But it’s different with you…

My mother’s friend’s son is also depressed. But he tried to commit suicide so clearly he’s way more depressed than me. /sarcasm

My family thinks like this. My state of mind is written off as an temporary situation. I can’t win. I just cannot explain to them how serious this is. If I show my feelings, I get told to cheer up. If I fake being ok, in their minds it is proof that my illness is no big deal. My mother has seen me with blood running down my arms after I got cut-happy with a razor, but it hasn’t changed her ability to see me or what I’m going through.

I’m not trying to play the depression olympics with tis other person. I cannot measure levels of depression. He was always a bit of a manchild before his breakdown and I cannot imagine that he is coping well.

I don’t want to attempt suicide to make them see. I want to live (more or less). My desire for self-harm is increasing again. I want to carve my skin into pretty lines of blood with a sharp blade. I have managed to avoid buying the razor but my resolve is weakening.

I know that I’m generally a good patient. I take my meds and I am trying to get better.

I am in hell. Caught between the fake happy and the intense desire to shred my arms to pieces and see the red blood flow. Those closest to me do not hear my cries for help. They minimise and deny and I’m lost.


2 responses to “But it’s different with you…

  1. The constant need to compare scars and see who has it worse. I am sorry but just because I don’t have a broken family doesn’t mean I am no less depressed. Can’t help how I feel, just know I feel it.

    I hear you loud and clear. I hope the meds actually help you more than they’ve helped me.


  2. Exactly. It’s not the depression olympics. It seems like people need to examine scars to see whose is deeper to believe that you’re serious.

    Thanks Nav but so far the drugs don’t work.

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