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The Day I Broke Up with My Mental Illness

A Memoir

By Tabitha ShilohPublished 6 years ago 3 min read
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As a kid, I knew I was different. It started one summer when my best friend from across the street came over to play. Our days never seemed to stopped. Sprinklers under trampolines followed by pudding popsicles and frozen waffles. Slip n’ slides and wet grass and sunscreen. Endless days and sleepless nights. Summer was the best time of our lives. But not this summer. I couldn’t. My brain and body could not. I laid in my dark room for hours at a time running my hands over the silk sheets wondering what was wrong with me.

The days went on, and my friend stopped knocking on the door. Eventually summer ended. She moved away a few years later. We hadn’t spoken in months.

***

I remember drawing a picture in my third grade class one day. My teacher called me up a few hours later to talk about it.

“I love your drawing, Tabby. Can you explain it to me?”

Our assignment was to draw our life, what we felt, who we were. I had drawn a little girl in a green dress in the middle of a hurricane. It was me standing in the eye of the storm. The only thing surrounding me was darkness.

And from there it only got darker darker darker darker.

***

I remember the day I met the the Blade. I was 13 years old. I never knew why people would hurt themselves on purpose. I never understood. But in that moment, I would hurt myself if that meant I could feel something again. The first slice into my skin left me breathless. From then on, the Blade and I were best friends.

I was acquainted with depression soon after.

***

I remember middle school. I remember the tiny lockers and smelly school lunches. I was lonely and scared and something else. Depression is a tricky thing, and I carried around that label in my head for months.

I wasn’t Tabitha: piano player. I was Tabitha: depressed.

I wasn’t Tabitha: chocolate enthusiast. I was Tabitha: depressed

I wasn’t Tabitha: lover of memoirs and autobiographies. I was depressed.

Depression. This word began bouncing and tumbling around in my head and yelling and screaming louder and louder. It was so prominent in my life that it felt alive somehow. Depression and I walked hand in hand for a while until we formed one creature with sad eyes and a sad heart. The Blade always in my front pocket. Depression dressed me in the mornings, depression stayed inside with me, depression closed the curtains, depression turned off the light, depression tucked me in bed. And the Blade was never too far behind.

***

Years of blood soaked towels,

Months of trying to say goodbye to the Blade,

Relapsing in two days, three days, four days

Google, how to get rid of scars

Google, how to be happy

Louder louder louder

Stop stop stopstop

***

I remember watching those sharp silver objects flush down the toilet for the last time.

Depression standing next to me: you can’t have me without the Blade.

But I’m nothing without you.

***

My therapist, Mr. Trinh, explained it to me this way: Depression is a part of you, but you are not depression. You are you. This thing does not need to control you, contain you, define you.

I am Tabitha.

***

It’s been two years. I open my curtains, I turn on the lights, I take a walk outside. And I smile. It was warm today, too warm for December. But I liked it. Depression stays inside most of the time. He likes it in my closet. He comes out to visit once in a while. But he is never bad company. I always remind him of one thing before he leaves:

you were wrong

I am everything with or without you.

And I live.

depression
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About the Creator

Tabitha Shiloh

thoughts, ideas, & stories from myself.

be kind to others

☻☻☻

xx T

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