I randomly got motivation to write this extremely angry thing I've never tried before. Lemme know what you think

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Depression is like a boomerang. It doesn't matter how far you throw it, how hard you toss it, how far away you think it's gone this time. It will always, always return, smacking you in the face, leaving you broken and bruised.

I can lay in bed all day, all night. But I can't make myself move. I can't make myself feel useful no matter what I do. Because it doesn't matter. To you I'll always be a failure. To you I will never be good enough.

I'll never be loud enough. Never be bold enough. I'll never be straight enough...No. Scratch that. You can't be disappointed about something you don't even know about. But look at everything else you've done. Everything you've said to me. Can you blame me for not trusting you?

I shouldn't have to stand here, begging you, my own mother to validate my own feelings. I shouldn't have to sit here, wondering how the hell you can be so cold, when you loved me. When you raised me. When did everything go to shit? When did you stop caring? When did you decide that I wasn't worthy?

Because I never did. I never stopped loving you, even after I figured out what you did. Because to me you'll always be a hero, even when you act like the villain. Even when you call me a freak and claim your struggles to be more important than mine. Even if you're the only reason I feel inadequate among the rest of society.

To feel abnormal is like trying to swim up stream. You keep trying to move in one direction, trying to get to the place you want to be, but the current of society pushes against you, forcing you to move in their direction. It doesn't matter how much you kick and scream, you're not going anywhere without the current's permission. You can fight it if you want, but eventually you'll grow tired and weak. And you'll stop fighting. And it'll push you right over the edge.

I lie awake at night, wondering why the hell I'm so fucking weird. How can everyone else be so calm, so collected? How can the swim through these waves we call life with such ease, such grace? Why the fuck do I always feel like I don't belong? Like somehow everyone else in the world is in on some big joke, and I'm just on the outside looking in. I'm always on the outside. Well, then maybe the joke is me.

I feel them. Pointing. Laughing. Not to my face. No, no. Never to my face. Wouldn't want to make the poor sensitive girl cry. But she is a freak. I am a freak. A loser. A loner. A fucking god damn pansy. I deserve this treatment for being so weak.

I tried. I really did. They all say it's not that, but I know it's not that easy. I know I won't just "get over it" It's not a phase. It's my fucking life.

It's my life, but I spend every second, every hour, every minute, just hoping, praying even to a God I'm not sure exists, that it might end soon. That I might drop dead on the street. That no one will come to save me. Because it would sure as hell be mercy on my damned soul. But I don't deserve mercy. I'm a freak. I'm the quiet, awkward weirdo you like to avoid. I'm the gay one you're afraid to approach. Still you roll your eyes, thinking I don't have a right to feel this way. Because I haven't had the worst life. Because I'm white. Because I'm "privileged"

Well, maybe it's true. Maybe I am. Maybe I could have been worse off, but who gave you the right to say how I should feel? Who gave you the power to grant people permission to have a mental illness? It's not a matter of being ungrateful. It's not a matter of being a brat. You don't choose what goes on inside your head anymore than you chose who you're attracted to or the color of your skin.

Because it's not fun. It's not cute. It's not for attention. And if I did have a choice why the hell would I chose to be this way?

To be suicidal is like being a battery. You can feel all your energy, slowly draining from your body. You don't have the power to keep moving forward. You try and try and try...but nothing ever works. Nothing ever changes.

No one knows about all those sleepless nights I use to have. All those dark thoughts that sometimes wake me in the middle of the night. No one knows how helpless I've felt, my entire life. They keep trying to tell me I'm worth something. Because my friends, they love me. My dad cares for me.

But I can never quite bring myself to believe them. I can never quite see myself through their eyes. When I look in the mirror all I see is garbage. A piece of crap with messy hair and a fat ass body.

They don't know that I struggle daily. That every time I eat something I loathe myself a little more, knowing that it will just make me fatter and fatter. Disgusting.

And it's all because you put it in my head. Because you, my own mother, finds it necessary to point at my stomach and laugh.

A caring mother might try to make her daughter feel good about her body. But not you. You never fail to let me know every single detail that is wrong with it. You never let me forget any of my flaws. You, my mother, shove all my wrongs, all my faults back in my face every chance you get.

And you don't know that it makes me want to die. You probably don't even care. Because you're a narcissistic bitch, who only really cares about yourself. You're the most important, aren't you? Center of attention. Always.

But no one really knows, do they? None of you know about the knife that I held to my own throat, the night I was forced to stay at my brother's, when all I wanted was some time alone. No one knows about those sleeping pills I tried to swallow. About all those times I've wanted to sleep with a plastic bag over my head, hoping that I would wake up dead.  I've never told anyone. Not my best friends. Not my father. Not my brother. Because if they knew they'd fucking hate me to.

They'd think they weren't good enough, even though they're utter perfection. They'd think that they were the cause, even though they're the reason I stop every fucking time. But really I only have myself to blame. You made me this way. With all your comments, all your psychological torture over the years. All the pain you've caused, all the abuse that I just stood there and took...I should have realized you were no good a lot sooner.

But because my dumb ass couldn't see you for what you were, I am fucked up. There's no turning back the clock. There's no repairing it. The damage is done, and nothing can fix it. So, I'm forced to sit here, wondering when my friends will turn on me too.

Because they always do don't they? The grade school friends. The high school friends. Even two people who I thought would always be there left me for good. Even my own mother. For the longest time it had me believing that I am the toxic one. That I was the one driving you all away...or maybe I am. Maybe it's just inevitable.

Well, on the bright side, at least I know there's one companion that will never leave me be.

Loneliness is like the shadow beneath my feet. It follows me everywhere. To class. To the store. Down the street. It even follows me all the way home. It's always with me. Always by my side. Always.

You made me feel like a freak, so it's not surprising that you made me lonely too. It's gotten to the point where I can't trust anyone anymore. Because I can't believe that anyone would ever find me even remotely attractive -- sexually, romantically, or otherwise. Because you made me doubt myself. The woman who was supposed to love me, encourage me, believe in me.

I'm afraid to invite myself to group outings, because rejection stings like a bitch. You taught me that. And you had me believing that that was all that was in store for me. Rejection.

That's all I deserve. I'm so weak, I can't even order my own food when we go out. I can't speak up for myself. I can't defend myself. Hell, I'll crumble to pieces at even the smallest of insults.

But you made me weak. You made me believe there was something wrong with me. "Well, if you were more like this" and "If you were more like that" I had to put myself in denial to stop the wounds from bleeding.

I'm not lonely. I'm not sad. I'm not utterly pathetic. I love myself the way I am. Screw the norm.

All lies. I never believed them. I fucking hate myself. I hate the world. And I am just so fucking god damn angry all the time, because you wouldn't love me.

Now, I have three amazing friends, but none of it feels real to me. Because they're so far away. I could meet them. I could move away. I could escape. I could be free...but I'm afraid. I'm too afraid to move away. To be independent. To escape.

So I'm trapped. My feet are planted on this very spot, and I can't move, no matter what I do. Because of you. Maybe you didn't mean it. Maybe you don't know what you did...but you did it. You broke me, Mother.

Depression is like a boomerang. You can't get rid of it, no matter how hard you try. It doesn't matter how far you throw it, how hard you toss it...It always comes back.

I thought it was over. I thought these feelings were gone...but here we are...again.

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That was...a little heavier than I expected it to be. I felt myself tearing up a few times when I writing it...

But you know I guess it's a good way to get rid of some of my aggression or whatever so...

Anyway, I'm not sure I can spot any grammar mistakes. I suck at editing my own crap. There's always something wrong. So let me know if you see anything that needs to be fixed. Thanks love y'all. ❤