I have been fighting this beast of depression ever since I woke up this morning.
It led, unfortunatly, to not attending Psychology because I knew I wasn't going to last 5 minutes, went to my media teachers room, and sat in the empty classroom bawling my eyes out for essentially the hour.
My media teacher came out and I literally just ended up blurting everything out to him. The more I said, the more I cried, and I was more open and honest with him then I had been with anybody in a while.
I won't go into detail as probably people from my school will read this and it isn't fair, but he told me things that really made me feel for him and then I could empathise. He didn't have to stay with me, which I kept telling him, but he did, and that really meant the world. That somebody was prepared to give up their free hour to talk in depth and personally with me and try and help me out.
It was his last day that day, which also made me upset. I have no idea what I am going to do without this support. He has taught me since year 10 and I have always trusted him and his ways. He is such an amazing teacher and I can guarentee the media department will fall apart without him.
He has given me his email address so we can keep in touch, which is nice. I suppose things have to move on, and things have to come to an end. But I think I managed to tell him everything I needed to.
Aside from that nice little conversation which came out of a horrible morning, yup, things have been pretty bad. I am falling.
Or, I have fallen.
The same boy who asked if I was 'psychotic' a few days ago today told me to 'cheer up' as we was walking back from lunch.
'Cheer up', is probably one of the worst things you can tell somebody who has depression.
As I said earlier on today, if cheering up was that easy, I would have done it a long time ago.
I really didn't want to be with anybody today. I wanted to crawl into my bubble and stay there. I tried to block people away, concentrate on the education, which at the moment matters the most to me. But it's turning into that path where I am so fixated on hating myself that I can't learn anything. I take nothing in.
And the worrying part is that I knew if I had had some form of medication on me, I may have taken some again.
And that freaked me out. At one point I was scrounging around in my bag for something to take the pain away. There was nothing.
Even if I could have found something, something to cut or something to take, it wouldn't have taken the pain away.
I still haven't had the chance to apologise to Mrs Smith, which still kills me inside. Everyone is moving on with their lives, and here is me, hating mine.