I’m struggling.

I’m writing here because there’s nowhere else I could possibly share this. No one has any idea what I’m going through right now. Once more, I’m keeping this from my family and my friends, even from my doctor. I don’t know, maybe I’m just hoping it’ll go away, that I’m just going through a bad phase, and it’ll last just a couple of days. But I’ve been hoping this for months now. It’s been nearly four months, and I’m starting to realize it won’t just go away. And it’s not a matter of days or weeks. I’ve fallen into another pit. And I’m still falling. And falling. And falling. And, dear freaking God, I wonder, just how deep will the bottom be this time? 

You see, when you’ve lived with this for almost fourteen years, you’d think you’d get used to it. And, in a way, you have. Or I have. You get used to the daily limitations your depression gives you. You get used to shutting yourself out. You get used to faking smiles, laughs, (it’s faking until you make it, except you never do), you get used to not being able to breathe. You get used to not getting pleasure from anything. You get used to tasteless foods. You get used to self-loathing. You get used to thinking about killing yourself, all the time. Because, really, that’s no way to live. 

It’s exhausting. Faking. All. The. Flipping. Time. The pain is excruciating. And no one really gets it. You pull away from your friends, because you’re in so much pain, and you can’t tell anyone, because they just don’t understand. They want you to try harder. They want you to fight longer. They want you to *do* something, as if you haven’t been for over a decade (when you’ve only been living for 24 years). 

You can’t talk to anyone, because there isn’t much to say. It’s not like you broke up with your boyfriend or had a fight with your mom. It’s not like you’re having issues that can be solved. It’s the same thing, over and over and over again, and even though there are people that will say, “I’m always here for you if you need me.” and you want to believe them, you know that if you actually went to them *every time*, they wouldn’t want to put up with you. 

Because the pain has taken over your life again. The bad days have become more and more constant and have outnumbered the good ones. It’s so rare for you to be okay, or even normal, you dread people asking “How are you?” because you want to shout to the world just how not okay you’ve been. Because you’re so sick of it. So. Fucking. Sick. 

But you don’t. Because people can’t even see you’re sick. You have a mood disorder, you see, and since it’s an “invisible illness” most people don’t take it seriously. Won’t take it into consideration. They think it’s so easy to snap out of it. It’s not like you have cancer, right? (If I had a penny…) 

I don’t know what to do about this suffocating pain anymore. My last crisis lasted two years. Two whole initerrupted years. I don’t know if I can live like this for two years again. You must be thinking, what’s two years for someone who’s lived like this for fourteen, right? But that’s just it. It’s two MORE. It just tells me it’s never going to end. I’ve been on different meds. I’ve been to therapy. I’ve done everyfreakingthing I could think of. And it comes and goes. I’m never getting rid of this. EVER. 

And you know what sucks the most? I have a pretty okay life. I mean, sometimes I feel like a failure like everyone, and sometimes I feel like I’m not doing enough with it, but it’s not bad. I have a lot of wonderful people in it. I just… not all the external circumstances matter when it’s so hard to live with the inside of me. I think of killing myself every day once again. And I’m scared this time I could actually do it. 

And I don’t know who to go for help.

And I know, no one reads this, but it’s a safe place to vent, it’s anonymous, no one knows who I am.