the grudges of my youth i can’t let go

thoughtful asian girl looking through grid

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I have grudges from my youth that I can’t let go of. There have been many stages to my learning more about my depression. In each stage, a version of me arises. Sometimes this version is someone who seems enlightened and other times it’s a villain seeking vengeance. I feel like a protagonist with a dark back story.

The problem with this viewpoint is the expectation of a good ending when life, in truth, continues to move on.

The problem with life is that it continues to move on even when I don’t want it to.

Recently, I talked to my psychiatrist about my mind constantly running towards thoughts of suicide.

Before alarms are raised, I don’t have plans of self-harm or worse.

The problem with being as self-aware as I am is that even THAT I can’t manage.

I’m frozen in place not unlike when I was 23.

We grow to be a newer version of ourselves, but letting go of the past is not easy. I can’t let go.

My third therapist thinks my past isn’t too important to discuss. The second couldn’t really keep up with my 24-year-old self. Then again, my first only had an hour in comparison to the other two.

Am I wrong to think that I owe my younger self to validate the things she thought were her fault?

For a long time, I thought I was justified in finally crying out. Then, I turned 30. Suddenly, I came to the realization that I couldn’t expect an apology, and all these songs that tell the side of parents had me thinking deeper. So I thought, let bygones be bygones…

Yet, I remain in this spot, unmoved without consideration just the same as when I was four- thirteen- eighteen- nineteen- twenty- twenty-one… I stay in this position of owing a life I never wanted.

And now I have Maya.
I thought I could hold myself down with her as my anchor. Some days, it seems just as so. Other times, she is a shackle binding me in my prison. And I go to sleep and wake up shackled to thoughts of suicide. Fantasies of escape from the things that scar and whip me to submission.

Maya is simply holding me down.

She neither gives me joy nor pain. Together we are neutral as neutral as someone with depression can be.

And I am twenty-three yet again.

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