Not revealing all

I talked to a friend today who I haven't talked to in a while. We caught up a little. I told him that you weren't talking to me anymore. I mentioned my depression lightheartedly, and it probably seemed like I was just joking. Actually, he was wondering whether I was still with that girl I got with at the beginning of the year. Yeah, I haven't talked to him in months. I didn't tell him very much about how I have actually been doing. I felt bad even saying what I did say. There's a time and a place.

He could have already known how I was doing just by looking at my Google+ profile. We're in each others' circles. He could have easily found Tell Her Before I Die through my posts. So I don't feel guilty about not saying everything. It's convenient that the people who care enough can easily find what they want about me, while I don't have to say more than enough to anyone myself.

Another thing. When you repeat something over and over again, things get lost. Putting my thoughts into these messages avoids that. Every time they're read, they will say nothing less. I may forget exactly how I once felt and why, but those feelings and reasons are preserved in the words here. No matter how many people will seek to know, the response in these messages will remain the same. No matter when or where, people will be able to learn what it's like. I think that's a beautiful thing.

What I would like to say will rarely come out of my lips, but it will come from my fingertips. Until we speak again.

When hope slips

Yesterday I felt really meaningless. Nothing I did felt worth it. I did it just to be who I was. I thought, maybe it wasn't an extraordinary mood after all. Maybe I really am getting better, and all I have to do is hold onto it. So I told myself that I was fine, and I acted as if I was fine.

Now I recognize that, no, I'm still not fine. I'm still depressed, and that still governs how I truly feel. I can't blame myself for my wishful thinking. But how dare I be stupid enough to delude myself again? I probably wouldn't be feeling so bad now if I'd been honest with myself earlier. Once again, I'm not even sure how long I've actually been down. I've covered it up by saying that I'm better than before. The fact is, I may be better, but I'm still not good enough. Like I said, I can't blame myself for wanting it, but I'm foolish for believing it.

I was putting hope in the wrong thing. I was hoping that I was okay. When I realized that was wrong, that hope slipped away from me a bit. I can hope that I will be okay when you see me again. That won't be for quite a while, so I've got a lot of time to fulfill that. No need to force it. And if I'm wrong, at least I can hold my hope until then. I'm not lying to myself, because I know that I could be okay. I can hope that you will be okay, too. That's not a lie either, because you could be getting all the help you need. If you aren't okay, then I can help you. Ha, imagine me helping you? Like I used to, being the person you turn to for everything that you want. I can hope that I live long enough for you to speak to me again. By the time that's proven wrong, hope won't really matter. So those will be the things I will hope for.

I missed my second post yesterday. I thought that I didn't have anything to say. It's concerning how easy it's been for me to lie to myself. This scaffolding I've constructed out of the depths of my depression is shaking and splintering as I jump for joy on top of it, celebrating a victory that I haven't yet achieved. If I am to proceed, it must be with caution; I don't want to slip and fall.