amount of things: sunglasses he bought me, shirts he both gave me and that I stole, a bracelet he gave me from his trip to Florida (i asked him “isn’t this special to you?” and he replied “yeah but so are you”), the shoes he bought me after I refused, a ticket stub from our first date, and lastly, a like of poems i wrote about him. I knew I shouldn’t have read through them but the masochist in me won and i really felt it hit me.

he is gone for months.

we will not speak till january.

and the note we left on was bitter and awful and full of hurt and absolute confusion. 

I wasn’t sure who to believe at that point because nothing was adding up and i felt like my brain was going to fucking explode because so much was happening all at once and then you were just gone 

and all that’s left is me and her talking about the past and talking about how we’re gonna make it to the future.

happy birthday, you piece of absolute garbage 

August 10th, the day you were born. 

today is going to suck because you will be all I can think of today.

like, “what are you doing” and “are you doing well” and “do you still think about me” and “do you still think about her” and “do you think about what you did to us because you fucking ruined us both and i hope it eats away at you till the day you come back”.

I started a photography project on you. happy birthday; it can be your present. im hoping it gives me the temporary closure that I deserve because the day you come back i will be ready for it. I will no longer be the sad girl that is currently sitting and writing this. I will be strong and steady and firm and sure.

happy birthday.

fuck you. 

eating pt. 2: the worry.

i haven’t had a meal in a while. I am trying very hard not to worry but it is getting worse. I am skinnier now than I ever have been. i am weak, and tired and my wounds take a while to heal. I am never hungry so I never eat, only when I get dizzy or when I am out with friends. I eat with them so they can stop worrying so much but I think I should stop because it’s getting bad. I can feel my hip bones now which is an entirely new thing for me given my state a couple months ago. it has to be the stress but I don’t know how to fix it. but thinking of food now just sort of makes me sick and that worries me because I can’t have then worry about me like last time.