Wednesday, March 9, 2011
The weight of things that remained unspoken
She’s asking me things all the time.
Sometimes my answers gave her oportunity to think about me that I’m hopeless. Like yesterday.
She invited me to know some of her very important friends.
Insteed of a brutal refuse (because I couldn’t really give a shit on that),
I'd tried to explain that I'm not very social these days (family meetings included), but all my intentions were in vain. As usual,she won’t listen an word.
At a certain moment, she said that I need help.
Tami, I really think that you need some help. A medical one, beibi. Because there are simply times when I’m not in the mood to interact with people. And my not talking to your precious friends had nothing to do with anxiety or any state of grace, as you believe.
I wasn’t in the mood. Sometimes I simply didn’t feel like dealing with them.
So, leave me f***ing alone. I don’t even call you back, why are you bother?
I’ve always admitted that I was in a clinical depression for around a year. It was after my dad’s death, and for a long time I wasn’t be able to approach people. And of course that I already heard all kind of craps from all corners ( and of course that worst of all were from her).
People seem to think that the depressed (by the way, I hate the term) are mad, bad or both. Wake up, folks! To begin with, “depression happens when a deeply held belief about oneself or one’s life is shown to be incorrect in a deeply negative way, so the mind builds an isolative prison to protect us from these inconsistencies that are torturing us”.
And I never understand why should I measure my value by how many friends I did. I'm sick and tired of being judged by people who think they know me (mostly by the things they imagine I do).
But if it makes you feel better inside, feel free to believe about yourself that you are perfect!