Depression is a feisty little bitch

I have this tendency to enter into self destructive  (yet sometimes incredibly fun) activities when I'm depressed.  I'll spare you the details because... well... nobody needs to know me like that.

I lose my boundaries... my inhibitions... my sense of self when depression kicks in. I'm kind of a chameleon.  Completely empty and blank until I step out into a world of color.

I hesitate to share this information with my therapist because, well... I don't want to go back to the hospital.  Like when I think of hurting myself... it's just a thought.  I remove myself from the temptation and move on. Hurting myself could be many different things.... and some can be enjoyable.  I need joy, right?

He knows I'm empty. I've been over this with him.  And I'm dealing with it in some healthy ways, right? He doesn't necessarily need to know about the bad too...

I've been more depressed than normal lately. Home isn't exactly great. And well... baby mama drama ain't no joke.

So I go out. I stay out late. I show a little skin. Attention, after being ignored for so long,  can't be a bad thing, right?

I need love. But no one can love me if I'm just an empty vessel - nobody loves an empty pitcher. I need to love me. If someone sees beauty in me, maybe I can see that beauty too - if I'm just a mirror for the world. Maybe that mirror will catch the beauty for me to hold onto for a bit.


So... to the one who sees beauty.... show me.
To the one who sees value... tell me.

Mostly... encourage me to figure out myself. I will be something special if I ever figure out what it is that I am.

Or maybe I'll stay empty.

I'm not crying.
C.D.

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