It's been over a year and I can't stop lying to my family, to my friends, to my counsellor and to myself. I thought being open about my depression would do me some good but sometimes I wonder how much help it really was. Now that those closest to me know about it, I feel like more of a burden than ever. I used to lie and say I was fine in order to hide my depression; now I say it to avoid the guilt and shame that come with worrying those around me. I've been walking around for months saying I'm fine because I'm afraid my problems have been invalidated by my illness. Nothing is really wrong, it's not a solvable problem, it's just my depression acting up again and turning my life to crap. And I'll admit that what solutions are there, aren't ones I'm ready or want to face. The more I say I'm fine, the less I have to hear what I should be doing to combat these feelings. I know what I should be doing, what I need to do in order to get my life back together, but I can't. And having someone else give me advice on the subject only fills me with shame because I can't take it. I'm scared, terrified, and so incredibly ashamed of what I've allowed those fears to turn me into.

Maybe my illness is biochemical and has an effect on that, but I have largely brought my problems on myself. I don't have any reason to be this way. I have no past traumas, I was never abused, my parents are still married and very loving towards me. I've been given every opportunity, I was a good student at school, had a great circle of friends, got to travel and worked part-time at a bookstore for three years (basically the perfect place for a bookaholic like me) where I made some of my best friends. I've never wanted for anything, I've never had major issues with body image -- physically, I consider myself relatively good-looking (not a supermodel, mind you, but my appearance is one of the only things I am confident about). I've been encouraged by my family and friends and I've had a passion, writing, to pursue since I was ten. I should not be this way. Anyone looking at that description wouldn't guess that I battle with depression. But despite a reasonably charmed life, I'm little more than a shell. I'm not worthy of the things I have; I've never done anything to merit all of the things I take for granted. I'm wasting away and I can barely bring myself to care. I do what I can to earn my own self-respect. I try to be kind, generous, responsible, tolerant and respectful. I've worked hard, I've kept my nose clean, and I try to have a positive impact on the people around me. I don't know why I feel so undeserving, so hideous inside, when I would never judge anyone as harshly as I judge myself. But I can't help it. I feel insignificant. I don't like to show weakness, don't like to make a fuss. I try to keep out of everyone else's way, which is the only habit of mine that I can actually attribute to anything concrete in my life. I grew up doing my best to keep quiet, because my mom works nights so she sleeps a lot during the day. I learned pretty quickly that tired people = grumpy people, so to this day if she hasn't slept (and she rarely does) it's better to stay out of the way. My parents say I must have a sixth sense for knowing how people are feeling because whenever there's any bad feeling in the room I disappear without anyone noticing I've gone. I don't even make sound when I walk -- I got new boots recently that click when I walk, and it took me weeks not to feel like every time I put my foot down I was hearing an explosion. I'm very good at melting into the background and keeping others at a distance. With me, nobody gets in unless they push. I love getting to know others but a lot of the time I feel like I'm wasting their time if I let out anything personal. I'm not very interesting and VERY screwed up, not exactly an attractive combination.

I just hate hating myself. I wish there was an off switch.