Everyone has a point of breaking. I find that mine is often when I talk about my struggles with depression, the lack of support I received, the lack of family and friends I was able to reach out to, and the misconstrued perception of depression.
Some have said, we cry during arguments and discussions because we feel so deeply about the subject. Oh, how true this is.
As all my readers here know, I have depression. It’s not something I contracted from someone else or not something I can drive away with medicine. It’s there and will always be a part of me. It’s tiresome hearing people take it lightly or think of it as a joke just as much as I think it’s not okay to laugh when someone tells you a story about abuse or bullying. It’s not okay to say that you are smart and turn around and do stupid things you know are stupid.
It’s never going to be okay.
My family is like that.
When I talk to friends, I always end up tearing up or crying because they’re the family I’ve chosen for myself. They’re the family that I know I’ve chosen because they understand or are willing to.
So when people tell me, you should love your family, I want to say, but do they love me? Do they love me enough to understand or WANT to understand? Do they love me and choose to be better people? If you have someone in your life struggling, would you really laugh at a stranger who is also struggling? You wouldn’t if it were you struggling. You wouldn’t because you know but you don’t need to know to WANT to understand.
I’m especially critical of my parents who preach day in and day out the Catholic beliefs, who go to church every Sunday, my mother who is part of a choir, goes every first Friday. She gossips. A LOT. She bullies. She’s mean. She pretends to be saintly. She talks behind people’s back. She believes she is her best self even though she knows she does all those. I have pointed it out more than I wish I have had to. My father, he is close-minded. He is a victim of my mother’s bullying but is a bully himself. He is mean. He is a racist. He gossips. He criticizes while turning around and doing the same things he has criticized. And to him, I also point out the flaws I wish they’d correct.
I tell them over and over again, the same way I have to repeat, I am depressed regardless of the smiles. I have to repeat, it takes all my energy to get up. I get dressed to pump myself up for today. I have to give myself a pep-talk, positive affirmations because they don’t. I think better of myself so that I can better.
Why is all of this important?
Why wouldn’t it be?
If you think that just because you practice a religion or something you’re automatically a good person, then you’re dead wrong. You have to actually be a good person in the way you act, not the way you pray. And if you tell people to love their parents, know their situations first. I do love mine but sometimes, I don’t and that’s okay. I don’t have to love my bullies—who would.