Saturday, December 15, 2012


Though I've striven to deny it for a number of years now, I think it's time I admit to myself this simple fact: I'm depressed.

I can't think of any sane reason for it. I've lived a relatively privileged life. I've never been bullied or gone through serious trauma, emotional or physical. My immediate family is by no means dysfunctional: My mother and father have never had any issues, I have two loving siblings, and there's no want for either attention or emotional support. As we are a middle class family, neither is there any lack of material goods. I work two jobs and just completed my first full semester of college, the latter thanks to a government grant I received. I managed to attain As in all of my courses and am now eligible to receive an invitation to Phi Theta Kappa international honor society! Yet, for all of this, I can no longer deny a growing sense of melancholy.

I suppose I've refused to accept it for this long out of guilt. How could I possibly have so much going for me and yet still be depressed? It just seemed bratty, spoiled, ungrateful... Nevertheless, I feel it, and it's beginning to frighten me.

Not four months ago, the day before the start of the Fall semester at my college, I held a razor blade to my wrist, not for the first time, and very nearly decided to experiment with cutting. I've no clue what nearly drove me to that; I've always held disdain for the act of self mutilation. I've not come nearly so close since, as my school and work loads left me little free time to reminisce. Though now, the semester has ended and my work has slowed down for the winter. I've some time to myself, and the melancholy is returning.

I've done research on cutting in the past and have spoken to cutters on many occasions. I know its lure: The act of sustaining the injury releases endorphins which simulate a "high." It can be as addicting as a drug, and I'd rather not be trapped in that cycle, so I've decided to attempt to distract myself with blogging. Perhaps reading through my own ramblings will give me a glimpse into my psyche, better allowing me to introspect and find my melancholy's root cause. To anyone who should happen to stumble upon this, any advice would be greatly appreciated.

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