Fight Against Depression

Every day drags on and on. Every day, I find myself searching for the right way to lead my life. None of these days do I ever have any success in finding what I need. None of these days do I ever feel happy. I used to be one of those typical girls who is always laughing, smiling and playing with her friends. Now, I am the complete opposite of that girl. She is foreign to me, and I do not know her anymore. I wish I could return to be that girl who I once was, but she is forgotten. Now, I strive to keep control over my strong thoughts and emotions. Often, it doesn't work and I find myself in my room, crying myself to sleep. I know now that I will never be happy and that I will never find peace until the day I die. I used to think that that thought was depressing, but now I take it as an everyday fact that is no big deal. "Hey Hilary!" my brother calls from downstairs. I perk my head up, annoyed that he has disrupted my sleep. "You wanna go outside and play ball or something?" He should know better than that. I know that he only asks to keep giving effort to make me better. But I also know that each time it will never help and that he should stop trying. I will never be better. I don't respond and lay my head back down on my desk again. "Hilary!" he shouts. "C'mon, answer me!" Stupid big brother, I think angrily. I still don't say anything and close my eyes, trying to relax. "HILARY!" He bangs on the door persistently. "I hate you!" I yell finally. "Go away!" There is silence. None of us says anything as we both realize that I have finally said the words that have been lingering around the whole month, ever since Mom died. "Please, come on, Hilary. We can do something fun." I return his pleas with silence. After a while, I hear him shuffling away, his feet dragging against the wooden floor. If it had been before all of this, I would have run out and screamed that I really loved him and that I was sorry. I would have felt guilty for all of the silent treatments I'd given him. But today I have a plan that will surely make me happier. I sigh and stand up, striding towards the window. It is already open, and the delicate curtains flow gently in the wind. I stare down at the ground that is far away enough to be falling for more than five seconds. I swallow hard and sit on the windowsil, preparing to fall. Don't do it. I bite my lip and swing my leg over so that I'm halfway outside. Don't. Do. It. Listen to me. I reach a hand to my face and realize that it is wet with salty tears. I taste them. The salt tastes good on my tongue. It's refreshing. Don't do it. Please. There is more to life than this. You can make it. It's hard, but you can do it. I hesitate, but swing my second leg outside, trying to ignore my thoughts but at the same time listening to them. I am now ready to go. All I have to do is perform the last action that would send me flying. After five whole minutes, I am still sitting on the window. Finally giving up, I climb back inside and shut the window. The curtains fall still. That's it. You can make it. I promise. As my mind told myself these things, I cried harder and whispered aloud, "I'm trying, I'm trying."