It’s supposed to be a good thing when you are able to see your faults then have intentions to fix them.

So then you can get the help you need. So then you can make yourself a better person.

I have a big problem with really asking for help. 

I hint at it at a disgusting level. I try to show people that I am by seeing a doctor. I smile pretty and say things are going well, things are getting better. 

Then I’m alone and it hits me how alone I really am.

I’ve been having break downs every day this past week. I finally decided to go see a new doctor. I’ve made too many lies, created too intricate a web to come clean and actually get help. I know I’m breaking. I don’t want to break.

Part of my problem is putting too much into the wrong people. 

I tried to my Freshman year with my new best friend of the time. She didn’t know what to do, so she did nothing. She even told me that. She told me straight up that she didn’t know what to do when I had an anxiety attack so she’d just do nothing. 

People are under the impression that doing nothing is passive. It’s not passive. It’s very active. And it actively destroyed me.

I cried to Calvin this year. He told me I was crazy. It came more of a shock to him. I broke down. He said that there were so many other people out there who had it far worse than I and was the one who had depression? 

I saw a beautiful video of someone talking about depression. He said that depression is having this inexplicable sadness even when everything in your life is going right. While not everything in my life is going right, I certainly do have a lot to be happy and thankful for. 

I’m not ungrateful, just inexplicably pained.

I know I have people I can call on. There’s only two people that I actually do call though and I’ve stopped calling one of them with these issues. 

My sister was able to talk me down a couple of times. I don’t call her anymore though. She’s done it so much for so many other people, so many of her other friends, I feel absolutely wretched going to her. I feel angry. I feel hurt. I know she loves me, but she doesn’t want another depressive case to work with. She’s tired of it and has her own life to worry about. These are the impressions I get from her during this. That’s why I don’t call. 

I trust Diego with more than my life. I trust him more than I trust in basic facts. He is my one, solid rock. When I call him, he calms me down. Sometimes, he’s my logic when I don’t want to hear it. Sometimes, he’s my shoulder that I simply sob on. No relationship is perfect, but he’s almost as close as it gets. He never, ever, makes me feel as though I am a burden to him. That’s probably why I trust him so much.

I don’t ask for help partially because I feel like I’m burdening people with my problems. They don’t need to hear it. 

I’ve gone for so long on my own. I grew up on my own. My dad and sister didn’t give me that time because they were so consumed with their own lives. It wasn’t a problem. I could learn things on my own pretty well. I had better common sense than my sister most of the time, but she was always the observant one. 

It’s now a huge problem.

Trial and error is always flawed. It’s flawed by nature. Taking a stand, falling down, and getting back up is never easy.

It’s become so hard for me to look past those failed attempts, so hard that I’m being buried by them.

I’m a failure at most of what I do. 

So when I find success, I cling to it.

Success at my job, success in finding clothes that look good on me, success in that blade.

It’s everywhere. 

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