I am scared that this illness is going to claim me. That I will tire of being strong every day, every second, and that I will give in finally.
I have thought about ending my life more times than I can count. Ever since I was sixteen, I have thought about committing suicide nearly every day. It makes me very sad and upset to write this, but it’s true. It really angers me when misinformed people say that depressed people who commit suicide are weak. They are not weak. They are the strongest people that you will ever meet. They always care for others more than they care for themselves. They are selfless and often times empathetic.
I have always been different than most people. I have known this since I was very little. I am an introvert, a writer, an artist, an empath, a higher conscience being. To be all of these things almost always means being an outcast, a lone wolf, an outsider. So it would make perfect sense why I struggle with depression and anxiety.
Yes, that picture I have up is me. I’ve been working so hard to reclaim my body; trying my best to eat healthy most of the time, working out five days a week and trying to manage my stress. Despite all the amazing weight loss and lifestyle changes I have achieved, I still feel like I’m not good enough. And I fear that I will never be good enough for this world. Because it doesn’t matter how skinny, fit, rich or accomplished you become since there will always be someone better than you out there. Because we live in world of constant comparison.
Of course, I am trying my best to break out of this toxic popularity contest mindset that we live in. But it’s extremely hard to do since it’s literally everywhere. But now I am realizing that if I continue in this mindset, I will end up taking my life one day. There are days where I don’t eat very much at all, partly from depression and partly because I don’t want to consume calories so I can be thinner. Everyone can see my ribs sticking out. It’s not my fault that most of my fat accumulates in my tummy/pouch area, my inner thighs, and arms. It’s slowly going away with diligent exercise and clean eating, but it will definitely take months before I achieve the body I desire in a healthy way.
It’s so easy to ask someone, how can you be depressed when you are so beautiful? Aesthetic beauty and mental illness have no correlation. You can be a supermodel and still suffer from severe depression. I hope that one day, society can start taking mental illness more seriously. We never blame a cancer patient for having cancer. So why do we blame people with mental illness for their disease?