Two weeks ago, I was sitting alone on a stool in the corner of my kitchen with my back against the wall. I had been trying to cry, to discharge some of my sadness and anger, but I was stuck in nothingness. I felt hopeless, and a barking voice in my head was scolding me, insisting that I pull myself together.
People say things like “Pull yourself together!” all the time, but for some reason on this night that expression really irritated me. I mean, if someone tells you to pull yourself together, it suggests that they can see you’ve fallen apart, right? If you didn’t know me, though, you might have thought I looked sad or distraught, but you would not have been able to see the extent of my not-togetherness.
That’s the thing about depression—there is often nothing to see. I felt that I had fallen apart. I…
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