The Alternate

     I call her the alternate. The version of me that hates me and wants me to die, that is. She's still me, but I know she lies. It's not not me, but it's also not me. It's difficult to explain. I don't have any dissociative identity disorders, so I know she's still me. She wants me dead and I honestly don't blame her. I actually agree with everything she says, despite knowing it's all lies. I would like to say I think I should die, but I know I should die. But I am a stubborn bitch and if depression wants to take me down I will slow it down in any way I can.

    I cut again, three days in a row. I had made it a week without it, but everything just got to be too much. It feels like my life is falling apart in front of me and I have no idea why or how to stop it. Cutting is like pressing your fingernail into the area around a papercut to distract yourself with a more bearable pain. Or sometimes I deserve the pain. It always feels good. I don't want to make this appealing because cutting is a terrible coping mechanism. I shouldn't call it a coping mechanism because it's a symptom. A terrible symptom that so many of us have to deal with.

    One of my friends asked me, "Why am I sad for no reason?" and I didn't have an answer at the time. It's because depression lies. It's the best deceiver in the world. Its lies are so real that you can't distinguish them from yourself. I know we've all heard this before. "Depression lies" is the world's go-to. That's because it's true. But they never say why it lies. It lies because it wants you dead. Depression is the enemy. I know I'm stating the obvious, but hearing that does something to your brain. It's an automatic reflex: hearing that something is the enemy makes it something else. It changes your view just a little bit. Maybe not enough to notice or do anything. But maybe, for some of you, it makes you want to fight the enemy. 

    I don't know if I'm strong enough to fight this enemy. At least not forever. But I know that you are. If you are reading this and are like me, I want you to try. It won't be a quick turnaround and it won't be easy, but this is a fight that has to be slow. I'm not expecting this post to change anyone's life, but if these words find their way to you, listen to them. I know it's hard, but find someone to talk to if you can.

If you won't fight just because I say so (fair enough), Twyla wants you to fight. Twyla was the last cat I had the pleasure of socializing at my internship. She was super sweet and very playful. And she is rooting for you, just as she was rooting for me. She would jump up onto the shelf and boop my nose with hers almost like she was saying, "You got this." Because you do. Depression doesn't have to be the end, even if it feels like it should be. You have the ability to fight, or rather survive. Twyla says so.