Can people change?
Some days I think we can. Others…who knows?
I like to think I have changed. I’m not perfect or close to where I want to be but I’m far from the person I was before. I would never talk about my Depression with anyone because I was so ashamed. It was embarassing to admit I had this mental illness and how I was institutionalized when in high school. Sometimes I think I should have told people who were close to me so they would realize I was going through a bout of depression and wasn’t just being a bitch, or moody, or insensitive.
I hate this disease. It fucking sucks. I hate how it’s made me insensitive at times yet make me take everything to heart. It has stolen my motivation, made me insecure, and second guess myself. I hate how it’s made me self conscious and care about how others feel about me but making me pretend that I don’t care.
I hate that it’ll never go away and everyday I have to make the choice to live my life.
I hate it’s taken me 29 years to deal with what the hell is wrong with me.
I want to enter my 30’s a bit more improved.
I feel like I have made changes. I’m more open about my depression with friends and family. I read books, I wrote down affirmations I read each day. I read quotes I feel apply to me and save them on my phone. I’m seeing a counselor and I have finally accepted I need medication of some sort to get myself balanced.
I can’t be selfish anymore. I have two sweet boys that need me.
I need them.
Unfortunately I feel like my depression has affected some parts of my life that no matter what I try to do nothing will help.
And that sucks. It sucks the damage is done and I feel helpless.

Living in Columbia, South Carolina and using this blog as my space to share a little insight into my life in what I'm making on the sewing machine, knitting needles, crochet hooks, in the kitchen, and elsewhere.

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