I learned that people will never really understand you,
never understood the experiences you went through, the mental illness you’re
fighting. People will love but that love will not always be enough. And asking
for help felt like a burden. I learned that there are just some days you just
can’t simply live in, the days just feel impossible to get through, and I wish I
could have someone to help me live through them.
I am a burden for having problems. I am a burden for
struggling. I am a burden for asking for help. I am a burden because my depression
is telling me that I am. I am a burden. But
on the darkest night, there’s an Atticus-Memory whispering to me at
the back of my ears that I’m still a human being, completely deserving of love.