From the moment I saw you, I knew I was gonna spend the rest of my life avoiding you.
When I was younger, maybe fourteen, I told myself that I’d be dead long before I was sixteen.
And then a month or so ago I turned eighteen.
And while maybe that’s suppose to make me feel better, it really doesn’t.
In November or so, I was diagnosed with Dysthymic Disorder. That diagnoses killed me.
You see, when I was twelve I was depressed. When I was fourteen I was depressed. When I was sixteen I was depressed. And right now I’m depressed on those days I refuse to take my medication. I will always be depressed. That’s what my diagnosis told me. Every year for the rest of my years I will have days where I just want to be gone. I could have a boyfriend and a scholarship and I could moving to my dream destination and none of it would matter. Nothing will ever be good enough.