we can talk. when you get better. that's such a funny thing that a lot of people say. like, their entire view of depression and mental illness is so narrow that they fail to consider people like me. it's unlikely i get better, dear reader. i know you love my posts (i love you too) but it's already been decided. it was decided from the start. i was born, raped and tortured, and i will leave this world just the same.
you think pain is linear. that you just feel it more but you can always recover with time and patience. but that's not how ptsd works, unfortunately. a lot of people think they have "trauma" but can't even begin to understand the extent to how deep it's inside of me. how impossible it would be to pull it out. how unravelling it is to lose everything you thought you had, again, and again, and again, and again, and again.
but you need to get better! you have to try. for me. what do i owe you at this point? a sad, meaningless existence - unable to connect - while you thrive telling yourself you did the 'right' thing? i refuse it. i refuse everything this world has raped into me.
i will not keep going with all of these piercing echoes, just so you might feel a little better about throwing me back in the same dirt i thought we were helping each other out of.
it's happening to everybody. and it's going to be beautiful