"I need you to get away from me."

"You're a cynical, negative person. I love you, but I need you to get away from me."

Four years together. Done with the press of a button. 

I've never forgotten, or gotten over, those words. I never saw or heard from her after she spoke them. I guess I only have myself to blame, but I spend every waking moment just wishing she'd have been more patient, just wishing she could have seen me change. 

Her leaving put me in more of a sour mood since then. Just wishing I wouldn't have to get up every morning, or fall asleep at night, since all I ever did was stare up at the ceiling until I forgot what it ever was to smile at the sky. 

I loved her so much, I forgot what hating myself ever felt like. 

Now it's all I can remember.
 

"You're not the same."

My daughter was born premature. Extremely premature. She weighed 1lb, 3oz, and was not supposed to survive. On top of that, I almost didn't survive either. I was hospitalized for months, I had an emergency C section, and I faced losing my daughter every day after that for months until she was stable enough.

And I went through it all without a comforting hand beside me. 

Throughout it all, I was being abused by my (now ex) husband. 

One day, while waiting for our daughter to be released from surgery, I confronted him. Why was he so cruel to me? Why did I deserve the pain? 

He looked me in the eyes and told me this one thing: "You're not the girl I fell in love with. You're not the same. You were so sweet and happy. And now you're bitter and hateful. The world darkened you, and you're not the same." 

That was why I deserved his abuse, which was the very thing that made me bitter. 

That was why I deserved being left alone to go through this ordeal, which was the very thing that darkened me.

It's been five years, and I now have depression and anxiety. I have a hard time with my relationships. I never know if I can trust the man I'm with, for numerous reasons. 

I'm the girl who apologizes for existing. 

He was right. I'm not the same.

Something To Live For

I was having an extremely hard day with my depression. I was walking down the street when my friend's mom called and told me that he had commit suicide. I broke down in tears while people walked around me, whispering things, staring. 

But one person - we'll call him Rick for the sake of anonymity - stopped, gave me a hug, and told me that everything I was going through would end okay, that the pain would pass. 

He walked me home. I asked him to come in for some coffee, as a way of thanking him, since I had really needed that hug. He came in, and asked me if I was willing to tell him what had happened. I told about our friendship, all we'd been through together, and what had happened. I broke down in tears and he held me until I stopped crying. He told me about his mom, how she had committed suicide after his little sister died from the accident she and his mother were in. I listened to him like he did to me, we shared stories, memories, and secrets. 

It's been 7 years now, and he's my best friend and my boyfriend. After I was told about my friend committing suicide, I had seriously considered it myself. But thanks to him, to that amazing man, I didn't. He showed me that there is still good in life, there's still hope, there's still something to live for.
 

"Remember what you said."

My father struggled with depression for years, and used antidepressants for 14 years. One day, four years ago, he decided he didn't need to use them anymore, so he stopped taking them cold turkey. Immediately we noticed a change in his personality. He was mean, rude, and just all-in-all out of character. 

A few weeks went by, and he got worse and worse. One night was just over the top. He picked a fight with my brother, my sister, my mom, and me. We all fought back, saying hurtful things back and forth. My father left the room and went into his bedroom. 

He soon came back out, and with no expression on his face, and no light in his eyes, looked at every single person and said, "Remember what you said." 

After he said that, he barricaded himself in his room, where he had a gun. He killed himself soon after.
 

"Incessant piece of crap."

When I was a sophomore I had a horrible, horrible breakup with a guy I dated for a little over a year. He ended up leaving me for the girl he had told me for months was "just a friend". 

After he left, I tried to at least salvage my friendship with him since we had once been very close friends, only to get a reply from his new girlfriend telling me I was an "incessant piece of crap" and that, the universe would be better off if trash like me killed themselves. 

This put me in a really dark place, and it just got worse after my emotional support (my dog I had since I was a toddler) died in my arms, and two puppies I adopted after her death died weeks after their adoption. 

After that, I began to believe what she had told me. I began blaming myself for the deaths of my pets and began wishing I was just dead so no other creature would have to suffer my existence. 

It took a long time and a lot of therapy before I was finally pulled out of the dark place her words had sent me to, but even to this day if something goes wrong her words echo in the back of my mind and linger like a shadow following me.
 

"Only babies cry."

It all started when I was eight years old. My sister, who is four years older than me, and I had spent the evening arguing over some not so import things. Like most children, we had our sibling rivalries. But this particular argument set my father off, and when I bring the subject up to him now a days he doesn't even remember. But I do. Oh God, how I remember.

My father pulled my sister and me off each other and sent me to my room as punishment. I wasn't angry about his decision, but I was upset and crying.

My sister was definitely the golden child, while I was always the black sheep. Our rooms were next to one another, connected by our closets. After I was sent to my room, I could hear her on the phone with her friend through the thin walls of our connected closest. She was complaining about me, saying some really hurtful things. I vividly remembering sitting under all my hanging clothes, crying about all the horrible things my sister said about me. 

I guess I was really loud because only moments later my father burst into my room and threw open the closest door and began to scream a million things. But one thing he said sticks with me to this day.

"Don't fucking cry. Only babies cry."

This was the day that my now-eleven year journey with depression began. 

Be careful what you say to your children. You could be setting them up on a date with the monsters that live inside their head, waiting to be released from their jail.
 

"My heart broke for you."

I was 19 years old, and I had completely broken down. Again. The world around me that I thought I knew was crumbling to pieces. 

"You're worthless. You're good for nothing. You're worthless." 

These words rang over and over through my empty mind. 

I had just begun my third semester in college, and in every class, I found myself writing my suicide letter. The date would be the anniversary of my dad's suicide. Halloween. Might as well make it dramatic. 

The week before Halloween, I showed a therapist my letter. I convinced him that I wasn't serious. That it was all a joke.

He let me walk out in this state. 

When Halloween came, I got drunk. I ran up this street, with no shoes, no jacket, no dignity. Three cops stopped and asked me what I was doing, if I'd come off my meds, if I needed to go to the hospital. I walked away. 

A woman got out of her car and asked me if I was all right, asked if I wanted food. I ran away. I was shaking, sweating, biting back my last tears. In my mind, I wasn't allowed to cry. This was what I deserved. 

I started to walk out in front of a car. 

The car came to a stop, and someone got out. It was the same lady from before. She rushed out of the car, threw her jacket on me, and held me as a cried. 

She said, "When I saw you, my heart broke for you." 

She gave me new life. 

She gave me a seed of hope to plant. 

Today, I am 22 years old. After various hospital stays, various treatments, I am still on the path to recovery.

To this very day, I still hold her words close to my heart. Every time I dream about ending the suffering I endure every day, I envision that angel who saved me. 

I remember her holding me as I cried. 

I remember how truly promising life can be even when the room is dim.
 

"You're not that pretty, but you're still great."

When I was in eighth grade, I became friends with someone for the first time. I've always been a socially awkward person, but we clicked right away. She was my best friend. 

I struggled greatly with depression. I had breakdowns often and cried a lot. I specifically remember one time she was trying to calm me down. We had been friends for almost a year. 

She said, "People are always assholes to you, and I don't really get why. I mean sure, you're fat and not that pretty, but you're still great." 

I will never forget the time my best friend called me fat to my face.
 

"I can show you the way home."

My father is my best friend, and has been since I was in middle school. 

When I went to college five hours away, we would call each other multiple times a day. I would make sure he was taking his prescriptions, and he would offer me a laugh and make sure I was going to class. 

I've battled depression for most of my life, and my father is no stranger to it. I pulled away from him during one of my darkest times, the closest I'd come to actually killing myself. I stopped calling him. 

He gave me a couple days, and then left me a voicemail. 

"You're lost somewhere, I know. I'm just calling to remind you I'm here, looking for you. And can show you the way home."

I still have that voicemail.
 

"I don't have time for your depression."

"I have enough going on in my life. I don't have time for your depression."

- A very good friend who I'm no longer friends with.