My psychiatrist diagnosed me with melancholia and anxiety.
Indeed, I was saddened by that. I never knew 'this' could be an illness. I never imagined that I could be this sick.
All along I believe that this kind of stress and sadness are normal when you are alive. I thought it is normal to feel as if you're dead even if you are living.
"Alex, I hope you'll stay? Be with me in this battle?"
"Jane, I-I ..."
He heaved a deep breath before continuing. "I can't"
"I can't stand an insane girl," He snarl and then get off of my car.
I drive home, devastated. I open the door, I see the empty space that is once filled with laughters. I glance in to the couch where we used to share secrets and souls. We used to be happy -- I used to.
I tried to call my only bestfriend. Maybe she can help me in this. Maybe she can listen. So, I opened my phone and saw that she send me a voice mail.
"Jane, I want you to know that I am your real friend. I kept your secrets. I loved you. I treated you like my own sister but I can't ... I can't understand you anymore. You always decline me whenever I try motivating you. It makes me sad; and I'm scared. So scared that you might pass your sadness to me ...
Jane, I love my family and soon I will make one too. Please! just this one, understand me. I can't bear to be with you anymore ... you are too sad."
I dropped my phone.
How severe am I that they refuse to be with me? Am I giving them so much pain?
Am I the cause of all their sufferings?
Why do they leave me this time when I needed them the most? Am I the reason why does my mom commit suicide? Did I give her so much sadness?
But, I am not my depression. I didn't choose to be like this. I don't mean to radiate sadness.
Does my depression is too strong to make them commit suicide?