Why My Depression Is A Monster

Let this time in your life cut you open and drain all of the things that are holding you back. I’m going to help you forgive the things that you won’t let yourself forget.
— Jennifer Elisabeth

Whenever I talk about my depression or anxiety, I refer to them as monsters. I refer to them like they are separate beings, and not me.

They are monsters in my head.

They are not who I am.

They tell me things I don’t want to hear.

They are not me.

I don’t get enjoyment out of having anxiety or depression, they are only torturing me. I don’t like that I can’t do what others can without first having a panic attack. I don’t want to be able to judge myself through everyone’s eyes, and when I judge myself, I’m never good enough.

I do not want the anxiety or depression. I wish I could toss these monsters off of my shoulders and out of my head.

The anxiety and depression have destroyed me in ways that most people will never understand. It’s robbed me of years of my life, time that I will never get back.

They’ve taken countless nights from me as I lay awake worrying.

They’ve driven away friends and family.

I’ve torn myself into so many tiny pieces that I don’t know if I will ever be able to be put back together.

The depression isn’t cute. It’s sobbing at 4 a.m. telling myself that there is no reason to live. It’s me losing the will to live every night, over and over again. It’s me absolutely hating myself and fantasizing about my self-destruction over and over again.

These are the monsters in my head.

They are not me.