When people see you, you look good. People love you, you laugh a lot… by societies standards you’re successful, you have friends and you’re gorgeous. You don’t see what they see.
Depression distorts the lens of your life.
You don’t see whole reflections. Your view is produced by a dirty, broken mirror.
The first thing you hear when you wake up, the last thing you hear before you go to bed and in every single free space in between, your mind hears that sad song and those demeaning words together, infinitely looped… convincing you that this world and you would be better served without your existence.
I know the heart wrenching impact of suicide and the extreme, desperate heart and mind space one has to be in to make that choice. I also have friends who suffer from depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and perhaps other mental illnesses I know nothing about. I worry about them. I worry when they get to quiet and when they stay away too long. I wonder if my phone is gonna ring with the grief of a parent or sibling telling me they’ve chosen their own final act on the stage of life— I am sometimes terrified by the knowing… the knowing that no matter how beautiful, intelligent, witty and resourceful I find you— that if you don’t see it in yourself what I think doesn’t matter.
