That’s depression talking

I don’t see myself as less, except on alternating Wednesdays or when I haven’t gotten enough sleep and my brain won’t stop telling me that this is all my fault. I am mostly aware that people love me and that I am a person worthy of love, except at 2 AM and the clock keeps ticking by and I’m sitting alone without someone who wants to hold me. I know that I laugh and make jokes that people find funny but I’m at my most cutting edge of laughter when I’m in such pain that there is no other outlet. Other than shouting and crying, and that’s frowned upon while sitting at my desk at work. I know I’m alright most of the time but sometimes I’m not.

And creeping along, I find myself filled with the need to get out, get out, get out. Just a flick of the blade and a few minutes till it’s over or jump from the roof, the fall will be interesting, or get a gun and go out to the desert to watch the sunrise one last time.

It’s not because I don’t love this world, because I do. I love the stirring of the trees in the wind. I love rain falling. I love watching people be unselfconciously themselves when they think no one is watching.

But I’m also that broken thing, this bag full of glass and I think it would be easier to not be here.

I need that connection of someone who wants me. Maybe just to hear my voice or to read my words on the screen. To look forward to hearing from them. To need that connection to be one step closer to happy.

They say love yourself before you can love others. I do. I know myself and see my self, it’s just that I feel unwanted and unloved most of the time and that feeling makes it hard to step out the door. And when I’m with someone, it all seems possible and the world is brighter and the work of living seems less like work.

And then it, somehow, is over or ended or put into some kind of holding pattern. It’s not that I need to be in a relationship, it’s just that I don’t feel worth love most days and I’m keenly aware of how I feel. When I’m with someone, I at least know that they like me, and if they do, maybe I’m worth love.

It’s not logical and I know that. I know that people love me. But I sometimes feel so alone and I can’t be the person who is constantly reaching out for reassurance. I don’t want to be that person who is the burden on their lives.