My own personal nightmare

Para uma das minhas aulas daqui, eu tive que fazer um texto sobre uma história assustadora sobre medos da vida real, como por exemplo o medo de engordar, medo de não achar ninguém para ficar junto, etc. Eu resolvi escrever sobre a minha própria "depressão" (eu digo entre aspas pois eu sei que tem gente que passou por coisa muito pior que eu, mas ainda assim, não foi uma boa experiência pra mim). E como eu achei que ficou bastante pessoal, eu resolvi postar aqui também.

Here it goes...

Trying to be me during my life wasn’t an easy task. I had to live to my own expectations, that, believe me, are really high. And of course, that made me never good enough, no matter how hard I try. That was my own personal nightmare. Twenty-three years of “you are not enough”. “You are a failure”. “You are never gonna make it”. “You are never going to be someone”. I hated myself for so many years that maybe it had become some sort of habit. Looking myself in the mirror and thinking about how could anyone look at me in any other way than disgust. Because that is how I felt about my own body. Why can’t I be just like all of those pretty girls, with nice hair and a perfect body. I wished so many times that I could be them. But instead, I’m stuck in this stupid body, that no one, not even myself, likes. I hated all of my scars, my stretch marks, my pimples, my fats. I hated everything about me. And so many times I thought that I couldn’t keep up with the world. Everyone’s so pretty and nice. And then there’s me. I tried so hard, though. Everytime I met someone, I try so hard to not making them realize I’m this mess that I feel I am. But I knew they didn’t buy it, and I guess that’s why I couldn’t make any friends at all. All of them could see right through me. They all could see who I really am, and no one wants such a mess of a person as their friend. That’s what I’ve always told myself. That’s how I started to try becoming invisible. That was the best way I found to avoid hurting everyone else with my presence. For a while, it did work. I didn’t have to bother with trying to make friends, but at the same time, it was so lonely. Sometimes I would want to cry in someone else’s shoulder, but of course I didn’t have any shoulder to cry on. Later I found out that a hug would do the trick just fine. But at the time, I didn’t have anyone to hug. At that time, I shut everyone out of my life, trying to not hurt them, but instead, I ended up hurting myself. It was the kind of hurt, that it didn’t show, so no one could see it, and help me. And I was too scared to ask for someone’s help. It’s like a endless fall, that everytime you think you’ve reached the bottom, you’re still falling. And only you can stop the falling, but you have no idea how to climb back up. But to climb up, you need a helping hand. How can you get a helping hand if you can’t talk to anyone? There you go, falling all over again in a pool of self hate and despair. “You’re never geting out of here”. These kind of things are hard. I know it. I lived it. Even now, makes me uneasy to talk about it. It’s like a part of me that I wish nobody knew. But it’s not that easy, because that part, was actually my whole life. But sometimes all you have to do is talk about it. That’s what helped me, and I know that’s what helped a lot of people out there that had the same problem as me. And I’m hoping this helps other people that will have the same problem as me.