I’m 24 now. I graduated top of my class in high school and from UCLA film. I work remotely editing social media videos and currently live at home with you and papa. You guys aren’t the same anymore. But neither am I.
The world has gone crazy.
My world has become small.
I’ve been to therapy, taken pills, talked for hours with friends I can barely keep.
I can’t get through a day without crying. Something’s wrong but nothing is making it better. I pour out all my pain through puffy eyes and muffled sobs only to realize that it’s still imbedded deep in me. You can’t get rid of the heartache if it’s you breaking your own heart. The therapist says I’m depressed. It’s true. And all I can do is spew cliches that people temporarily tend to because their lives are for living, while mine is for surviving.
I’ve watched people around me grow while I keep falling apart.
I don’t know who I am. All my energy is being expended on seeking validation from a world that I’ve exponentially felt alien in. And it’s torn at every ounce of confidence I’ve once held. I can’t keep up.
I feel the loneliest I have in my entire life. All that enthusiasm and bold hope I once embodied feels stupid and immature now. I keep trying to explain myself because I crave understanding, but the older I get, the more confused I’ve become.
I used to tell you all my problems. But somewhere along the way I realized that you’re only human. You hurt and break as well.
Dear Mama, living is the most excruciating pain I've ever experienced, the good moments feel temporary, the bad feel absolute, and I feel like I'm failing.
"I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are."