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The last chapter in the book.

Miscellaneous By: chloemaewhite
Non-fiction


When I was younger and suffering my depression I was told to write all of my feelings down into a book. Over years I filled this book with events that had changed my life, for the better or worse.


Submitted:Feb 10, 2013    Reads: 7    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   


Coming towards to end of the book.
I have all of these dreams and aspirations that I need to fulfill so I become something. Becoming 'something' is the only thing that has given me a reason to live. My intelligence is more of a life support rather than a blessing, I just wish I could be like anyone else but I just cant. Every day I feel anxious, not good enough and depressed about the way I am but it feels as if I can never get out of it, nobody can help me get out of this. Every day I think back to when I was younger, that night when I was about 12 it must have been. All I could think about was dying, it was the night I read over the book I wrote and thought that enough was enough.. I didn't want to be around any more. Although things weren't that bad from an outsiders' perspective, inside I felt like I was being consumed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt and disappointment in myself. In all honesty, I started cutting myself when I was roughly 10 to 11 years old. It not only felt like it was what I deserved, but it was a release. Always to the same song, it made me feel even worse, but in a strange way I enjoyed feeling bad, it made me think that things actually could get worse. Anyway, that night when I fell to my lowest was also the night I realised that I'm scared of dying. The thing is, I was and still am scared of living too. My solution was to create a life plan for myself and to not let anyone get in my way. Unfortunately, fate likes to fuck over the ones that try to control it. There will forever be that voice in the back of my head, those scars that not only on my wrists, and the crushing pain I feel in my chest. I found that the stronger I pretended to be the easier it was to knock me back down again.
I know I have a problem. The real problem is that I just don't care any more. Of course I have days where I feel like I rule the world and I'm happier than ever, but they only set me up to be knocked back down once more, harder.
Like anyone else, I get ready in the morning, get on the train with everyone else, go to college, talk to friends and smile. We're not a different 'breed' of people, we just trap everything inside and let it eat away at us, instead of wasting your time with our stories, only to be 'comforted' by generic comebacks. Although I don't want to be recognised or noticed for being depressed, I want those that don't have it to neither look down on people like me or even pity them - we are just like you, but we just cant deal with things as well.
My incapability to let people and things go will always haunt me. Every memory I've every had has continued to hurt me as if it had only just happened. I can't let go no matter how hard I try. The scars I will forever hold engrave those memories into me.
I've come down a long road.





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