Sometimes good advice just makes you feel worse. When depressed and feeling self-hatred and loathing and feeling generally as a failure, the worst advice is: “just pick yourself up, give yourself a kick in the ass and do something”.

The rational me inside knows what is meant, the rational me knows that it isn’t meant to put me down any further, but the depressed me just hears: “you are a failure and you are even worse of a failure because you should punish yourself for being a failure”.

Trying to give good advice to somebody depressed is utterly useless in many cases. You can only give the “good” good advice if you either studied for it, or have experienced a mayor depression yourself. I’m not talking about: “I feel meh today”, but “I wish I die right now and be rid of all these feelings today”.

Sometimes I hate good advice, because honestly, do they think that by repeating it over and over it’s going to work better? The rational me gives me these good advices all day long. But it’s like talking to a comatose patient and asking him to stand up. My limbs are feeling so heavy, my head is so stuffed, my body is just out of energy. My house a mess, my thoughts even more so.

Just stand up, please, just give yourself a kick in the ass and stand up…

I feel so worthless when given good advice. Because people are reciting the bible every time you say you feel like shit, doesn’t make you a catholic good girl. It makes you believe you should be a catholic good girl and feel even worse because you aren’t.

Just give yourself a kick in the ass and do it…

Because I deserve to be kicked, because my body lacks a certain hormone that makes other people have happy emotions, satisfaction and other rainbows in the sky?

Just do it…

Don’t people understand that I absolutely know that? I know that I should push the red button and that makes me do stuff. But what if you don’t have a red button? What if that button is buried under cobwebs and landmines? What if just looking for the red button and make your way over to the red button takes all your energy? What are you supposed to do then?

Kick yourself in the ass and stand up…

As though I’m not kicking myself in the ass on a regular basis already. As though I’m not putting myself down every time I look in the mirror. Every time I see more of my biological mother looking back. And I fear the day that I don’t care anymore. The day that I have truly sunk as low as that. Perhaps the release of my dreams and hopes, like helium balloons in the sky, will be a relieve for me. Perhaps that day I don’t care, I don’t remember my ambitions and let go of the unstable grip I have on reality.

Some people have it worse, they say, you should be relieved.

No, because I have just that sanity left to see I’m heading the same way. And sometimes that does make me fight more, but some days I’m just too tired to fight. Too tired of people expecting me to do things I cannot do, too tired of myself wanting more when I simply cannot comply.

I’m so tired, so fucking tired, that I can absolutely understand why people commit suicide. No, don’t call 911, I’m not suicidal. But I do absolutely understand. I hear people commenting about how egoistical these suicide-victims are. How they have deliberately hurt their families and stuff like that.

I stopped trying to defend them in public, because it takes too much energy and people generally cannot comprehend if they didn’t feel the same way. People who commit suicide usually are the opposite of egoistic. People who commit suicide have no love for themselves, cannot understand why anybody else would love them. Yes, his wife says she loves him, but she only says that because she wants him to feel better. How can his wife love him, when he is just a bother? He is so depressed, he just lost his job because of it. He cannot love his wife anymore, because it takes too much energy, he cannot provide for his family anymore, he is just a bother. The world would be better off without him and he is just so tired, soo tired… He wants to sleep and leave his problems. It will give his wife the change to find somebody new, somebody who can provide for the family, who can provide for his kids, who can love her properly.

If you see it from this man’s point of view, committing suicide isn’t that egocentric a move, huh?

But I do also understand the other people’s view. I understand that even though I have no love for myself, other people have some. I understand that my family and friends would be devastated if I commit suicide, that they would see it as an egoistical move. And even though I am tired, I rather spend the rest of my life in bed doing absolutely nothing and seeing my dreams fly away, than committing suicide. Because I have just that spark of ambition left, just that tiny bit of spark, who wants me to succeed in life. Who tells me: maybe next year. Maybe the year after that.

I’m almost thirty, a number that terrifies me. Because I never ever suspected I would turn thirty. It’s two years from now, mind you, but it dooms over me. Thirty is an age when you should thinking family and children and a carreer and a home and stuff. And I do have a home, sort of, and a carreer, sort of, but family and children? Yeah right…

If you don’t love yourself, you can dream of a family and children, but without that self-confidence and self-love how could you ever be attractive to somebody else? Like hey, here are my problems, now you can deal with them too. At this point I need somebody who should continuously tell me he loves me, for me to believe him. He should continuously praise me and tell me I’m beautiful, for the relationship to work. That’s not a fair relationship and in the end it will not work.

What I should need is somebody that loves me and I can love back in return. Someone that is a friend, a lover, a soul-mate. He shouldn’t be my mother, my therapist and lover at the same time. That is just wrong.

At this point I believe I’m better of as I am, a child who spends most of her time on the couch at her parents. I have an apartment and a cat who loves me unconditionally (as long as I give her food) and everything my heart could possibly desire.
It still isn’t enough, because what my heart does desire is not bought with money, cannot be given by somebody else. I require unconditional love for myself. And until the different parts of me come together, I have no such thing.