Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone

I'll admit, I'm nervous about this. I don't know if I want to do this.

Then again, the whole point is to be uncomfortable. I don't talk about this much. I was inspired by Hive account@thekittygirl to write about my experiences. So, here goes nothing. The part of my life that I wish I could forget; the part that makes others stand back.

I was never quite anxious, more melancholy than anything. My whole life has been people prodding me to "Smile." For a while, all it was, was an annoying quirk that my mother could not stand. If I venture back, all my elementary school pictures are of me, a blank-faced six year old staring straight into the camera.

I remember jokes about how my staring scared my teachers.

I'd accept the way I was, if it didn't constantly get me in trouble. Being myself really only causes me, and everyone else pain. It was around the age of eleven when things spiralled down for me. I became less enthusiastic. My mother would ask a question, and I would reply in one word like always. I remember my mother screaming at me to "get over myself" and ignoring my request to see a therapist. A point that she had brought up the day prior.

Turns out, ignoring depression for three or four years is the worst thing you can do.

Through the course of maybe four years, I had been raped, demonized for being sexually assaulted, and had figured out I was gay all around the same time. The only help I recieved was through force. CPS had to force my mother to give me therapy. From there, I was hospitalized. That wasn't any better. The beds were hard, I rarely saw a therapist, the showers were cold,and I left with a fever of 99 degrees. My next therapists were unlicensed and ignored my moms furthering emotional abuse that escalated into neglect. Honestly, I didn't beileve all that "it gets better" bullshit. I still don't.

I had friends, but they left. "Suicide baiting". That's what they accused me of. These were the people that were lgbt like me; they had mental illnesses too. They were supposed to understand, but they didn't. It still hurts. I'm hesitant to meet new people. Especially the ones that seem happier than I. It seems those people have the least empathy.

It seems all my depression gives me is trouble.

Photo by Tom Barrett on Unsplash