breakingviolets (original) (raw)

My dad found out about my personal lj, and I don't have it set to friends-only so he read it. My whole family thinks I'm over this depression, and now he knows I'm not. I hate the way they treat me, like I'm some bomb that will go off if it's touched too roughly. I am a person. I do ordinary things too.
I hate how I can't be sad anymore. Even if it's for a legitimate reason, like how my older brother, who is my best friend, is going away for the summer. I'm going to miss him, a lot, and I'm not allowed to show it because my parents will see this as me being depressed. Can I please just have half a second to be sad? To feel sadness in a normal, healthy way? Apparently not.

Truth be told, I am spiraling down, and I don't know what to do to stop it. I have been exercising, working, sleeping normal-ish hours, being around people that makes me happy, and still at the end of the day, I'm exhausted from all the effort it takes to please everyone, to satisfy their need to see me "happy". I know I shouldn't hide what I'm feeling, but hiding is better than explaining, and explanations are hard to come by right now.

I started a new job, and I wear a chef jacket as part of the uniform. Chef jackets are heavy, and hot, and I work over a grill, so I roll up the sleeves. On one wrist, I have the word LOVE tattooed on it, the other - scars, fully exposed for all of my new co-workers to see. And you know what? This doesn't bother me. So they see it, they see proof that I've been through hard times, that I'm not just some spoiled little blonde girl. One of the guys asked me what happened; I just smiled and looked away. I'm not ashamed. At least they're scars, not scabs. It's been over a month since I last cut, and I am ridiculously proud of that.