Everything I Left Unsaid

Author’s Note: (Warning: this may hit home, or hit deep with some people.) Hey, there readers, this story is a little on the dark side, it brings light to depression, anxiety, and how what you do can really affect people. Just know that if you are suffering, you aren't suffering alone. If someone you know is suffering, don’t let them do it alone, help them. Whether you help them through it yourself or let someone know who can help, you are showing them that you care, and in many cases that can save lives. I did try my best to leave things not as detailed as possible, I know first hand that a lot of these things are very personal and can hit home, so please be mindful of that before you read, and remember someone loves you, and always will, you are worth it! <3

Who knows, maybe if I had said everything I had wanted, I would still be here with you today. If I would’ve spoken my mind, I might not have gone down this path. I am where I am now, due to everything that I left unsaid. 

When people asked me if I was okay, I wanted to say, “No, I’m not. But you don’t care, not really. You ask me if I am okay, but the only answer you want to hear is, yes, I’m fine. None of you actually care about how I am really feeling, you say you do, but you don’t.”

Instead, I say exactly what they want to hear. I must’ve said, “I’m fine, thanks.” at least a thousand times, but no matter how many times I said it, it was never true. 

I just could never bring myself to tell them the truth, to tell them how I felt. When my boyfriend cheated on me, people asked me, how I was doing, they told me that they were there for me. What I should’ve said was, “I am a mess, I gave him everything! You have no idea, the pain that he has caused me. I cry myself to sleep because even though I know I should hate him, I can’t! I can’t hate him like I should because I still love him, and you can’t begin to understand what it was like to find him with her! You know what she did, and yet you still follow her around, like a lost puppy. It is sickening how you still worship them, do you realize that if he can do something like this to me, nothing would stop him from hurting any of you.” 

When people told me I wasn’t normal, that I was a mistake I wanted to tell them that they were right, I knew deep down that every awful thing they thought of me was true. I knew that I was useless, that I was a waste of space, and that there were good people out there who deserved my life more than I did. I wanted to tell them that I knew no matter how hard I tried I knew that I was never going to be good enough for them, or anybody else. I knew I was never going to be the perfect daughter that my parents wanted, I knew I was never going to be the smartest kid in class, and I would never be the best on the court. I hated that I was never going to be pretty enough, or understand what it meant to truly be loved by someone, or how I was always going to be a disappointment to everyone. I wanted to apologize to everyone for forcing them to carry around this burden for 17 long years, I wanted to tell them that I was going to release them from this pain. That soon they would be able to move on.

Again though, I could not. I could not bear to listen to people tell me how much they cared about me and know that not a single one of them meant it. 

I wanted to tell my parents that they could stop fighting soon, that they wouldn’t have to get a divorce, that the cause of all this misery and bickering was soon going to be gone. That soon, it would be nothing more than a mere memory, as if they had woken up from a bad dream, but alas, I stayed quiet.

During the summer, when people asked me why I was wearing long sleeves, it wasn’t because they were concerned, it was because they were thinking about what a freak I was, wearing a sweatshirt in ninety-degree weather. I assume the thought crossed their minds that I did this to hide, to hide, and to hide the truth from an all too judgy society. I wanted to tell them the truth, but I never could because I already knew that nobody would understand.

One day my secrets finally came out, and I wanted to explain myself, make them understand that it wasn’t for the attention, it wasn’t for pity, it was to make me feel. To make me feel alive, feel human, to feel something, anything at all. It started off as something to distract me from the heartache, but then eventually even that went away and I became numb, to the pain, to love, to happiness, to everything. After that, it became a way to prove to myself that I was still alive, that I could still feel something. Instead, I told them that I didn’t know, I cried, I screamed, I yelled because I was unable to form the words to tell the world the truth.

I was unable to tell them the truth then, and I definitely wasn’t able to now, so that is why today instead of telling people the truth, the last thing I said to them was that I would see them tomorrow, fully knowing that I wouldn’t. I was angry with them, with the world, and mainly with myself for everything that I left unsaid.