Depression: A Short Story

Personal narrative

Depression can be a monster and destroy the lives of people, but in my case it help me express my emotions better by helping me be more honest with myself. Depression has never been alien to me. Since middle school I have danced with the devil. I do not know what triggered it then, but it was mostly likely hormones. Despite that ever looming sadness over my head, I was still doing well in school, at least as best as I could do, I still hung out with people and I was still social when I had to be.

But then I got a weird text message from my cousin Alex, he asked me if I was happy about moving back to Oregon. I was confused, I did not remember my parents telling me that we were to back to Oregon. I was hurt and I asked my

The new school behind, the stuff they were teaching was completely different than back in Illinois. I was a ghost in the minds of people, I felt like nothing but an afterimage no gave me second thoughts. I don’t know if that was true because I can’t read of the minds of others, but I believe it’s a fair assumption because I only made one friend. Yet that friend wasn’t enough, I still felt like I was playing second fiddle to everything else in the universe. The feeling of being an intruder was almost always in the forefront of my mind, no amount of friends could change this unwelcome feeling I

I couldn’t tell anyone because I felt as if my problems weren’t important enough. I didn’t know what to do. People say just talking to someone, but I was never good at tell my parents how I feel. I didn’t feel like talking to a teacher or administrative staff member because I didn’t know them. Not amount of saying exercise will help, or saying that I just need to make more friends would help either, because I never like bothering people, or even feeling like I could bother people, I hate being selfish and I hate just hated how I felt, it made me feel worse. This vicious cycle of feeling terrible, being angry about how I feel, than feeling terrible again.

These emotions, of sadness and angry, were swelling inside me, until one day I just started crying, I didn’t care what my mom thought, I didn’t care what anyone though, I just cried for what felt like hours. It was like a bubble that finally bursted. I let out all my emotions, and I didn’t care what people thought. I just let out my emotions. My mom wanted to know what was wrong, I couldn’t tell her because I didn’t know how to, how can you say I hate everything in Spanish without sounding over dramatic and suicidal. We managed to work it