A story about darkness & light
I know it's been awhile since you heard from me, as I seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth for periods of time. I have good reasons for why that happened, of course.. It took me a long time to come to this decision, to share something so private and deep about myself that I have shared with so few people, I can count them with one hand.
I don't know what's gotten into me tonight, that makes me feel so compelled to share this story. One that I've been pondering and contemplating over whether or not this should be public information, for weeks, months and years. Every now and then, I feel like, "maybe I should speak about this."
And then a voice inside hushes me, "They won't understand. You will be judged. There's no point." And then that willingness to share, goes away.
But today that openness is driven not by enthusiasm or optimism for approval, but rather, a small hope that someone out there who feels the same way would find some comfort in these words. I know I've searched long and hard for someone else who feels this way, but I have not met someone in real life who has been able to reveal this side of themselves to me yet. But of course, it's not everyday that people tell you their darkest secrets.
Today I decided to close the cafe earlier so that I could get home and have some "me-time." I feel like I'm just not capable of anything except typing this on my phone tonight. I just want to curl up under my sheets and hide away from the world. Most days, I do great - I greet customers with a smile, I make cakes & food happily, I partake in fun activities, and live my life as best I can. Other days aren't so cool.
Tonight isn't as bad as it gets, I know so, because there have been much worse evenings, but it's enough to bring out these emotions that I keep buried usually at all costs.
So here's the one thing about me that I've tried my best to hide from everyone, and even myself.
I have struggled with depression since I was a child.
From when I was in primary school, one of the first few things I searched on the Internet when I learned how to use it, was: "what is the most painless way to die?"
And then I soon found out it was through carbon monoxide poisoning. No pain, no mess, the least ugly way to go. I spent many days and nights lying wide awake in my bed (and sometimes still do) wondering if I died, who would miss me, and do they miss now while I'm still alive? I think about what I would regret not doing if I died tomorrow.
I don't think anyone is born into depression. So you might be surprised to hear that children can be depressed too. But with all sad stories, it all starts with a tragedy in the beginning: and that tragedy was the broken mess that my family was in my infant years. I don't know what a childhood is, because I've never had one.
My earliest recognizable memories in life are of my mum and dad screaming at each other, and dad being violent, etc. I remember this when I was about 4 years old. Since then, other memories I could remember include: spending time with domestic maids, who were the main people who took care of me, seeing mum and dad argue more, then not seeing dad around anymore. Perhaps there were a few redeeming moments.. I don't know. But I remember none of them at all.
As far as I know, there was no happy play dates and fond memories of the first home I grew up in. Thinking about the house I first lived in sends shivers down my spine, because it was a bleak place. It looked gloomy, the people in it were not happy, and it was almost kind of spooky, almost. Nothing nice to reminisce.
I remember a lot of confusion and sadness. Old enough to understand that something unpleasant was happening, yet not intelligent enough to figure out why. What does it mean that your dad is never around? Why is mum always upset? Why are people always so cold and yelling? Why do we have to keep moving houses? Why aren't we normal? The word divorce was not in my dictionary. As a child, all I remember wishing was, "Why can't my family be complete?"
Every birthday, I had the same wish: togetherness
I had never experienced happiness, I dare say, until I was in my teenage years. Quite simply put, there was absolutely nothing to be happy about in my child years. No friends, no happy memories, no cool birthday parties, no cool toys, no running around, doing what children do. My heart and mind wasn't innocent and free, from as young as I can remember, it was sad, angry and lonely.
Anyone who has grown up with a broken family knows that it scars you with a kind of pain that is incredibly difficult to heal. Maybe some parents just fall out of love and decide to separate while doing what's best for the kids, but that certainly wasn't on my parents' minds. They were angry at each other, and they dragged their kids into their spiteful drama. They didn't hesitate to blow up physically and verbally in front of their kids. I felt the full brunt of their actions.
Before I even hit puberty I was forced to go to court to choose between which of my parents I wanted to live with, both wanting me to choose them, and I just knew they would resent me if I didn't choose them. Eventually, one of them did, no prizes for guessing who. Do you even know what kind of weight that is on a child's shoulders? No child should have to choose between either parent, ever. Especially not tearfully in court.
There was no self sacrificial love going on, sad to say, it was very dramatic, selfish, terrible and it took me many years to forgive them. I felt like they should have handled everything better. It was only until I grew much older did I realize that just because they were adults, doesn't mean they actually knew what they were doing. Adults can make great mistakes, too. And sometimes they have no idea the consequences of their actions until it's far too late. I'm an adult now, I would know.
Angry parents = angry kids. Confusion turned to sadness which manifested into anger, and I became a very angsty child. I used a pen knife and carved "I hate you" onto my mother's desk once. I hated this world she had brought me into, one that was dark, miserable and without light. Why did you give birth to me if you didn't intend to give me a happy environment to grow up in?
When I was entering primary school, I had more or less figured out - this is life now. My life consisted of a broken family, and I had to be okay with that. I didn't see dad anymore, but then I kinda got used to it. Told myself I don't need a father to grow up normally and I was okay with that.
I grew up real quick. I understood a lot of pain, emotions and sentiments that other children my age would not have picked up. Pain does that to you, it makes you grow. When you keep asking yourself, "Why? Why me? Why do things have to be like this?" Eventually you start getting used to asking why for everything and you start to pick apart the world piece by piece. You identify other people by their pain instead of happiness, because that's your main emotion.
All of this is possible for a kid barely in primary school. The prospect of entering primary school excited me. I thought this would finally be my chance to make some friends.
I've seen my brother with his school mates when they come over to hang out with him at home, and it looked nice. Must be nice to have somebody want your company. I was a very lonely kid. I felt largely unwanted most of the time. Funny how in court both my parents seemed to want me, and yet in everyday life, I was alone 99% of the time. Our domestic helper provided for my needs such as feeding me, but that was it.
I got a rude shock when I entered primary school. It was nothing like I had imagined. What I thought would be a lovely time making friends turned out to be a horrible fucking experience.
I didn't know how to socialize with other people or other kids, because I was different. I wasn't like everyone else - I couldn't be normal and get along because the amount of social interaction I've previously had was so little. It was difficult for me to make friends. It could have ended just there - a kid with a broken family and no friends, but it got worse. I was often bullied, taunted and called awful names by even more awful kids.
The bullying got so bad that I dreaded going to school every day, and that's when the depression truly kicked in. I screamed and shouted in protest when my mum would try make me go to school.
She couldn't understand how just going to school could be so bad. But she had no idea how vile the other kids were. If any of my primary school classmates are reading this, well sorry, most of you were disgustingly awful. I hope you're better people now.
Yes I'm sure I wasn't a pleasant kid either, since I was so rude, angry and I do feel like I must have been generally unlikeable for you guys to have treated me that way. But to this day, the horrors of my primary school still shock me.
They called me names like bitch & jiak sai ge (aka Jessica, creative right) among many others I cannot remember. Words like that hurt a lot when you're just a kid and you don't understand that what your classmates say don't really matter because they ARE your whole world - who the hell else you got when you're a kid??? If not for friends in school??
But the worst thing they'd ever done to me was this one incident that I will never, ever forget.
The only two things I enjoyed doing was reading, and art. I liked anything art-related. Both provided escapes into a world that wasn't my own. I could disappear into a book for hours and days on end, and whenever I was doing something artsy, I felt proud that somebody as fucked up as myself could produce something beautiful.
So when one fine day my primary school classmate brought a set of super cool coloring pens to class, everyone wanted a go at them, including me. I had asked for permission to borrow them to doodle with, to which she said yes. I should've known there was a catch.. Nothing good ever happened back then and they've certainly never done me a favor.
But I didn't think much of it, and told her I would put them back on her desk after recess as I didn't usually go for recess with the other kids. I would stay back in class to be by myself.
I spent recess that morning happily coloring away, and when time was almost up, I decided to visit the restroom to pee, not before returning the coloring pens to her table, of course.
Much to my horror, when I got back, there was a commotion going on. The girl who owned the pens asked me where her pens were. I said I had left them on her table. "You're lying! They're missing!!"
Shit, I thought to myself: someone must have taken it without permission and now they think I took them.
Drama ensued. The teacher made everyone open their bags to show they didn't steal the pens. I was relieved by this because the real culprit would be caught and I would be off the hook.
One by one, students started opening their bags.... Nope. No coloring pens in there.
When it came to opening my bag, I did so without hesitation, as I was so sure there would be nothing but my own stuff inside, but lo & behold: THE FUCKING PENS WERE IN THERE.
I was absolutely mortified, and turned around to look at a few cheebye kias who were giggling away with a gleeful look on their faces and it was then I instantly knew: I had been set up.
By fucking primary school kids!!!!!! Holy shit!!!!!! Tell me they aren't monsters. How could little human beings be so evil? I thought my upbringing was fucked up, but surely, theirs must be worse.
I was publicly shamed as a thief in class and the teacher was not kind at all when I told her I'd been set up. Think she told me to shut up and apologize. She was a bitch really, and showed intense favoritism.. I forgot what happened after that. But I remember the angst and hatred boiling up inside me this world that basically was: Fuck this world.
The moral of this story is: Kids can be nasty and do things with evil intentions just as much as they can be depressed and suicidal.
Everything went very much downhill after that. Dad froze their joint account and didn't continue paying for the first home, mum couldn't afford proper housing anymore and we shifted from one house to the next, sometimes putting up at a place for only months then we were about to stay with a relative that agreed to let us live with her until we moved in all our stuff then she changed the keys and she kept the stuff and told us to get lost.
Yup that happened. Then eventually we settled into one of mum's boyfriend's house for two years. He had a foul temper, but was kind enough take my brother, my mum and I in, when we had nowhere else to live.
It was there, that I would be scarred irrevocably for life. It was there that I realized a very long series of unfortunate events could happen to one person. When you expect things to get better, they get worse. It was there that I realized very unfair things can consecutively happen to people that don't deserve them at all. This is life. Life can be beautiful, but it just not for me. Somehow I didn't have that kind of luck.
Here's another story for you.
Mum's bf's parents also lived in the same house, and his crazy mother was a total nutcase bitch who physically and verbally abused me by treating me like dirt and slapped me when she felt like it. She made me feel even more worthless than I already did, by constantly reminding me coldly that I should be lucky to even have a roof over my head because "your own father doesn't even want you."
The dad, however, was nice. He did not shout at me. He did not restrict my food, and in fact even bought candy for me occasionally. He was quiet at first, but warmed up bit by bit. For the first time in my life, I thought, wow, someone is being nice to me when they don't even have to. What a rarity.
He seemed to have much more compassion than his batshit crazy wife. Eventually, he even offered to pick me up from school because my mum worked 3 jobs just to sustain the family and didn't have time.
We started spending more and more time together. I didn't quite mind. I was just glad SOMEONE cared to be nice to me.
One day, he asked for a favor. I was told to enter his bedroom and not to tell anyone about what we were about to do, because it would be
"Our little secret."
He also made it a point to mention that if I told anyone, he wouldn't pick me up from school anymore. (Sometimes I had to wait 5 hours sitting outside school for mum to end work & pick me up).
He probably thought I didn't know what he was doing because I was "just a kid", but I did. He was the second person to have sexually abused me. The first, I will not mention for my own good reasons.
Neither of them had intercourse with me, just to clarify.. out of the many shitty things that have happened, one tiny victory to celebrate.
The old man did try, though. Can you believe he actually said to me, "maybe next time, it's too small now"?
I was about 9 years old at that time. But I read extensively and learned how to use the Internet, so I already knew what sex and a penis was. And I knew it was wrong. I knew what he was doing to me, and I knew what he was making me do to him, as well. I'll spare you the gross details because that doesn't add any meaning to the story.
I didn't tell my mum. I didn't tell anyone, actually, until much much later, when we've long moved out of that house. I didn't want to tell my mum not because I was scared. I did not tell her because of two reasons.
First reason being that I did not want to burden my mother. For the first time, we could stay in a place more than a few months at a go, and I thought she was in love with her boyfriend, and I knew that if I told her about what was going on, that meant we were probably going to have to leave. I knew she already had a lot on her plate, I just didn't want to add oil to the fire.
Granted, I'm sure my mum would've packed up and left immediately now that I think about it.. But well, my child brain could only do so much logical reasoning.
Second reason was that, despite knowing that what this old man was doing was wrong, he was the only person that was actually nice to me apart from my own mum who was so busy I didn't see her anymore. So in that aspect, it seemed like he was my only friend. And for the first time in my life, pathetic as it sounds, I felt wanted. So what if it was for a reason so wrong? My child brain just didn't want to be completely alone. Better someone wanting to make use of you than nobody wanting you at all.
So I let it continue. It continued all the way until we stopped living there. Not sure why we moved, think my mum fell out with her BF or she eventually got enough money for a place of our own.
I spoke nothing of it for years after we left that house behind. Even all through my teenage years I didn't even tell any of my friends. I buried my darkest memories & secrets as deep inside me as possible. Out of sight, out of mind. I refused to let that become the story of who I am. It's not important, I told myself. I did not realize all the different ways it ripped me apart.
Being sexually abused and mistreated for many years has left me emotionally torn, insecure & manipulative.
I got into secondary school, figured out what it meant to have an identity and decided to take the rebellious path. Finally did make friends, the most unlikely of people, who spoke mostly Chinese when I was a true blue English speaking girl, and we got up to a lot of mischief. They were my first real friends.
I do kinda feel like my depression left me alone quite frequently during those years, because I was too caught up and overwhelmed by everything. There was just too many things going on to have time to feel really sad, and things seemed to improve. When things started to improve, I felt hopeful, and hope kills depression. The belief that things are getting better and WILL continue to get better, makes depression fade out of sight.
Many things happened. I hit puberty and started exploiting my sexuality by doing freelance photo shoots and earning $100/hour at 14 years old. Mum met a nice guy who she's still with till today, he gave us a nice home to stay in for many years. I did fun things with friends in school, and by fun I mean falling asleep every class and wreaking havoc all day everyday. I had a nice teacher who invested a lot of time and effort into taking care of me.
He was one of the reasons why I didn't give up on myself. I had my first real boyfriend, who cheated on me multiple times, I almost failed my O levels, I started a blog and decided to channel my inner angst into bitching about people online, etc etc. I was definitely reasonably miserable throughout periods of it, but at least it wasn't 100% bleak like my childhood years were. And my depression only came in bouts. They would come and go. I did still feel "fuck all of you, this is shit, fuck life"
But overall, I was too busy being a teenager with raging hormones to pay much attention to my depression. Instead of thinking about how much I wanted to die, I thought of different ways to make my life better. Be popular? Look pretty? Let's have a go at that.
Little did I know, my monsters were merely waiting in the shadows, ready to resurface when conditions were right for them to reign, once again.
Fast forward a decade later.. Here we are. Loads of shit happened in between, but most notably, I lost a 6 year relationship with someone I thought I would get married to. That hit me like a god damn train man. I already have several Dayre posts documenting my break up with Sam, so I won't elaborate further. However what I will say is this.
What I miss even more than Sam himself sometimes, is the way being with Sam made me feel.
He made me feel safe. And I think that's the number one thing that cures depression. Feeling safe. Not feeling scared of the monsters in your mind because you know you have someone right there beside you to fight them with. I told him all the details about my past, and he embraced them. I felt safe knowing I had someone whom I could fall back on no matter what, and when I lost that with him before I lost the entire relationship altogether, I lost myself too.
And the darkness slipped in, once again.
My split with him broke me into pieces I haven't completely put back together because I felt unloved and unwanted all my life until he came along. I pinned all my hopes of happiness on him, using him as life support, I didn't realize we were drowning together.
I did not have anything to distract me from this major event... So I did what any other lost 20 something year old would've done. I let myself go. I indulged in bad habits & wasted away.
I tried to fill the emptiness inside of me with all kinds of things, anything that would temporarily let me forget: alcohol, partying, drugs of the medicinal and non prescription kind, sex, computer games, fleeting relationships with boys who weren't equipped to handle me at all, and - even a cafe!
As much as I opened Shiberty Bakes out of a long time interest in cakes and passion for yummy food, I also felt that opening a cafe would fill me up with so much pride and gratification, that somehow that emptiness would be less painful.
All of these depressive and anxiety symptoms were made ten folds worse by a troubled romantic relationship that just wasn't working out. What I thought was a fairy tale came crashing down on my head and left me feeling like a fool. As those wounds are still quite raw, I prefer not to talk about them. I haven't decided how I really feel about them.
But a series of events definitely reduced my self esteem & worth to basically 0 once more. I realize that I could not depend on romantic relationships for fulfillment. I needed to sort myself out before I could even think about sustaining a healthy relationship.
And I felt like I had hit rock bottom in my life once again. Felt that I was worth nothing & completely insignificant. That I was never going to be truly happy.
And suddenly, I realized that my depression hadn't left me after all these years. My painful encounters and memories still do affect the way I live my life today. It was just being heavily suppressed, but I've just had too many blows: one blow after another, and eventually I was too weak mentally to continue keeping them at bay anymore.
So, I let them all in.
I didn't sleep. Sometimes, I didn't eat. Other times I stuffed my face with food as a source of comfort. My mood was either of: leave me the fuck alone, and please don't leave, I don't want to be alone right now.
I was angry and upset at everyone and everything. Pent up frustration and disappointments from many years ago till right now - I felt the effects of all them, all at once. My depression was back in full force. I remember saying to Daric, "you know, some days, I fantasize about stepping in front of a bus, and that would be it."
I started self harming occasionally. Some nights I would bang my head against the wall until it hurt so much just so I could stop thinking. I drank a lot of alcohol. I even went to see a psychologist & a psychiatrist. I was prescribed 2 different types of anti-depressants, strong sleeping pills, Xanax, among other stuff. One night I decided it was a good idea to take 6 sleeping pills all at once and lots of alcohol together!
I don't remember much from that night except uttering a lot of rubbish, vomiting A LOT, refusing to go to the hospital and the faces of concerned friends who showed up at my place at 3am when I was wasted beyond belief. My stomach was fucked up for a whole week after that, I couldn't stand eating anything. That was approximately two months ago. It was a very low point of my life.
Felt like I couldn't do anything right at all. Felt even worse that it seemed NOBODY understood at all. Like they don't even fucking know the tip of the iceberg. Yes they were concerned, but they can't relate, and that frustrated me. I didn't want to hear that someone cared, I wanted to know that someone who has been through SIMILAR experiences, cares. Somehow, that was important to me, it was the only way I didn't feel alone.
My depression wasn't something that I'd managed to stabilize until just recently. I'm happy to say that things are seemingly better now, I'm taking better care of myself and it's been awhile since my last sleeping pill or drink to sleep. I sometimes still burst into tears as I have done so tonight, but the shortness of breath and suicidal thoughts have more or less gone away. Although the scary truth is, I still feel like I don't know when it's going to swing back full force again.
Perhaps the ones who don't get plagued by recurring depression as often just have a stronger support system than the ones who don't?
Different people have individual ways of coping. For me, partaking in many social gatherings, doing lots of happy things in general and working so much & hard that I don't have enough time to bask in my mood swings, helps a whole lot.
I'm a 25 year old woman now, telling the Internet world about how I have struggled with depression since being a child. I haven't even told you the true extent of my unfortunate stories, I have more that will make you feel sorry for me if you even have a heart, but I believe I've shared enough for now and the truth is I'm not after any sympathy. Why am I doing this?
I'm relieved to be able to finally tell my story, and not try to hide away anymore. Because I can run.. But I really can't hide, especially from my own mind and memories. Instead of burying these demons I might as well bring these assholes out of the closet and see if they'll live in the sunlight, as they seem to thrive in the darkness.
I'm sick of having to pretend like everything is fucking fine and dandy because I don't want people to think I love wallowing in self pity when it's "not that bad". It makes me feel invalidated when people think I have a "good life" and "shouldn't" feel this way. Depression doesn't necessarily go away when worldly things start to get better. Financial security, fame, good looks, none of this treats depression. If this was the case, we wouldn't have depressed celebrities. Nobody is immune.
The death of Chester Bennington was painful. He was my hero while growing up, so many angsty days and nights were made better by listening to Hybrid Theory and Meteora. Music was my ONLY friend, and IS the only constant in my life still. He helped me and many other people, but eventually couldn't help himself anymore. Beyond a heartbreaking thought to think about.
I listened to One More Light and ached so badly over the pain he must have been feeling for so long. I watched many of his interviews and could relate to all of them so much.
The thing about depression is that it doesn't have a face. You can't put an image to depression. There are days when I can barely drag myself out of bed to shower, eat or do anything productive, and other days I am excited to put on make up and go out.
There are weeks when I'm on top of the world and the next week I'm on the floor crying my eyes out. There are months I'm thankful and grateful for everything I have in my life, and there are months I wonder if I should really just take that one final step to end my journey because I'm just so sick of it all, y'know?
Depression, unlike what many other people think, isn't particularly straight up constant SADNESS. It's a sense of HOPELESSNESS. A depressed person is not necessarily someone who does nothing but cry and wallow in self pity.
Sometimes, depressed people look and smell good, they do great things with their lives, they smile and laugh and appear normal, and they have happy moments, too.
But the fucking scary part about depression is your mind CONVINCING you that the darkness doesn't end. It's when you don't understand WHY despite things seemingly go well, you still feel a sinking sense of loss. It's the thought that no matter how much love fills your life, the hate, sadness and anger will never leave you.
Small things become big deals and the negative aspect to everything is multiplied exponentially.
One of my favorite ways to describe depression would be feeling that you're homesick..
But you're already home.
There's nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Your own mind isn't a safe place to be. As Chester Bennington puts it in an interview, "I'm fine when I'm being something. When I'm being a dad, when I'm being a husband, when I'm being the frontman of Linkin Park. But when I'm alone, my mind isn't a safe place to be, I don't like it up here. It's a bad neighborhood."
It's when I'm not doing anything and not being anyone or anything apart from myself that my thoughts run wild and the depression sinks in. The very rawest essence of myself scares me.. Perhaps it's because I know I am capable of anything when I'm FEELING it that I know I'm also capable of suicide. Morbid, huh?
It doesn't matter if there ARE good things to live for and that things WILL get better. Depression tells you that this pain will never end. No hope. Hopelessness. You feel everything negative all at once and there is no light at the end of your tunnel: just waves and waves of dread, anxiety, worthlessness and misery drowning you until there's nothing left to suffocate.
The worst part is when you're exhausted but you can't show it because there's no time and place for that. Life, and the show must go on.
But don't forget that you are human too. You are allowed to cry over something that happened more than 10 years ago. You are allowed to feel indignant and robbed of happiness. Just don't let it define you. Let the surprise at yourself being strong enough to overcome ANYTHING fuel you instead of the anger.
Things that we keep suppressed bites us in the back of our subconscious mind much more than we realize. Perhaps they will never fully go away, so we must learn to make peace with our demons.
Just cause you can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there. Depression is a sickness of the mind, and is not as straightforward to spot, diagnose and treat like a physical illness would be. I feel like I have a lot of different problems that generally being stressed and depressed has brought about: bipolar symptoms, anxiety episodes, plummeting self esteem..
It is not possible for someone who is not in the right state of mind to make rational decisions. This is something everyone needs to know.
So be kind to people, you never know who is smiling on the outside, but dying on the inside. We're all fighting our own battles, some harder than others, but each and every one of us is deserving of kindness. Tread lightly around those who might have depression - we feel things heavily. Don't judge people for things you don't understand. They might be fighting a battle you wouldn't want to encounter in your worst nightmares. Normal people don't understand what it's like to hate your own mind.
I hope by sharing part of my story, people will learn a little more & be additionally aware about a first hand perspective of depression. Anxiety is a very real thing for people with depressive symptoms. We get paranoid, insecure, with an incredible sense of dread for no apparent reason. It may not make sense to you, it also doesn't make any sense to us. We can't help it sometimes, please bear with us and love us a little more. It's when we need it most. We would change it if we could.
To anyone reading this plagued by darkness.. I hope you seek help. It's a lot easier when you're not on your own. The only way to beat depression is through love - lots of it. Love from yourself, and others.
People are not necessarily medicine, sometimes they are also poison. So choose who you let in to view your demons, carefully. Sometimes you might end up more disappointed at them not understanding at all
For whatever reason you may be filled with anger - try to let them go. Release them.
Help yourself, heal yourself by acknowledging that a lot of bad things might have happened, but you are still in control of your own life, decisions, actions and emotions. Sometimes reality fall shorts of expectations. Learn to live with it. You can't make the bad things disappear from memory, but you can create so many new happy memories that make the bad ones seem insignificant. Do not blame yourself for bad luck and other peoples mistakes. Breathe and start a new day with new beginnings.
Because you are worthy of the hope and improvement. Every single time you thought you just "can't do this anymore" - look at you, you're still here. I'm proud of you. And I UNDERSTAND pain. I understand how it manipulates you and your mind and sucks the joy out of you even when you so BADLY want to feel joy.
If you're asking yourself: "why me?"
Oh honey, don't torture yourself with that question anymore. You'll be vexed to death if you don't simply understand that life just isn't fair. We all play the hand we're dealt. We just have to make the god damn most out of what we have. That's the very best you can do.
Some things just don't come as good or easy for certain people. Some just have to work a little harder to retain their sanity. Not everyone suffers equally. Some have it much worse than us
Don't stop fighting the good fight. You are a damn warrior just for getting up & doing today. I know how sometimes just doing normal things like going to work seems bloody impossible. Just breathing seems a chore. It doesn't last forever.
I'll keep fighting to keep these demons at bay, too. I promise I'll keep trying. Things may not make sense now, but one day, they will. Things may be heavy, but you are a strong motherfucker, as am I.
I hope life doesn't continue to wear us out. I hope we grow stronger day by day. I hope that we shine. We're all a little broken, that's how the light gets in.
Through the darkness, the light is within yourself. Don't let it fade out.
Wednesday, 6 Sep 2017
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