I hate you more than words can describe. I hate you. I hate you so much. I. Hate. You.
I hate how I can have a good day and think that I’m better, and then the next day I can’t find the will to get out of bed. I hate you for making me think that I’m faking it, that I’m looking for attention, so that not even I can validate my own emotions. I hate you for taking away my hope. I hate you for taking away who I am, who I know I am, and making me fight to be the person behind the name that I am so proud of. I hate you for taking me away from my friends, for affecting how I live my life. I hate you for making me into a person that other people don’t understand, for making the confusion behind each persons eyes, for the sentence why can’t you just be normal. I hate you for taking away so much from me. I hate you because I know that even on the best day, especially on the best days, I know that my mother will never fully believe that I am depressed. I hate you because when I tell people about my mental health problem I never say I have depression, I say I take medication for depression because I believe it makes people more comfortable. Because it makes me more comfortable. Because that is the problem.
I hate you, because you make me hate me. Because I am not dealing with you temporarily, because you are not an outside entity that I can fight off and win. I am depressed. It is inside me and it will always be inside me. It is me. I will always have bad days and I have a long lifetime of bad days ahead of me. When I say I hate you, what I’m really saying is that I hate me.
I will never be happy that you are here. I will never pretend you are a gift to be cherished. I will never forget that you are a puzzle piece inside me, something that makes me whole. But I will not live my life hating myself.
I am done with my obsession with the way you consume me. I am done spending so much time being disgusted with myself. I am done pretending that I can separate you and me, that we are somehow different because I give you a fancy name and put a fancy mask on you.
I don’t know if I can ever love you, but I do know that I am done hating you, that I am done hating me. And for the rest, time is the only thing that can tell.