All The Things I Want To Say To My Depression


Okay, Depression, let’s set this straight right away – I’m in charge here. You had your way for long enough, and I’m over it. You owe me an apology, and I’m damn well gonna get it.

Oh, don’t act so innocent. You know what you’ve done.

Yes, we’ve spent a lot of time together. But not quality time. Not time that I enjoyed. No, NO – don’t give me that shit. I never SAID our time together was unenjoyable in the moment, because I didn’t know any better. That doesn’t mean it was pleasant, or meaningful, or okay. I let you stick around because I always knew that someone out there had it worse and I thought maybe you were what I deserved. But that time is over.

First of all, you owe me an apology for keeping me from my friends.

All those nights I could have been social but instead spent laying in bed with you – not DOING anything, not even watching TV or reading or attempting to do anything resembling fun – those are nights I regret.

If anything, you should have encouraged me to go out and be around good people. Heck, maybe you could’ve come too and would’ve even enjoyed yourself. No, don’t you dare. I TRIED to introduce you to to my friends several times but you always told me not to. This is on you, not me.

When I got called an asshole by my good friend because I stopped showing up to things, well, I should have seen through you then.

You’re not encouraging or supportive or “just being realistic” – wasn’t that your Twitter bio? – you’re a piece of shit. I know I’m stooping down to your level, but I feel like after everything, I’ve earned the right to call you that. You’re a piece of shit.

And that brings me around to my next point. You owe me an apology for talking bad about me. You said some awful things to me. All the times you told me I was stupid, or worthless, or doomed to fail – those are things you would never say to or about anyone else, but you had no problem saying them to me.

You made sure to undermine my accomplishments at every turn. Yes, I went to the gym – BUT I’ll never be as fit as some of the bodybuilder-types there. Yes, I wrote something – BUT it won’t be an instant American Classic. Yes, I bought new toothpaste before I ran out – BUT I could have been more prepared and had a backstock and not even needed to go to the store. Yes, I know you’re “technically right.” Sure, yes, you were “just being realistic!” yet again. You know what else is realistic? The fact that I could do all these things and more if I weren’t constantly terrified of how you’d criticize me after the fact.

Finally, you owe me an apology for making death a part of my world. Again, you’d never wish this on anyone else – even the worst people we’ve encountered. With everyone else it was always, “At least they’re trying,” or “They’re just not a person for YOU; lots of people like them.”

And when it came to me?

“Oh no, you lost your keys? What if you don’t find them? Maybe you should die.” Or, “You’re not losing weight that quickly, but you wouldn’t have to worry about it all if you were dead.” Or, “You want to ask for a raise? Wouldn’t it be easier and more convenient for everyone involved if instead you just… died?”

Healthy people don’t think like that. They spend ten minutes looking for their keys. They get to the gym and lose weight at a normal rate. They ask for a raise because they believe they deserve it and – most of all – that they deserve to be alive. And frankly, I deserve to be alive.

So, that’s it. I have nothing more to say to you. As far as I’m concerned, we’re done.

Yes, I know we live together and you have nowhere else to go and, however begrudgingly, I’ll allow you to stay. But I expect you to stay out of my way. Yeah, it might be hard with just the one bathroom – but you know my routines, and I’m sure you can work around them. I don’t care if that’s inconvenient for you. I’m the one who does all the work around here. You’ve just made things more difficult, and I finally see that now. So I have no more words for you.

I do have some words for ME, though. (I’ll keep it short, because I’m not used to saying nice things to myself. But this seems like a good first step.)

I’m sorry for what Depression said. I didn’t deserve to hear those things. I am a valuable person, worthy of being here. Things are not always easy and that’s totally fine, because they always get better. People care about me. And after the longest time, I care about me.

I may be depressed. I may be pissed. But I am also talented and smart and skilled. I am kind. I want the world to be better. I have a future. I am not going to die.

So get the hell out of my way, Depression, you piece of shit.