Depression Makes Me Feel Like A Selfish Bitch

Depression makes me look like I don’t give a shit about anyone or anything. It makes me look unappreciative, ungrateful. It makes me look less and less like myself.

Depression makes me feel like a horrible daughter, sister, girlfriend, best friend.

It’s because the people that matter the most in my life are always there for me. They try to make me feel better when depression shows its face again.

They’ll call me up on the phone, just to try to make me laugh. They’ll take me out for ice cream and a movie to take my mind off of things. They’ll walk with me through city streets, drag me to the beach, swap stories with me until the sun rises.

They’ll do whatever they can to help me feel better, to make me smile again.

But at the end of the day, I’m still upset. Something is still off.

And it fucking sucks. Not because I’m upset. You see, I don’t care about myself anymore. All I care about is disappointing them.

Because whenever my depression hits, I feel like I’ve let my loved ones down. I feel like I’m making them feel bad.

They don’t understand why I’m still upset after having such a fun day. After everything went right and nothing went wrong.

Sometimes, they get angry and defensive. They feel like I’m silently saying they’re not good enough, that they should have done more. What do you mean you’re still depressed? I did everything I could for you today. Don’t you appreciate it? 

And sometimes, they’ll just get sad that I’m sad. Upset that they don’t have the power to erase my mental illness.

Their reaction doesn’t matter, because my feelings are always the same. I end up feeling like a complete asshole.

I just wish they knew how much I appreciated everything they did for me — and not just the big things. Something as simple as a text message, asking how my day was, or a three-second hug means the world to me.

I wish they understood how much I appreciated their effort, even if I was faking smiles all day, trying to give them the reaction that they wanted, that I was supposed to feel.

And I wish they realized that I’m not always faking it. Sometimes, I’m being authentic. Sometimes, I experience genuine happiness. That happiness just doesn’t seem to last.

It always fades away. It becomes a memory the second the moment ends.

And I hate that — because it impacts my friends and family as much as it impacts me.

My depression makes me feel like a selfish bitch, like I’m bringing everyone I care about down with me, like I’m only a burden to them.

But I know that isn’t true. That they love me. That they want me stick around.

I just wish I could bring them as much happiness as they keep trying to bring me.